The moment I realized we were being followed, my fingers moved instinctively, dialing Zero's number. As expected, it went straight to voicemail.
That wasn't a failure—it was protocol.
Calling Zero wasn't about speaking to him. It was a silent alarm, a trigger that would instantly alert headquarters and begin tracking my location. Within seconds, the team would know something was wrong.
I didn't waste time. Reaching into my jacket, I wrapped my fingers around the familiar cold steel of my gun, pulling it out smoothly. My thumb brushed over the safety, but I didn't disengage it. Not yet.
"We're not going to your house," I said firmly, my voice cutting through the tense silence. My eyes met Calyx's, holding his gaze. "Lose them," I instructed the driver.
Calyx didn't argue. His expression darkened, his body shifting from tense unease to sharpened awareness. The businessman facade was gone; in its place was the man who had survived power struggles, deception, and war. He understood the weight of this situation immediately.
The driver responded just as fast. Without hesitation, he took a sharp right, increasing speed before weaving through traffic. I kept my eyes on the mirror. The car tailing us adjusted seamlessly, sticking to our trail like a shadow.
Not a coincidence.
I tightened my grip on the gun. The adrenaline surged through my veins, sharpening my focus rather than clouding it. I turned slightly toward Calyx, my voice calm despite the tension thickening around us.
"Any idea who they could be?"
His jaw locked, his fingers tapping once against his knee before going still. "No," he admitted, his gaze flickering to the rear window. Then, after a beat, he asked, "Do you think it's them? The Shadestones?"
I wasn't sure. Not anymore.
After learning that Calyx's father was alive—and not the man I had always believed him to be—I didn't know who was being followed.
Me, the Shadestones' target.
Or Calyx, their possible heir.
I pulled out my phone again, this time typing out a quick message to another number before tucking it away. The team would be moving already, tracking, closing in. But we needed to hold out until they got here.
The driver took another sudden left, skidding slightly as he pushed the car's limits. A brief hope flickered—maybe we'd shaken them.
Then the headlights reappeared in the mirror. Closer.
Damn it.
"They're not backing off," I muttered under my breath.
Calyx exhaled slowly, his gaze on me now. "Then we handle it."
I nodded. There was no hesitation between us, no uncertainty. We both knew what had to be done.
"If they don't stop in the next five minutes, we take a more aggressive approach," I said, adjusting my grip, my finger resting just outside the trigger guard.
Calyx's eyes held mine for a beat. Then he gave a single nod, resolute. "Do whatever you need to, Severa."
For a moment, I just looked at him.
Even with everything happening between us, the unraveling marriage, the lingering wounds neither of us wanted to name—this was the one place where trust still existed.
The car behind us suddenly sped up.
I clicked the safety off my gun.
"Then let's end this."
The car behind us surged forward, closing the distance with ruthless precision.
Then—bang.
The unmistakable crack of gunfire shattered the night.
I barely had time to shout before our car lurched, tires screeching against the pavement as the driver fought for control. The bullet hadn't hit us directly, but the warning was clear: they weren't just following us anymore.
They were trying to take us out.
"Shit." Calyx braced himself, his hand gripping the door handle as the driver swerved hard to avoid another incoming shot.
I twisted in my seat, gun raised, scanning the pursuing vehicle. Two men in the front seats—both focused, unrelenting. But it was the backseat movement that caught my attention. The tinted window rolled down slightly, just enough for me to glimpse the glint of a weapon before—
Another shot rang out.
I ducked, pressing low against the seat as the bullet shattered the rear windshield. Glass rained down, scattering across the leather.
"Severa!" Calyx's voice was sharp, but I was already moving.
"Keep driving," I ordered the driver, my body shifting, positioning myself so I could fire back. I couldn't risk taking the shot yet—too many civilians, too much movement—but if we didn't end this soon, someone else would get caught in the crossfire.
Calyx yanked his jacket off, pressing it against the broken window as a makeshift barrier against the wind. "Who the hell are these people?"
"I don't know," I admitted, "but they're done playing games."
The pursuing car suddenly accelerated, ramming into our back bumper with brute force. The impact sent a violent jolt through the car, nearly throwing me forward. The driver cursed under his breath, struggling to keep us steady.
"That's it," I muttered. I pulled myself up, twisting toward the window, and finally, I had a clear shot.
I didn't hesitate.
My first bullet punctured their hood, the second embedding into the windshield. The driver flinched but didn't back off.
"Persistent bastards," I hissed.
Calyx's eyes flickered between me and the mirror, his expression tight with something unreadable. "We need to lose them. Fast."
"Working on it."
The driver veered sharply onto a side street, tires screeching. For a second, I thought we had the upper hand.
Then the pursuing car swerved violently, skidding to block our path.
"Brace!" the driver shouted.
Metal screamed as we clipped the side of their car, sending us fishtailing. I gritted my teeth, forcing my body to absorb the impact as our car slammed to a stop.
Then everything stilled.
The night air was thick with the scent of burnt rubber, shattered glass glinting on the pavement.
A door creaked open.
I turned sharply, gun raised—just as three figures stepped out of the car ahead of us.
They weren't running.
They were coming straight for us.
No more chase.
No more warnings.
This was a fight.
Calyx met my gaze. "Are you okay?"
I nodded, though my heart was pounding so loud it nearly drowned out the chaos around us. It had been years since I'd been in a situation like this. I wasn't even sure if my skills were still as sharp as they once were. But that wasn't what worried me the most.
It was him.
I was terrified I wouldn't be able to protect him.
"Give me a gun," he said.
I hesitated. Just for a second. Then I reached for the spare weapon I had hidden and placed it in his hand.
"Can you make the shot?" I asked, watching him carefully.
"I'll try," he said, checking the weight of the gun. Then he met my eyes again, steady despite the storm around us. "Are you ready for this?"
I flicked the safety off, my grip tightening, my lips pressing into a thin line.
"Always."
Then I pushed the door open, stepping into the night.
And let the war begin.
-
The cold night air hit me like a slap, but I didn't stop. My boots hit the pavement hard as I moved, my gun raised, senses on high alert.
The car chasing us had pulled up roughly twenty feet away, its tires screeching as it skidded to a halt. The headlights glared like twin eyes in the darkness, illuminating the street in harsh white light.
Then the doors flew open.
Three men stepped out. Armed. Moving with precision.
Not amateurs.
Calyx slid out behind me, his movements smooth but cautious. I glanced at him, just to be sure. He held the gun with a steady grip, his stance solid. He wasn't just some businessman thrown into chaos—he had been trained for moments like this.
But training only went so far.
I stepped forward first, gun raised. "Last chance," I called out, voice firm. "Turn around and walk away."
No response.
One of them lifted his gun.
I pulled the trigger first.
A shot rang out, cracking through the night. The man staggered, dropping his weapon as my bullet tore through his shoulder.
Then everything erupted into chaos.
The other two opened fire. I dove behind a parked car, feeling the impact of bullets ricocheting off metal. Calyx moved with me, his back pressed to the vehicle, his breath controlled despite the rapid escalation.
"They're not here to talk," he muttered.
"No shit," I shot back, checking the magazine in my gun. Still enough rounds.
He exhaled, then shifted to get a better angle. Without warning, he leaned out and fired. One, two shots—controlled, precise. One of the men ducked, the other cursed and returned fire.
I used the distraction. Pushing off the ground, I sprinted low, keeping my body close to the side of the car as I repositioned. Another bullet whizzed past my ear. Too close.
Gritting my teeth, I raised my gun again, this time aiming for the second shooter. My shot landed, grazing his leg, making him stumble.
Calyx used the opening. He fired again—this time, hitting his target center mass. The man dropped.
Only one left.
The third man hesitated, realizing he was outnumbered. His eyes darted between us, assessing his options.
I took a step closer, my gun trained on him. "Who sent you?"
His jaw clenched. He didn't answer.
Then, in one swift motion, he reached for something at his side.
Instinct took over.
I fired.
He fell before he could even pull the pin on the grenade he had been reaching for.
Silence settled, the only sound left was the distant hum of city life beyond the alley.
Calyx lowered his gun, exhaling. I did the same, my pulse still racing.
"Well," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "That was a hell of a welcome party."
I exhaled sharply, scanning the bodies. My eyes searched for any identifying marks—tattoos, insignias, anything that could tie them to a faction. But there was nothing. No branding, no colors. Just ghosts sent to kill.
That only made it worse.
Without wasting time, I pulled out my phone and snapped a few quick pictures of the bodies and their vehicle. Evidence. If we wanted answers, we had to start somewhere.
The distant wail of sirens reached my ears. No doubt someone had heard the shots. We had minutes, maybe less.
"We have to leave," I said, grabbing Calyx's arm and pulling him toward the car. He didn't resist.
As I opened the door, I hesitated, my gaze flicking back to him. The weight of the night pressed down between us—thick, undeniable.
We were supposed to be parting ways. Our divorce was nearly finalized.
But tonight changed everything.
I tucked my gun away, meeting his eyes. "This isn't over."
He nodded, jaw tight.
And somehow, we both knew—whatever had just started, it was only the beginning.