I didn't register the punch until I heard the crunch. Not the satisfying kind either—the kind that sings to some old, primal part of you and makes your shoulder sting after. The kind that echoes.
Director Connor's head snapped to the side, slamming into the brass wall of the corridor. Blood smeared against the velvet trim. He stumbled but didn't fall. So I gave him another.
A snarl ripped from my throat as I threw him against the window, his comm shattering under the force. He grunted, a wheezing sound slipping past gritted teeth. His eyes flashed with something between shock and awe.
"You think I forgot?" I hissed. "Think I moved on?"
"She begged, Connor. She begged you. And you didn't even have the decency to lie to her!"
He kicked back—clipped my shin, knocked me off balance. We grappled in the narrow hallway like animals locked in a cage. His elbow found my ribs; my knee found his stomach. A dance choreographed by fury.
Eventually, I pinned him. Breathing heavy. Heart louder than the train beneath us.
My hand trembled, cocked and ready for another strike.
Too many times, too many eyes on me now. If I killed him—if I even left him too broken—the fallout wouldn't just scorch me. It would torch Sienna. Camille. Alexis. Even Elliot.
Connor groaned, slowly rising with the elegance of a man clinging to the last shreds of dignity. He dabbed his bloody nose with a pressed white handkerchief. Red bloomed like a rose on snow.
"Still feral," he said, voice nasal, smug. "You never could play nice."
"I tried," I spat. "But then you threw my family into cages."
"You refused the offer. You made yourself an enemy. What did you expect?"
"It doesn't matter," I said, chest heaving. "Regardless of if I had joined you, I would have still beating you senseless. Because for every second she was scared—for every tear she had to hide—I'd carve a dozen more just like you."
He tilted his head. "So this is the great Reynard Vale. Mastermind. Monster. Pretending he's a man."
My mask didn't smile. Not this time.
"Tell me about the Cain Protocol."
"Why would I help a threat?" he said, regaining some of his poise. "You've become an infestation. A wild animal with too many teeth."
I cracked my knuckles. "Then maybe I should beat the truth out of you."
"I wouldn't," he said smoothly, nodding toward the end of the hall. "My bodyguards return in around ninety seconds."
"Besides," he continued, with a slow, venomous smile, "a girl was taken last night. West of here. Long hair, sharp tongue. Subject of the Cain Protocol."
He nodded. "Travelling with you, isn't she? I expected that. She's good at attaching to chaos. That activation phrase though—"
He looked me dead in the eye.
The words slid into the air like poison.
I didn't breathe. My mind launched into overtime.
If the phrase was real—if it worked—Anika wasn't just a survivor. She was a sleeper. And he would have triggered her.
I lunged again, but this time he held up a hand.
"I'll be fair," he said, adjusting his crooked tie. "Call this an apology. You get one favor. One trade. You hit me, I bleed. But you hear me out."
"I'm getting tired of hearing out the people who want to own me."
He didn't argue. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a small, creased photo.
"Subject 3834. One of ours. Went rogue. He is dangerous and needs to be brought in for reevaluation."
He held the photo out like a priest offering communion.
His eyes wide in the photo, half-shadowed. His expression not fearful, but resigned. Like he knew he would be found. Like he knew this moment would come.
"Bring him in, Reynard. Alive, of course. And maybe we can talk about keeping your... passengers safe."