Franz's POV
Smoke curled off my shoulders like it couldn't decide whether to cling or let go.
My boots crunched over broken tile… and bone.
The front hallway was a ruin of corpses. Suits—some still twitching, some folded backward like paper dolls someone got bored of. Bullet casings. Shattered glass. A thick, dragging streak of blood where someone had tried—and failed—to crawl away.
I walked slowly, one foot in front of the other, like my body still hadn't realized it had survived.
And in my arms, her.
Victoria.
Unconscious. Unmoving. Face pale beneath the soot and blood. One of her earrings was gone. Her hair clung to her cheek in damp strands. Her breath—if it was there—was too quiet to hear.
I walked out of the fire.
The building groaned behind me, coughing flame and smoke. Somewhere overhead, a support beam gave in with a splintering crack and took half the second floor with it. The fire didn't roar so much as breathe—loud, desperate, alive. Hungry.
Outside—
