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Carys’s breath hitched, but Leo did not elaborate. He simply stood, brushing invisible dust from his trousers with the casual ease of a man who held every advantage. His men moved around him, competent and silent, like wolves awaiting a signal.

He didn’t need to say more. Leon out there, “hunting,” meant two things: he had already realized something was wrong… and Leo was counting on it.

Leo paced once, slow and thoughtful, the single overhead bulb slicing his face into light and shadow. “My sons,” he murmured, tapping a finger to his chin as if mulling over what entrée to order instead of discussing family warfare. “They think they’ve built something real. Loyalty. Order. Control.” His lips twitched. “But all that collapses the moment someone like you breathes too close to their secrets.”

Carys stiffened. “I don’t know any of your secrets.”

“And yet,” he said softly, “you’re in the middle of all of them.”

His footsteps echoed as he stopped behind her, the heat of his presence pressing against her shoulders. “Do you know what Leon does when he’s afraid?” he whispered. “He stops thinking. He stops breathing. He becomes my perfect son again. The killer I raised him to be.”

Carys swallowed, throat burning. “He’s not like you.”

“Oh, my dear.” Leo leaned in, lips curving at her ear. “He’s exactly like me. And you’re going to watch him prove it.”

Before she could bite back a retort, the pipes overhead groaned. Metal creaked. Something shifted deep in the walls, faint and muffled, but not imaginary.

Leo paused mid-step. His head tilted like a predator catching the snap of a twig in a forest.

One of his men stiffened. “Sir?”

Leo raised a hand for silence.

Carys held her breath. She didn’t know what she heard—airflow, vibration, faint movement through stone. But Leo clearly heard something.

Something familiar to him. Something unwelcome.

His tongue clicked against his teeth. “Well. That was fast.”

He signaled, and his men immediately fanned out—closing the door, checking their weapons, positioning themselves around the room. Carys’s pulse hammered until the chair throbbed beneath her.

Leo leaned down in front of her, eyes bright with anticipation. “You wanted to know where Leon is?”

The light above flickered once, twice, and steadied.

“He’s here.”

The door exploded inward.

A man barreled through the splintering wood, a blur of motion and fury. Before Leo’s guards even registered the threat, the first gun was ripped from a hand and slammed against a jaw. Someone grabbed the intruder’s arm—but only long enough to get launched across the room.

Leo stepped back, lips curling with something disturbingly close to pride.

Carys blinked rapidly, clearing the water from her lashes, struggling to focus—and then she saw him.

Leon.

Not the composed, cold, calculating version of him she’d come to know. This Leon was carved from storm clouds. His clothes damp with sweat and night air. His eyes feral. His chest rising and falling too fast, the way someone breathed when they’d already fought their way through half a city to get here.

One of Leo’s men grabbed Leon from behind in a chokehold, but Leon rammed his head backward, breaking the man’s nose with a sickening crack. The guard dropped instantly, hands covering the blood pouring from his face.

The other charged at him.

Leon moved first.

Two steps. A twist of his torso. A hit so precise and sharp the man fell before he understood he’d been struck. Not killed—Carys could see the chest rise faintly—but incapacitated with brutal efficiency.

Leo’s hands clapped together once in a sharp, delighted sound.

“Bravo, son.”

Leon didn’t answer him. He stalked forward until he stood between Leo and Carys, body angled protectively in a way that made her breath catch. He didn’t spare her more than a glance—quick, assessing, razor-focused—but that one look was enough to flood her with shaky relief.

“You’re late,” Leo said lazily.

Leon barely seemed to hear him. “Cut her loose,” he ordered, voice low and strained. “Now.”

Leo arched a brow. “Why would I do that?”

Leon stepped closer, and for the first time since he arrived, Carys saw something beyond fury in his eyes—fear. Real, genuine fear. Not for himself.

For her.

“Because,” Leon said, voice steadying, “if you don’t, I swear to God, I will end this entire bloodline tonight.”

Leo’s smile didn’t falter… but a flicker of something colder passed over his expression.

Almost disappointment.

“So dramatic,” he sighed.

Leon lunged—but Leo suddenly grabbed a gun from one of the unconscious men at his feet, firing at the ceiling in a deafening crack that showered plaster dust across the room.

Everyone froze—including Leon.

Carys flinched, heart hammering against her ribs hard enough to bruise.

Leo wagged the gun loosely between two fingers, unbothered. “You always were impulsive.” He sighed again and pointed the muzzle—not at Leon.

At Carys.

Leon’s stillness snapped like a live wire.

His voice turned lethal. “Put it down.”

Leo tisked. “If you want her, son, just ask nicely.”

Leon didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His breath trembled out of him, slow and furious.

“I’m asking.”

Leo hummed thoughtfully. “No.”

Then he cocked the gun.

And Carys felt her stomach plummet.

Leon’s reaction was instant.

The gun fired.

But Leon was already there—shoving Leo’s arm upward, the bullet embedding into the ceiling.

Carys screamed, chair rocking as the force of the struggle shook the room. Leon and Leo grappled, two shadows colliding with violent familiarity—father and son bound by survival instincts sharpened into weapons.

Leo’s fist collided with Leon’s ribs. Leon slammed Leo against the wall. Leo twisted out of his grip. Leon pinned him again, forearm to his throat.

“Let her go,” Leon snarled, breath rough. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Leo grinned despite the pressure constricting his airway. “Everything has to do with her. You have no idea how deeply she’s already involved.”

Leon’s jaw clenched. “I’m warning you—”

“She’s the match, son.”

Leo leaned in, voice dropping to a razor whisper filled with vicious delight.

“And we’re all soaked in gasoline.”

Leon didn’t hesitate. He slammed Leo’s head into the wall, hard enough to knock him unconscious.

Silence crashed over the room.

Leon’s chest rose and fell with violent breaths. He stared at Leo’s limp form for a long, trembling second before spinning toward Carys.

His hands were on the ropes instantly, fingers working faster than she’d ever seen them move.

“You okay?” His voice was tight, controlled, but underneath—shaking.

“Leon—” her throat cracked, raw from thirst and fear.

“Don’t talk. We’re leaving.” He cut the last rope, lifting her carefully but urgently, as though afraid she’d break if he touched her wrong.

Her legs buckled.

He caught her.

For a moment, he held her against his chest, arms solid, grounding. His breath shuddered against her hair.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered—almost too quietly to hear.

Then he scooped her up and moved toward the broken door, every step sure, every muscle poised for another fight.

Behind them, Leo lay motionless on the floor.

And the danger was far from over.