Blood had a smell.

Not copper. Not metal. It was heavier than that thick, clinging, crawling up the back of Noa’s throat until he wanted to gag.

The floor was slick with it. Shards of glass glittered in it like tiny, broken stars, and every step sounded like a body being dragged across stone.

Julian went down first.

Alessio didn’t hesitate. The moment Julian lifted his gun again half-smiling, reckless to the very end Alessio’s bullet cut through his mouth. The laugh stopped mid-curve, ...