Lucian’s laughter echoed through the corridor—soft, chilling, threaded with the satisfaction of a man who believed himself untouchable even while pinned to the ground.

Ares shook with barely contained rage, the thought of Alina’s mother, her screams, the flames, the years of silence tearing him apart from the inside. Atlas gripped Lucian’s wrist like he wanted to crush bone to dust.

Helena kept the blade at Lucian’s throat, her breath tight and cold.

“Ares,” she said ...