Donovan

In the dim light seeping through the cracks in the basement walls, you held your breath and pressed yourself against the cold concrete. Your heart was pounding so loudly you thought someone would hear it. Noah and Kate had already left for the city with the child. Only you remained here. Or not.

Footsteps sounded behind you—slow, measured, confident. You froze, trying to blend into the shadows. Any movement now would be a mistake. Donovan hadn't pursued you so persistently only out of discipline. After you'd thwarted her plan and you'd almost killed her at the rift—almost. She'd survived. She'd returned. On foot. For you.

Suddenly, a light flashed in the center of the basement. You flinched and turned around. Two huge basins filled with dark, thick blood. Ancheia and Pileon lay in them—motionless, their faces frozen. Flies circled lazily above them. Nausea rose in your throat, and your legs weakened.

"Come out," her voice sounded, calm and mocking. "There's only one working door here."

The click of sharp heels was almost silent, but it was inexorably approaching. You peered out cautiously. A gray overcoat, a belt with a pistol, a silhouette blocking the light. Her eyes seemed darker than usual—either because of the lighting or something else.

"And you had to run away?" she grinned. "I'll get you from any corner."

She took out a cigarette and slowly blew the smoke into your face.

• Let's go.

There were soldiers already standing behind her, blocking the exit. There was nowhere to run. A cold, strong hand grabbed your elbow and pulled you out of hiding. You flinched and tried to strike, but she intercepted your fist.

"Don't fight. I'm not hitting you," she laughed quietly.

Her fingers tightened. She brought your hand to her lips.

— I won’t touch my face... but my hands... I don’t like them anymore.

And she slowly pressed her lips to your knuckles, without looking away.