Page 82 of Deathless
"Vihaan?"
Static crackled. His voice came through broken and distorted. "Casablanca... under attack... second wave..."
The line cut to static.
Diego opened his eyes. "What did he say?"
"Casablanca. Second wave." My jaw tightened. Alonzo held the north approach. Valentina the east tunnels. Carmen had the children.
"They'll hold," Diego said. "My people know what they're doing."
He pushed himself upright with a grunt, one arm guarding his bandaged shoulder. "How far?"
"One more floor."
He held out his hand. I took it and we got each other upright. His grip stayed on mine after we'd found our balance.
I pressed my thumb to his pulse point at the wrist. Strong and steady. His blood had soaked through the bandage and run down his forearm, still hot against my fingers where I held on.
"After this," he said. "After we get her. I need you to know something."
"Tell me after."
He looked at me. My hand closed around the hilt of the katana so hard the wrapping bit into my palm.
"Yeah," I said. "I get it."
He let go of my hand and checked his pistol. "Now let's go get her."
We moved toward the far doors. Snow kept falling past the high windows, each flake catching the fluorescent light for a second before the dark took it. Behind us, the atrium held its dead. Ahead of us, one more floor. I still had Diego's blood drying on my fingers where I'd held his wrist. I could track his pulse in the residue, a ghost of the rhythm, fading against my skin.
The smell of somethingwarm hit as we came through the door, and for one stupid half-second my body responded before my brain could stop it. Garlic, bread, the kind of heat that meant an oven had been running for hours. It smelled like someone's kitchen on a Sunday afternoon.
Then Jasper moved past me, katana ready, and the half-second died.
A child laughed in the next room. The sound punched through my chest and stuck there. Mila laughed like she meant it, unguarded, nothing like the careful sounds from the farmhouse.
We moved through a kitchen that belonged in a suburban house. Someone had wiped the counters clean, pinned drawings to the refrigerator, and left toys on the floor. An oven timer ticked. The calendar on the wall had tomorrow's date circled in red:Eight's Birthday Party.
This was the kitchen I'd described to her at the farmhouse. The home I'd told her she deserved. Zeus had built it instead of me.
The living room had a fireplace, bookshelves, and a couch with blankets thrown over it.
Mila stood in the center of the room with a wooden sword, facing away from us.
Zeus knelt on the floor in front of her. He wore slacks and a cardigan. He held no weapons, just his hands spread wide like a man surrendering.
"The dragon falls!" Mila shouted, and she drove her wooden sword forward in a perfect thrust.
Zeus redirected the strike with his palm. "Good form. But the princess must remember: the dragon is never truly defeated."
"I know." Mila reset her stance, weight balanced, wooden sword held properly. "The dragon always comes back."
"The strongest princesses know this," Zeus said. "So what does she do?"
"She stays ready." Mila adjusted her grip on the sword. "She trains."
"She saves herself," Zeus agreed.
