POV: Jared
My chest felt like it had caved in.
I gasped, my fingers twitching against the cold wooden floor, sticky with blood — my blood. The dim light above flickered, casting jagged shadows across the room like the house itself was breathing. Xaden stood over me, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes gleaming with something that wasn't entirely human.
I tried to move, but pain exploded in my ribs. He must've broken something when he threw me against the wall like a ragdoll. My vision blurred, but I could still see his face — too calm, too still, like he was savoring the moment.
"You always get in the way, Jared," Xaden whispered, his voice rasping like it scraped against his throat. "Always playing the hero. But heroes die first, don't they?"
I spat blood onto the floor, glaring up at him. "You...won't win. Zina and Asher...they'll get away."
