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there are no words.

Just a gun.

And that gun is pointed at me.

The familiar feeling of terror and shock, frozen joints and cold sweats. Followed by waves of sorrow and disappointment, they swim together inside. But I have no reaction. I’m becoming immune and it’s not a good thing.

“What are you doing, Tony?” I want to wrap my arms around my stomach, my baby to shield it. But I don’t want to draw attention. A jolt of despair and uselessness hits, as I’ve been betrayed once again.

“No bloodshed will follow, if you concede. Come as requested,” he says. But, it doesn’t sound like Tony. Maybe his voice, but the tone and the words are not his. His eyes are glazed, like he’s being possessed.

Come as requested. That can’t happen. I know the rules. Don’t get in the goddamn car. If I scream, will he shoot? Would Broderick get here quicker than the bullet?

All these questions can be answered by jumping in his head. Which I could. The amulets on, but it was on the day of the bomb. I felt the crack, the shift in energy. I can get in, I know it.

What am I more fearful of? The blackness from my last time I was open to the voices. Or the death of me and my child at the hands of a friend?

I siphon my fear and use it as fuel. I feel a force shift and nudge forward an inch. Concentrating on that pull, opening up that link and letting his real voice ring through in my head.

I can’t stop. I can’t stop. Why am I doing this. Please, I’m so sorry. He thinks.

The disconnect from his face to his thoughts is stark. It’s like he isn’t in control of his own body. Like he has been... enslaved.

Then something that I have never experienced happens. There is a voice, one in his head. And it isn’t his.

If she resists, point the gun to your head and shoot. This voice is smooth, deep and vicious. It was cold and unfeeling.

The fear hits Tony with force, the gun still on me, “No bloodshed will follow, if you concede. Come as requested.”

Was that a threat in his mind for me? Who is doing this to him?

I realise there’s no hope in reasoning, instead letting out a blood-curdling scream. But it’s drowned out by an explosion in the ceiling. Rubble falls from the blast and I drop to my knees, covering my head. The ringing in my ear stings, I sway, getting my bearings. There is rapid gunfire in the distant. Or close. It’s hard to tell through my damaged eardrums.

My hands are pried from my head and used to drag me up.

This blast, my amulet, must have stayed intact, because I’m not flooded with darkness. But when I feel the gun on my temple and smell the smoke and caffeine that follows him everywhere. I know Tony’s got me. I’m a step closer to never coming back home again.

“Let her go,” Broderick yells from the door. His gun trained on Tony. But he can’t enter. We stand under a gaping hole, sun beams through, creating a barrier between us. This was no accident.

The only thing on our side is the sun setting at any moment.

A thunderous roar takes Broderick’s attention below. A real life, monstrous tiger. It descends into the chaos.

Broderick radios out for more reinforcements, declaring a breach of the house by the shifters.

And yet Broderick still doesn’t take his eyes off me. He can’t get to me. And the men on the roof, I don’t even know if they survived the blast.

The whopping sounds of a chopper fly over, hovering on top. But not causing enough of a shadow that Broderick can break the wide gap.

An arrow shoots through Broderick’s torso from behind. Pulling him deeper into the battle, the advancing assailant leaping up the stairs.

Topher.

My heart sinks. I can only pray his ok.

There’s no other option.

I buck and fold, I kick. I resist.

All the while the tears are falling. The combo I was taught in self-defence working. My head hits Tony’s face, causing him to forcefully throw me down.

My stomach lands on a pile of gyprock and bricks. I scream. The pain shoots through me. On all fours, I crawl trying to escape the restriction of the sun. To where Broderick can save me.

A gun shot rings out.

This one close.

This one I know what it was.

I push myself up from the ground and run to the floor, slipping on blood. I can’t look at whose blood it is. I can’t look at what I did. Or what Tony did to himself.

I am propelled backwards by my hair. A hand wraps inside it, dragging me to a waiting ladder.

The struggle is fruitless, his hold strong and relentless. The ladder lifts, and I’m pinned in with a hard body. Tormented and furious curses come from Broderick. But when my feet lift off the ground, I see it.

Tony laying dead on the floor.

The battle scene below, Immortalies, humans and animals wage on.

Topher somewhere in the mix.

I fly higher and higher in the air. On my way to whoever was talking in Tony’s head.

My first helicopter ride was only a week ago. I’m not prepared or trained to be clinging to this flimsy ladder. Wind is hammering me. Its only intention is to force me off. And it’s close, even with the clip I’m hooked into. This is unnatural and I never want to do it again.

If I survive.

Again.

The orange and red hue is shining off the coastline. The sun is setting as the chopper starts its descent. I’ve lost track where we are, but we haven’t been flying long.

Another sharp pain hits my stomach and I cry out. My grip loosens.

The masked man’s arms dig deeper under my arm, catching me.

He curses at my weight.

The pain continues, and I grip the ladder for strength, closing my eyes.

The next time I open them, the ground approaches. The terrain sparse in

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