Kira's pov
The news reached me before the blood had even dried.
Attack at the warehouse. Eira injured. Draven arrived guns blazing.
I didn't rush to the mansion out of sisterly devotion. Let's be clear about that.
It was strategy.
Every player on the board just shifted, and I needed to see where the pieces landed. Firsthand.
I moved quickly, gliding through the hallways of the mansion I once called home,before they stopped seeing me as someone worth fighting for. My heels clicked with precise rhythm, a sound that once made people turn. Now, they barely looked up. Just the shadow of the "other" sister.
When I reached the drawing room, I paused just outside the door. Took a breath. Smoothed my expression. Smiled.
Then I stepped in.
Eira was curled on the couch, wrapped in a soft throw blanket, her wrist bandaged, a faint line of dried blood beneath her lower lip. Her eyes flicked up and met mine, guarded and surprised all at once.
"Kira," she said.
