The scream of the rocket tore through the night.
It was a sound I'd never heard before but instinctively recognised. It was death, flying straight toward us. My blood froze, my body locked. For one heartbeat, all I saw was the fiery glow of the projectile streaking across the estate grounds.
Tristan shoved me down, his arm a steel bar across my shoulders. "They're using RPGs! Get down!"
I rolled across the gravel, stones tearing into my palms, but my eyes never left the rocket. It sliced through the air in a streak of molten orange, aimed directly at the shattered wall where we'd been holding our line. One hit, and there'd be nothing left of us but ash and stone.
"No!" The word ripped from my throat before I even realised it.
Tristan was already up, sprinting, bleeding, and unstoppable. He dove toward the body of a fallen attacker, ripping the launcher from lifeless hands and swinging it up with brutal precision.
"Tristan!" I screamed.
The rocket closed in.
Something glinted on the ground near me. It was a rifle, its scope cracked but intact, and I scrambled to it, my hands shaking, bracing myself the way Tristan had taught me. My heart hammered so violently I could barely see straight.
I had one chance, one bullet, and one desperate prayer to stop the chaos before it swallowed us whole.
I drew a deep breath, the world narrowing to the streak of fire cutting through the dark. My finger squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked, slicing through the air, and the rocket jerked mid-flight.
It spiralled, sparks bursting as my bullet clipped its tail.
"Now!" Tristan bellowed.
With a roar, he aimed the captured launcher and fired.
The two warheads met in midair.
The explosion lit up the estate like daylight, a thunderous wave tearing through the gardens. The ground heaved beneath us, the air splitting open in a burst of sound and fire. I hit the dirt, ears ringing, lungs seizing from the shockwave. Shards of light rained down like burning stars.
For a long moment, there was nothing, no sound, no movement, just the taste of smoke and metal in my mouth.
But I was alive. We were alive.
When the ringing faded, Tristan was there, crouched over me, shielding me with his body. His chest heaved, blood smeared along his jaw, but his eyes burned with relentless fire
"You good?" His voice was raw, frantic.
"I, I..." My throat closed, then opened with a trembling breath. "Yes, I'm good. Because of you."
His hand cupped my cheek for a fleeting second, his thumb rough against my skin, and I saw something unguarded in his eyes. It was dark, desperate, and achingly human.
Then he turned, raising his weapon as more shadows poured through the gates, undeterred by the blast.
"They're not stopping," he muttered.
I pushed myself up, squaring my shoulders despite the tremor in my hands. "Then neither do we."
He gave a sharp nod. Together, we rose.
The garden was hell, fire painting the night, gunfire ripping the silence into pieces. But as I lifted the rifle again, feeling Tristan's presence beside me, the fear that once ruled me twisted into something else entirely.
Determination.
They wanted to burn us down.
But hell, tonight is not the night.