Darkness devoured the mansion.
The sound of gunfire cracked through the storm like lightning made of steel.
Damian moved through the smoke and rain, each step silent, each breath measured.
He could hear Luca's voice faintly through the comms broken, static-filled, desperate.
"East wing compromised,i repeat, they're breaching from the…"
Then silence.
"Luca!"
Damian hissed, ducking behind a stone column as bullets shattered glass above him.
No response.
He cursed under his breath and pressed forward, weaving between marble and flame.
His body was instinct now, muscle memory and purpose.
But somewhere inside, fear flickered not for himself, but for Isabella.
Upstairs, Isabella crouched behind the overturned table, hands trembling as the last emergency light flickered out.
Sophia knelt beside her, gun drawn, eyes darting toward the door.
"Stay quiet," she whispered.
"If anyone but Damian or Luca walks in, we shoot."
