This was not the girl who once flinched at gunfire.
This was not the woman who had borrowed a throne.
This was a queen forged in loss.
"Seal the city," Isabella said calmly. "No ships leave. No planes lift. Every road becomes a choke point."
Luca nodded, already signaling commands through his earpiece.
"Pull Adrian's last known locations. Marco's supply routes. Anyone who's ever sworn loyalty to him drags them into the light."
"And Marco himself?"
Her eyes hardened. "He's mine."
Damian drifted in and out of consciousness.
Pain came in waves sharp, blinding, then distant. But worse than the pain was the rage simmering beneath it. Marco's voice echoed in his skull. Just a mistake.
He felt fingers brush his warm, trembling, real.
"Don't you dare die on me," Isabella whispered.
His eyelids fluttered open. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp. She sat beside him, hair loose, eyes red-rimmed but blazing.
"I'm sorry," he rasped.
