ELENA POV
I couldn't stop shaking.
Hours had passed since we'd escaped the motel. Since I'd left my mother's body on that blood-stained bathroom floor.
Since I'd failed her.
We were in an abandoned warehouse now. Damien had found it somewhere in the industrial part of Queens, far enough from Manhattan that Brighton's people might not think to look.
I sat on the concrete floor, knees pulled to my chest, staring at nothing.
Adrien was nearby, on his phone, talking in low urgent tones to someone. Damien was on watch by the door, gun in hand, eyes constantly scanning.
Both of them kept glancing at me. Worried. Helpless.
I didn't care.
My mother was dead.
And I'd killed her.
Not directly. Not with my own hands. But I might as well have pulled the trigger.
I convinced her to go live. I put her in front of that camera. I made her a target.
