"I'll make an opening. Evacuate everyone," Kyle said, jaw tight, his breath visible in the cold air.
The words hung heavy between them for a heartbeat.
Then he moved.
Kyle launched forward in a blur, his katana slicing through the air as he charged the towering beast in front of him. His muscles screamed, but adrenaline drowned out the pain. Every step pounded like a war drum in his chest.
Lynx didn't wait.
She dashed to meet him—her speed inhuman, unnatural. She closed the distance in the blink of an eye. Before Kyle could adjust, she was already swinging.
Her claws came for his ribs like a guillotine.
Kyle barely managed to bring his blade up in time. Steel met steel with a shriek of impact, sending a spray of sparks into the air like a burst of fireflies. The force of the blow numbed his arms, rattling all the way to his spine.
He grit his teeth, pushed back, and countered.
The clash exploded into a flurry of strikes—sword against claws, sparks lighting up the dim greenhouse like fireworks. Their movements blurred together, vicious and calculated. Kyle ducked, slashed, spun. Lynx retaliated with brutal jabs and arcing sweeps.
They were equals—for now.
Blades and claws traded dominance. Neither gained the edge, but scratches landed—some shallow, some deeper. Kyle hissed as he felt a gash open across his side. He saw blood streak across Lynx's armor, too. Every blow was close. Too close.
Then Lynx's eyes flicked—off Kyle, past him.
To Clara.
She was bolting toward the exit, her breath ragged, arms pumping.
Kyle noticed too late.
Lynx chuckled, struck Kyle hard in the chest with the flat of her claws, sending him skidding backward across the glass-strewn floor. Before he could rise, she ripped a chunk of metal from a broken fixture and hurled it at Clara's back.
"Clara, LOOK OUT!" Kyle shouted, voice desperate and raw.
She turned her head—just in time to see the blur.
Her body dropped instinctively, the projectile slicing through the air inches above her shoulder. She hit the ground hard, knees scraping the stone path. Her dress tore even further, stained with sweat, dirt, and blood.
But she didn't stay down.
Clara pushed herself up with a cry, legs trembling, and ran—out of the greenhouse, away from the fight.
Out into the cool night air, back toward the sound of music and light.
Her vision swam. Her chest heaved. She didn't dare look back.
Her dress clung to her skin, soaked in patches of blood. Her hair was wild, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She could barely hear her own thoughts over the pounding of her heart.
"I have to find Hector," she muttered aloud, her voice cracked and breathless.
And with that, she ran.
Behind her, steel clashed with fury. The battle wasn't over. But right now—Kyle was holding the line.
Alone.
The moment Clara burst into the party, the lights hit her like a wall—flashing blues, reds, and purples that felt like they pressed against her skin. The bass throbbed in her chest, but it all felt distant now. The crowd was suffocating. Laughter, dancing, clinking glasses… it all blurred together into meaningless noise.
She stumbled forward, blood staining the hem of her dress, her breathing ragged. Her heart was still pounding from the run.
Two security personnel spotted her.
"Miss Clara—what happened to you?" one of them asked, alarmed, rushing to her side. The other reached out to steady her, his eyes scanning her for injuries.
Clara pushed their hands away, standing tall despite her trembling knees.
"Where is Hector?" she said sharply, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Call him. And stop this party. Now."
They exchanged a glance, then snapped into motion.
"On it, ma'am," one replied, already tapping his earpiece. "Hector, come in—Miss Clara needs you immediately. Section B2. Code 34."
Within seconds, Hector came barreling through the crowd. His coat flared behind him as he moved with terrifying urgency, eyes sharp with concern.
"Clara—what happened? Are you hurt?" he demanded, gripping her shoulders gently but firmly.
"I'm fine," she said, brushing him off. "But Kyle isn't."
He stiffened. "Where is he?"
"There's an assassin," Clara said, her voice low but urgent. "In the greenhouse. She ambushed us. He stayed back to fight her off so I could escape."
Hector's face darkened instantly.
"Evacuate everyone," she ordered. "Now."
The music had already begun to fade as more guests started to notice something was wrong—people whispering, glancing toward the exits, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. A few had already begun to leave.
Without another word, Hector turned and barked orders into his comms. "Full sweep. Lock down perimeter. Pull everyone out now."
Then, without hesitation, he grabbed Clara's arm.
"Come on," he said. "We're getting him out of there."
Together, they shoved through the thinning crowd, back toward the garden—toward the fight.
Toward Kyle.
The doors slammed open—Hector burst through them like a bullet, the soles of his boots pounding against the marble floor with trained precision. Just behind him, Clara ran in, breath ragged, her blood-smeared dress fluttering like torn silk in the wind of their urgency.
Then they stopped.
The air inside the greenhouse felt heavier—thick with dread, like a predator's breath before a pounce.
Bathed in silver moonlight, Lynx crouched low, her monstrous frame silhouetted by the shattered glass and glowing garden lanterns. The black tactical armor clung to her muscular frame like a second skin, highlighting her broad shoulders, powerfully built legs, and terrifying stillness. Scratches lined her armor—some fresh, some already crusted with blood—but none had slowed her. The lynx-shaped mask glinted, its eyes red and soulless, a beast carved from steel.
Her very presence oozed feral menace, like a wild creature that had tasted blood and wanted more.
And lying in front of her, broken and bleeding, was Kyle.
He was barely conscious—arms trembling as he struggled to rise, face bloodied, the katana lying just out of reach. His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, every movement wracked with pain.
Clara's heart dropped into her stomach. "Kyle!" she gasped, her voice cracking with fear.
Lynx turned slowly, her masked gaze locking onto them—unbothered, unafraid. Then, without a word, she reached down and hoisted Kyle effortlessly over her shoulder like a bag of meat.
Crack—!
With one leap, she shattered the greenhouse ceiling, glass spraying like deadly snowflakes as she vaulted into the night.
"No!" Clara cried, taking a step forward before freezing.
"Miss Clara, stay back!" Hector said sharply, his tone composed but burning with urgency. Then, without hesitation, he bent his knees—and launched.
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he soared after her, trailing emerald energy that shimmered faintly against the night like fire wrapped in wind.
Clara stood frozen beneath the broken sky, her hand trembling over her chest, her mind reeling. The smell of blood, the sound of glass settling on the grass, and the lingering scent of Lynx's dark aura filled the space.
The night had shattered.
And now, the chase had begun.