The house was eerily quiet now, except for the echoing crackle of gunfire fading through the corridor. Smoke hung in the air—a hazy reminder of the battle that had raged moments ago.
Ewan moved quickly, gun angled before him, his boots crunching over scattered shell casings. Every corner, every doorway, every shadow was a potential threat.
He'd already cleared four rooms upstairs, all empty of what he wanted—no Kael, no Alfonso. Only unconscious gang members sprawled in blood and dust, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and burnt cloth.
His jaw tightened. "Nothing," he hissed, his voice low but edged with irritation. "No sign of either of them."
Athena appeared at the end of the hall, her helmet tucked under one arm now that the noise had died down. Her eyes, sharp behind the smoke, searched his face before landing on the pistol in his hand. "You're getting frustrated."
