Lily's POV
I wake up choking on dust and smoke.
My ears ring from the explosion. Something heavy pins my legs. I try to move and pain shoots through my ribs.
"Dante?" My voice comes out as a croak.
A hand grabs mine in the darkness. "Don't move. The building's unstable."
I feel his telekinetic power surrounding us like a cocoon, holding back tons of rubble that should have crushed us both.
"Sterling," I gasp. "He—he pressed the button. He's working with them."
"I know." Dante's voice is strained. "Stay still. I'm getting us out."
Slowly, carefully, debris begins to lift away. Concrete chunks float upward. Steel beams bend and twist out of our path. The amount of power this takes—I can feel it radiating off Dante in waves.
Finally, there's enough space to crawl through. Dante pulls me out first, then follows. We collapse on what's left of the twentieth floor, coughing and bleeding.
"Your ribs are broken," Dante says, examining me. "Maybe three of them."
"Your grandmother?"
"Already evacuated. She's safe." He helps me stand, supporting most of my weight. "We need to move. The building could collapse completely."
We make it to the emergency stairwell just as another section of the roof caves in behind us. Down, down, down we go. Each step is agony, but Dante doesn't let me stop.
We burst out onto the street. Fire trucks and ambulances everywhere. People screaming. Chaos.
A medic rushes over. "Sir, you're both injured—"
"Later." Dante's already pulling out his phone with his free hand. "I need transport. Now."
A black SUV screeches to a stop beside us. We climb in and speed away before anyone can stop us.
"Where are we going?" I ask, trying to breathe through the pain.
"Somewhere safe." Dante makes a call. "It's me. Sterling's compromised. He's working with whoever's behind the kidnappings. I need full lockdown protocols on all family assets." He pauses. "Yes, including Victoria. Trust no one."
He hangs up and looks at me. "How bad is the pain?"
"I've had worse."
"Liar." But there's no heat in it. "We'll get you medical attention once we're secure."
We drive for twenty minutes, leaving the city behind. Finally, we pull up to gates that look designed to stop an army. Guards check Dante's identity three times before letting us through.
The estate beyond is massive. Guards patrol everywhere. Technology I don't understand hums in the air—magical wards, security systems, things I've never seen before.
We pull up to the main house and Dante practically carries me inside.
A medical team is waiting. They take me to a room and patch me up—wrapping my ribs, treating cuts and bruises, giving me something for the pain that makes everything fuzzy.
When I wake up, it's dark outside. I'm in a bed that's softer than anything I've ever slept in. My ribs still hurt, but the pain's manageable.
The door opens and Dante enters, holding a tray of food.
"You should eat," he says, setting it on the bedside table.
"How long was I out?"
"Four hours." He sits in a chair by the window. "The building collapse killed twelve people. Thirty-seven injured."
Guilt crashes over me. "Because of us."
"Because of whoever's orchestrating this." His jaw tightens. "Sterling's phone is off. He's disappeared. But we tracked his last known location to an abandoned factory on the east side."
"The kids?"
"No sign of them yet." He meets my eyes. "But we're running out of time. The deadline was thirty-five minutes ago."
My heart stops. "You mean—"
"We don't know yet. No new messages. No videos." His hands clench into fists. "The silence is worse than threats."
I force myself to sit up, ignoring the pain. "Then we go to that factory. Now."
"You can barely stand."
"I don't care." I swing my legs out of bed. "Two kids are dying while we sit here. I'm going."
Dante studies me for a long moment. Then he nods.
"Get dressed. We leave in five minutes."
He leaves me clothes—tactical gear that actually fits. When I emerge, he's waiting in what he called the war room earlier.
It's impressive. Monitors showing different parts of the city. Maps with marked locations. Communication equipment. This is where someone runs military operations.
"The factory is here." Dante points to a map. "Thermal imaging shows at least six heat signatures inside. Could be guards. Could be the kids."
"Could be a trap," I add.
"Definitely a trap." He pulls out weapons—guns, knives, things I don't recognize. "Which is why we're going in prepared."
He hands me a gun. I stare at it.
"I don't know how to use this."
"Point and shoot. It's not complicated." His eyes soften slightly. "Stay behind me. If shooting starts, you run. Understand?"
"I'm not leaving you—"
"Lily." His voice is firm. "I can protect myself. I can't protect you and fight at the same time. So when I say run, you run."
I want to argue, but he's right. I'm the weakness here. The liability.
"Fine," I whisper.
We load into an armored vehicle with four of Dante's security team. The drive to the factory takes fifteen minutes. With each mile, my dread grows.
What if we're too late? What if the kids are already dead?
What if Sterling's there, and I have to watch Dante kill someone I considered a friend?
The factory looms ahead, dark and abandoned. Dante's team spreads out, surrounding the building.
"Three minutes," Dante says into his comm. "We go on my signal."
He looks at me. "Last chance to stay in the vehicle."
"Not happening."
Something almost like respect flashes in his eyes.
"Then stay close."
We approach the factory's main entrance. Dante's telekinesis opens the door silently.
Inside, it's pitch black.
Then lights flood on, blinding us.
"Welcome, Mr. Cross!" A voice echoes through speakers. "So glad you could join us."
Not Sterling's voice. Someone else.
The woman from the roof steps out of the shadows. But she's not alone.
Behind her, tied to chairs, are Ethan and Emma. Both crying. Both alive.
Relief floods through me for exactly two seconds.
Then I see what else is in the room.
Bombs. Dozens of them. Strapped to every wall, every support beam.
And standing behind the children, holding a detonator, is Detective Sterling.
But his eyes are wrong. Completely blank. Like he's not even really there.
"He's been compelled," Dante breathes. "Someone's controlling his mind."
The woman smiles. "Very good. Yes, poor Detective Sterling is just a puppet now. Has been for weeks."
"Who are you?" I demand.
"My name is Natasha Volkov. I used to work for House Cross." Her smile turns vicious. "Until Victoria Cross decided my methods were too extreme and had me erased from all records. She thought she could just dispose of me like trash."
"So this is revenge?" Dante's power starts to build. I can feel it crackling in the air.
"This is justice." Natasha holds up her own detonator. "You took everything from me. Now I take everything from you. Starting with the children you love."
"Let them go," Dante says, his voice deadly quiet. "This is between us."
"Oh, it's too late for negotiations." Natasha presses a button.
A timer appears on a screen behind her.
Five minutes.
"Here's how this works," she says. "The bombs will detonate in five minutes. You can use your telekinesis to save the children, or you can use it to save yourself and Miss Chase. But you can't save everyone. Your power isn't that strong."
"You're wrong," Dante says.
"Am I?" She laughs. "Then prove it. Show me the great Dante Cross can save everyone. Go ahead. Try."
Dante's power explodes outward, reaching for the children.
Natasha presses another button.
Electricity arcs through the room. Dante screams and drops to his knees, his power shorting out.
"Did I forget to mention?" Natasha says sweetly. "The room is lined with anti-magic dampeners. Your telekinesis is useless in here."
She walks toward the exit. "Four minutes, thirty seconds. Choose wisely."
The door slams behind her.
Dante tries to use his power again. Nothing happens.
Sterling stands there, blank-eyed, holding the detonator.
The timer ticks down.
4:15... 4:14... 4:13...
"Dante," I whisper. "What do we do?"
He looks at the children, then at me, then at the bombs.
"I don't know," he sa
ys, and for the first time since I met him, Dante Cross sounds truly helpless.
3:47... 3:46... 3:45...