The red laser dots danced on my black silk gown like hungry spirits.
In the pitch-black darkness of the club, Alistair's silver-rimmed glasses caught the faint glint of the fireplace. He stood there, calm and academic, while forty rifles were aimed at our hearts.
"Drop the weapon, Mr. Blackwood," Alistair said, his voice as gentle as a Sunday lecture. "I taught Elara everything she knows. I know her pulse, her reflexes, and exactly how long it takes for her to reach for that blade in her boot. You cannot win this."
Darius didn't drop his gun. Instead, he stepped even closer to me, his massive frame completely obscuring the snipers' line of sight to my vital organs.
"You taught her how to heal, old man," Darius growled, his voice a low, vibrating threat. "I taught her how to survive. And I don't give a damn about your lasers."
"Darius, move," I whispered, my hand resting on the small of his back. I could feel his heart beating—steady, fierce, and entirely unafraid.
"No," he replied, his jaw locked.
I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear. "Trust me. I'm a doctor. I know exactly where the gas valves are located in a three-hundred-year-old building like this."
I didn't wait for his permission. I reached into the hidden pocket of my trench coat and pulled out a small, pressurized vial of concentrated liquid nitrogen—a medical cooling agent I had modified in our private lab.
"Alistair!" I shouted, drawing the professor's attention. "You taught me that the heart is the center of life. But you forgot that in London, the lungs are the center of the building."
I smashed the vial against the ancient stone fireplace.
CRACK!
The sudden, violent drop in temperature caused the gas-powered chandeliers to hiss and sputter. A thick, white fog of frozen vapor and leaked gas instantly filled the room, obscuring the snipers' thermal vision.
"Fire!" Alistair commanded, his voice losing its calm.
Puff. Puff. Puff.
The suppressed shots echoed through the fog. Darius reacted with the speed of a predator. He tackled me to the floor, his body acting as a human shield as we rolled behind a heavy mahogany bar.
"Are you hit?" I gasped, my hands frantically searching his tactical vest for blood.
"I've had worse," Darius grunted, though I saw a dark stain spreading on his shoulder. He ignored the pain, his eyes burning with a terrifying, protective fire. "Dante! Breach! Now!"
The floor-to-ceiling windows of the club shattered inward.
The Ghost Unit didn't come through the doors; they came through the glass. Smoke grenades filled the room with acrid gray clouds, turning the private club into a war zone.
I didn't stay behind the bar. I drew my scalpels, my movements a blur of lethal precision. Through the fog, I saw one of the Council's executioners reloading. I didn't throw the blade; I lunged, sliding the steel between his cervical vertebrae. He dropped without a sound.
"Elara! Behind you!"
Alistair was standing by the secret exit, a small, elegant derringer in his hand. He wasn't aiming for me—he was aiming for the gas main I had cracked open.
He wanted to blow the entire club to hell.
"Goodbye, my favorite student," Alistair smiled.
But he was too slow.
Darius didn't use his gun. He threw his tactical knife with a roar of pure, unadulterated rage. The blade buried itself in Alistair's hand just as he pulled the trigger.
The shot went wide, hitting a velvet curtain instead of the gas line.
Before Alistair could react, Darius was on him. He slammed the professor against the wall, his hand crushing the old man's throat.
"You tried to kill her," Darius whispered, his face inches from Alistair's. "I'm going to make sure your medical knowledge is the only thing left of you when I'm done."
"Darius, wait!" I shouted, running toward them. "We need him alive! He knows the location of the Council's High Seat!"
Darius froze, his knuckles white, his chest heaving. The struggle between his desire to kill for me and his duty to protect our mission was visible in every muscle of his body.
Slowly, he loosened his grip, letting Alistair slump to the floor, gasping for air.
Darius turned to me, his eyes softening as he reached out to wipe a smudge of soot from my forehead.
"He's alive," Darius rasped. "But if he so much as looks at you again, Elara, I'm burning Oxford to the ground."
I looked at my mentor, then at the man who would burn the world for me.
"London is falling, Darius," I said, looking at the chaos around us. "And the Shadow Council is next."