The terrace was a tableau of frozen violence. The last of the struggling guards had been subdued, their arms twisted behind their backs by Richard's silent, efficient men. The only sounds were the distant, fading hum of the party and the ragged, shallow breaths of the man trapped before us. The air, once cool and fragrant with night-blooming jasmine, now tasted sharp with ozone and fear.
Darius's arm was still a band of steel around my waist, an anchor in the sudden stillness. He didn't look at me. His entire focus was on Kael, a predator savoring the moment before the kill, but the heat of his body against my back was a constant, grounding presence. It wasn't the cold grip of an owner claiming his property; it was the firm, unyielding stance of a partner protecting what was his.
"Take him," Darius said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "To the north tower. No one sees him. No one speaks to him."
