(LIAM'S POV)
"No!"
The word tore out of my throat like a battle cry. I moved before I could think, before I could reason, before my survival instincts could scream at me to stay down. I stepped in front of Marie and her son, positioning myself between them and the guns. Vi was clutched against my chest, his tiny hands gripping my shirt, his violet eyes wide with fear.
"No!" I shouted again, my voice cracking but fierce. "Leave them alone! They haven't done anything! Please—just leave them alone!"
The guards snapped their rifles toward me. The man in sunglasses tilted his head, a predatory curiosity in his posture. He said something in French, his voice cold and mocking.
I didn't understand the words, but I understood the tone. He was amused. He was toying with me. He was probably saying, 'you again?'
Behind me, Marie was sobbing, her hands gripping my shirt, her whispers frantic. "Liam, non, s'il te plaît, ne fais pas ça, ils vont te tuer..."
