His eyes widened.
“Run,” he whispered. He turned and dragged the soldier with him, back down the corridor. Run, and yet he felt like his legs were knee-deep in honey. Like he was in a nightmare, and everything was slow and resistant.
He counted five pulses, five beats in his ears, before the grenade exploded.
It blew out the walls.
Roman and the soldier went down, where they both remained dazed, sprawled over the floor. Pieces of the house were scattered around them. Dust coated their clothes, snuck down their throats, making them both cough.
Roman lay on his back, stunned. He stared up at the crystal chandelier that dangled crooked on the ceiling above him. Glittering through the smoke.
His ears were ringing, but he could hear the crack of gunshots.
We need to get out.
A shadow rippled over him, blocking the view of the chandelier. Roman wheezed as he felt someone take hold of his shirt, pulling him up from the rubble.
“Round up any survivors,” the stranger said, tightening his grip. There was a bright red anemone pinned to his waistcoat. “It’s time the people of Oath witness justice.”
* * *
Iris was almost to her flat when she heard footsteps echoing off the piles of rubble. It sounded like someone was running after her. She stiffened, glancing over her shoulder to scan the growing shadows.
The sun was setting, and Iris had decided to return home, hoping to find it still standing and her brother safe within its walls. After parting ways with Helena, she had witnessed firsthand the unpredictability of the streets. She had seen valiant recovery efforts as people drew survivors from collapsed buildings as well as chaos as the Graveyard ran rampant with their guns.
“Forest?” she called.
The footsteps grew louder. She could see someone sprinting down a side street, heading in her direction. When they finally emerged into the clearing, the light spilled over them.
Iris’s breath snagged.
The person was wearing a mask. A member of the Graveyard. They had a broad set of shoulders beneath their dark clothes, betraying a strong build. And they were running directly at her.
Iris spun and dashed toward the closest rubble pile. She could feel the distance closing between them, and her heart was frantic as she ripped a piece of pipe from the debris, pivoting to face her attacker.
“Miss Winnow!” the man cried in a rough voice as she threatened to strike him with the pipe. He held up his hands and came to a stop. “Miss Winnow, it’s me.”
She gaped at the stranger. She had no idea who he was, and she kept the pipe between them.
He relented to pull off his mask.
It was Mr. Kitt’s associate. The man who had once followed and threatened her. Handed her money to null her vows to Roman.
“Get away from me!” She swung the pipe again.
He easily dodged it. “Listen!” he shouted. “We don’t have time. I need your help.”
Iris didn’t trust him. She began to bolt again, slipping past him, until his words chased after her.
“It’s Roman! They’re about to kill him on the firing line.”
Iris halted. Her blood went cold as she turned on her heel. “Who is about to kill him?”
The associate stepped closer. “The Graveyard. He was captured among Dacre’s soldiers, and they are taking no prisoners. I couldn’t convince my comrades to let him go. They want proof of his innocence. Do you have anything? Anything at all that could keep him alive?”
Iris’s thoughts reeled at this revelation, but she bit her tongue, focusing. She had all his letters that he had written to her from Dacre’s side. She still had the Hawk Shire letter, even though Roman had once beseeched her to burn my words.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I have a letter. In my flat, if it survived.”
Mr. Kitt’s associate broke into motion, taking her hand and pulling her through the rubble. He was strong, kicking debris out of their way, cutting through the remains of a collapsed house to get them to their destination faster. Iris didn’t know if she should be thankful or afraid that this man knew exactly where she lived, but when they finally reached her street, every thought and feeling melted away.
Her apartment building still stood.
She dashed tears from her eyes as she raced up the stairs. The front door hung open; it was dark inside, the electricity still out.
“Forest?” she cried, ragged. But there was no sign of her brother. Only Val’s dead body lay on the living room floor, and she leapt over the corpse to rush into her room.
Mr. Kitt’s associate lingered just outside the door, but she could hear his labored breaths.