The holding tent was a suffocating cage of canvas and mud, the air thick with the metallic tang of my drying blood and the distant rumble of artillery fire that never seemed to end. Miko sat bound beside me, her sleek black cat ears pinned flat against her damp hair in a mix of fury and despair, her tail lashing weakly against the cold dirt floor like a dying snake. The zip-ties bit into our wrists, plastic edges cutting skin, and every breath sent fresh waves of agony through my bullet-torn shoulder. The twins huddled in the far corner—Caz with his tiny claws gripping Ava's arm protectively, their matching golden eyes wide with uncomprehending terror, little ears twitching at every muffled shout from outside. Ava whimpered softly, burying her face in Caz's shoulder, while he stared at us with that haunted look that no two-year-old should ever wear.
The tent flap rustled abruptly, admitting a sharp gust of cold night air heavy with gunpowder, smoke, and the faint, acrid scent of diesel from the idling vehicles beyond. A man stepped inside—tall and imposing, his frame silhouetted against the floodlights outside, a shaved head gleaming under the dim bulb swinging overhead. His Russian uniform was patched with high-ranking insignias—stars and bars that screamed authority—and his face was a map of old scars, one jagged line running from his temple to his jaw like a permanent sneer. His eyes—cold, unyielding steel-gray—swept the cramped space methodically: first Miko, her claws flexing uselessly against her bonds; then the twins, tiny and trembling; finally landing on me, slumped against the canvas wall, blood soaking through my shirt in a widening stain.
He stopped directly in front of me, his mud-caked boots inches from my legs, the faint creak of leather and the jingle of dog tags filling the silence. He tilted his head slightly, as if appraising livestock, and spoke in accented English, voice gravelly and devoid of warmth. "You know Trent? Dimitar?"
The names slammed into me like echoes from a buried past—ghosts I'd thought long exorcised. Trent: the sleazy American who'd tried to kill Miko like a dog back in the States, his end coming swift in a hail of bullets during his escape from police. Dimitar: his brother looked for us in Bulgaria tied to the same ring, the one whose got shot by Akira in a desperate fight for our lives amid kidnappings and chases that had scarred us forever. Self-defense. Survival. But here, in this godforsaken war zone, it felt like judgment day.
"Yeah," I rasped, my voice raw and ragged from pain and thirst, blood bubbling faintly in my throat with each word. "I knew them. Killed them too."
The man's lips curled into a thin, humorless smile that didn't reach his eyes, revealing yellowed teeth. He crouched down to my level, the scent of cheap tobacco and sweat washing over me. "Dimitar and Trent—my best men. Loyal like brothers. Efficient killers. They brought in hybrids, information, whatever we needed. You killed them. Snuffed them out like candles in the wind. Left their families broken. Now… this is how you end. Poetic, no? Full circle in the mud."
Realization crashed over me like a tidal wave of ice water, chilling me to the core despite the fever building from my wound. This wasn't random capture. Not some front-line interrogation. Revenge—cold, calculated, personal. My heart hammered against my ribs, vision blurring at the edges. "Wait—please. At least spare Miko. The twins. They're just kids. Innocents. They had nothing to do with it."
He laughed then—a short, bitter bark that echoed off the canvas walls, making the twins flinch and whimper louder. "No. Sins of the father—or the killer—stain the bloodline. Families pay the price. All of you. It's how we balance the scales."
He straightened, barking a sharp order in Russian to the guards outside. Soldiers flooded the tent—rough, uniformed men with rifles slung over shoulders, faces shadowed under helmets. They hauled us to our feet with brutal efficiency, ignoring Miko's snarls and slashes, my pained grunts as they jostled my shoulder. The twins cried out, tiny voices piercing the night as hands grabbed their small arms. We were dragged outside into the floodlit mud of the camp, the ground slick and churned into a quagmire by boots and tires. The air buzzed with activity—rifles clinking, radios crackling in Russian, distant artillery rumbling like an approaching storm that never broke.
They lined us up against a makeshift wall of stacked sandbags, the coarse fabric rough against my back. The squad—five soldiers, faces impassive—raised their rifles in unison, barrels glinting under the harsh lights. Miko stood defiant beside me, her golden eyes locked on mine, a silent torrent of love, regret, and everything we'd never get to say passing between us. The twins were held back, squirming and sobbing, but close enough to see.
Me first. The man nodded once. I met Miko's gaze one last time—our life flashing: the roommate days, the escapes, the wedding by the river.
Bang. The shot punched into my chest like a sledgehammer, fire exploding inward, ribs cracking as the bullet tore through lung and muscle. Blood filled my mouth, hot and coppery; I crumpled to the mud, vision tunneling, the world tilting into a haze of pain and fading light.
Miko screamed—a raw, animal wail that cut through the night—and somehow broke free, her claws slashing a guard's arm in a spray of blood. She threw herself over me, hugging tight, her warmth the last anchor in the spinning void. "I love you—always—"
Bang. The bullet tore into her back with a wet thud, her body jerking against mine. She went limp, black cat ears drooping over my chest, tail falling still, her vanilla scent mingling with the iron reek of blood.
The twins were next. Soldiers turned, rifles shifting—but the spot where they'd been held was empty. Gone. Vanished into the shadows like ghosts.
The man snarled, his composure cracking for the first time, barking furious orders in Russian. Soldiers shouted in confusion, flashlights sweeping the mud and tents in frantic arcs. "Where are the kits? Find them! Search everywhere!"
But us? We were already discarded. They dragged our bodies—Miko's fur still warm against my fading skin, her weight a final, heartbreaking comfort—and tossed us unceremoniously into a muddy pit at the camp's edge, dirt and darkness closing in like a grave. The last echoes of chaos faded: shouts, boots pounding, the man's voice cursing the escape.
At least the main threat… neutralized. Scales balanced. In blood.
**Caz's POV**
The night swallowed us whole as we fled the Russian camp, distant explosions painting the sky in fleeting bursts of orange and red like dying stars falling to earth. Akira carried us both with desperate strength—Ava clutched tight to her chest, her tiny face buried in Akira's shirt, muffled sobs shaking her small frame; me slung over her back, chubby claws digging into her shoulders for grip, heart pounding as the world blurred past in shadows and mud. Akira's black cat ears were pinned flat against her head, her tail dragging limply through the underbrush and ditches we stumbled through, her breaths coming in ragged, labored gasps as she pushed onward, away from the front lines, away from the nightmare we'd just escaped.
Gunshots echoed faintly behind us—sharp cracks that twisted my gut like a knife, each one a final, irreversible punctuation. Mommy. Daddy. Gone. We'd slipped away in the swirling chaos—Akira appearing like a ghost from the shadows, scooping us up while the soldiers' attention locked on the adults, her voice a broken whisper: "Run—now." Tears had streaked her face even then, golden eyes shattered with grief, but she'd held it together long enough to get us out, dodging patrols and floodlights in a frantic sprint through the perimeter.
Miles blurred into aching exhaustion—the front lines fading to whispers of booms and gunfire, the air growing cooler and quieter under a canopy of trees. Akira finally collapsed against a gnarled oak at the edge of a forgotten field, sliding down the trunk to the damp grass, us tumbling gently into her lap. She tried to hold it together at first—ears twitching erratically, forcing a shaky, trembling smile as she stroked our heads with trembling hands. "It's okay… we're safe now… shh…"
But then the dam broke. Sobs wracked her body like convulsions, her tail curling tight around us as she rocked back and forth, pulling us closer in a protective embrace. Hot tears splashed onto our fur, her voice cracking into fragmented whispers between gasps. "It's my fault… all of it. I did this. I saved Lilly… brought her back, dragged her into our home. If I'd just listened… stayed put like you all said… they'd still be alive. Miko… your mom… my sister… and him… gone because of me. I caused this. I ruined everything."
Ava whimpered louder, her tiny claws clutching Akira's shirt, face buried deeper as if to hide from the words. I stared at the dark horizon, heart numb and heavy, the weight of our reincarnated lives crashing down harder than ever. James's old world—wires and falls—felt distant now, replaced by this fresh hell. We huddled there, lost in the endless night, Akira's cries the only sound in the void. Family shattered. Again.