The interrogation room reeked of blood and despair, the concrete walls closing in as Morello pressed the cold barrel of his pistol against Rafe’s temple. Rafe’s face was a mask of bruises and cuts, his good eye half-swollen shut, blood crusting his split lip, but he held his head up, his breathing ragged but steady.

A single goon lingered by the door, watching and waiting. Seraphina’s heart pounded, Rafe had risked everything to save her, and now here he was, bleeding for her, bound by Kael’s vow to keep her alive.

Morello pressed the gun to Rafe’s temple, the barrel cold against his skin. “Last chance, Seraphina,” he said, voice...