Desmond knew my routine. He knew I stayed in the company apartments and that every Friday, I took the shortcut through the alley.

Clearly, he hadn’t been staking me out for the first time.

The alley was deserted at night. With Seven clinging to my back, I didn't want to play the hero. I spun on my heel, ready to sprint back toward the main road.

Kylian Gomez was faster. He covered the distance in two strides, his voice dripping with venom.

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have ended up in that hellhole! Ruining you is the only way I'll feel even."

A switchblade caught the moonlight, a thin, jagged line of silver before it lunged for my chest.

I panicked, shielding my back where Seven was huddled. I had to take it head-on.

But before the blade could connect, a shadow collided with me, yanking me into a crushing embrace.

Desmond.

The blade buried itself deep into his back, inches from his shoulder blade.

A stifled grunt tore from his throat.

Hot liquid instantly soaked through his shirt, slick and heavy, scorching my skin.

My breath hitched. I scrambled to catch his weight, my legs trembling under the sudden burden.

Kylian pulled back to strike again, but Desmond didn't look back. He just held me against his chest with a death grip, shielding me with his own body.

Seven let out a sharp, feral wail. The sound snapped Kylian out of his bloodlust; he glanced back at the alley entrance, terror crossing his face, and scrambled into the darkness.

The commotion brought people running. Kylian didn't get far.

Desmond’s hand found mine, his grip weakening. "Don't be afraid," he whispered, his voice strained. "I've got you."

Only then did I realize my limbs had turned to stone. The world had gone cold, and I couldn't feel a thing.