The syringe was already full when I walked into the kennel block. Pentobarbital, drawn up clean and capped, the plunger taped so it wouldn't shift in transit.

The single shot echoed through the red-lit basement, ending Rener's life in an instant.

I sat on the floor, my hand gripping Bishop's collar, my chest heaving as the harsh reality of the situation washed over me. This wasn't a corporate dispute anymore. This was a full-scale assault.

Voss turned around immediately, stepping over Rener's body without a second glance. He walked straight to where I was sitting, dropping to one knee in front of me.

His hands grabbed my shoulders—firm, urgent, checking me for injuries.

"Are you hit?" he demanded, his hazel eyes searching my face in the dim red light. "Ren, look at me. Are you hurt?"

"I'm... I'm fine," I stammered, my voice trembling. "I'm okay. Bishop's okay."

Voss let out a long breath, his thumbs brushing lightly across my cheekbones, wiping away a fleck of dust from the gunfire. The touch was astonishingly tender coming from a man who had just executed his chief of security.

"Listen to me," Voss said, his voice low and intense. "Rener wasn't lying about the breach team. If he cut the power, the outer gate security is compromised. Philadelphia is coming to clear this house."

"What about Eli?" I gasped, panic rising in my throat. "The transport—"

"Eli is safe," Voss interrupted firmly. "I had Dominic move him to a secure medical holding facility in uptown Manhattan two hours ago. Nobody knows where he is except me."

Relief flooded through me so hard I almost collapsed against his chest. He had secured my brother before the storm even hit.

Voss stood up, pulling a tactical radio from Rener's belt and checking the channels.

"Dominic," Voss spoke into the mic. "Rener is down. Code Black on the main entrance. Fall back to the glasshouse perimeter."

"Copy that, Boss," Dominic's voice crackled through the speaker over the sound of distant gunfire from the main driveway. "We have six armed units breaching the south lawn. Holding them at the tree line!"

Voss looked at me, then down at Bishop, who was standing beside me, his fur bristling, ready for a fight.

"The sub-level tunnel leads directly out to the forest path behind the glasshouse," Voss said, pointing to a heavy wooden door at the back of the holding cell. "Take the keycard from my desk. Take Bishop and get to the tree line. Dominic's men will escort you to the Manhattan safehouse."

"What about you?" I asked, standing up.

Voss pulled a fresh magazine from his pocket, slapping it into his pistol with a sharp clack.

"This is my estate," Voss said, a dark, lethal smile touching his lips. "I don't run from trash in my own house."

"I'm not leaving you here alone," I said instantly.

Voss stopped, looking at me with shock. "Ren, this isn't your war. You're a vet tech."

"I'm the person who figured out your house was being betrayed," I argued back, stepping closer to him. "And Bishop knows these grounds better than any of your guards. He can spot an ambush in the dark before your thermal scopes even pick it up."

Bishop let out a short, low bark, as if agreeing with every word I said.

Voss stared at me for three long seconds. The red light reflected in his eyes, showing a mixture of disbelief, admiration, and something far deeper—a ferocious, protective warmth that he could no longer hide.

"You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met in my life," Voss murmured, his voice rich and low.

"I've been told," I replied.

Voss racked his slide once more. "Stay behind me. If I say run, you run. Understand?"