They moved into the shadows, next to a Dumpster. Zion pointed to the warehouse, saying, “Cameras are there, there and there. Doors are there and there. Windows there, there, there and there.”

Bane leveled a hard stare at Nola and fisted two hanks of her hair. A possessive hold. “You will stay here? You swear it?”

“I will. I swear.” If she insisted on going in, he wouldn’t be able to stop her. But he would be distracted, worried about keeping her safe, and her gruff warrior would be in more danger. “You swear you’ll come back to me?”

“I will. I swear,” he said, echoing her. “You have your gun?”

“I do.” The “phaser” anchored to her belt was actually a semiautomatic spray-painted silver.

He kissed her, another brief press of his lips against hers, then turned on his heel. “Let’s do this, Zion.”

“I’ll come back, too. Not that you cared enough to make me swear it,” Zion said with a roll of his eyes.

“Great,” she replied. “Maybe bring me a souvenir.”

Bane snorted, a silly sound yet it made her heart soar.

As the two stalked toward the building, cloaked in the shadows and barely discernible, she lost her “everything’s gonna be all right” vibe. Fear choked her.

What if something happened to her guys?

Yes, they’d trained for war. Yes, they knew how to fight, how to survive a worst-case scenario. Yes, this needed to be done, or Erik’s army would make a play against them at the assembly. A play against Vale and Knox, too. But there were hundreds of soldiers in there, who’d trained just as staunchly.

I’m starting to hate Erik. If he hadn’t targeted her friends, Nola would have pursued him as an ally. He was a fellow Earthling, after all. Born and raised here. But he’d continued to strike at them and had earned a top spot on her elimination list.

Different sounds assaulted her ears. The pop, pop of gunfire, ebbing and flowing in waves. Screams erupted. Curses, too. Then grinding metal. Anyone nearby would consider the warehouse a haunted house. But she knew better.

The battle had begun.

I won’t vomit, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.

A squeaky sound caught her attention. It came from inside the Dumpster. She tensed, blood heating, bones icing.

Should she shout for Bane?

Better not distract him. For all she knew, a rat had caused the noise.

When the lid swung open, she pressed a hand over her mouth to silence a squeal. Breath misted in front of her face.

Not a rat, and not a real trash receptacle—an escape hatch? A man in a black T-shirt and jeans climbed out, stepping into a ray of moonlight. Blood smeared his face and hands. He looked from the warehouse to the nearest street, most likely deciding whether to run or go back to help his friends.