“Killing you,” he hissed back.

The Codex translated his words in the silence, its strange, monotone voice echoing through the chamber.

“That gun will make a loud noise,” Cade said. “Like the cannons. My friends will come running.”

Atticus grinned. “I’m counting on it. I can deal with them too.”

“Wasting four bullets, and four fighters,” Cade said, shaking his head. “You’re dumber than I thought.”

Atticus chuckled and took a step closer. “I don’t need either. I am sure that this Abaddon will strike the same deal with me—I heard everything. And with you out of the way, I will get all the credit. And with this … gun, Marius’s reign will be over before it has even begun.”

“I thought you were different, Atticus.” Cade shook his head. “You had me fooled.”

Atticus cocked his head to the side. “It’s nothing personal. I am simply a pragmatic man.” He chuckled. “Well, I confess to taking some pleasure in this act. But I have also misjudged you. Even in the face of death, you are as calm as any man I’ve seen. Perhaps you would have amounted to something someday. A shame.”

“Last chance,” Cade said, pulling his blade free from its scabbard on his shoulder.

Atticus laughed. “Goodbye, Cade.”

He pulled the trigger.

But the only sound was Cade’s blade as it thrummed through the air, taking Atticus through the throat. The gun clattered to the ground, and Cade released his sword as it stuck the man. Atticus staggered back, clutching at the blade. Cade snatched up the pistol, disgusted by it.

Only a weapon like this would have tempted betrayal. There was something insidious in its power.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Cade said. “We were so close to … so close.”

The man only stared at him as he backed into the wall, his eyes wide with shock.

Cade turned the gun sideways and clicked back the safety catch. He had seen it was on when he’d tried to fire the gun earlier. When he struck with his blade, he’d only hoped the gun would not fire. But he hadn’t been sure until now.

Atticus sank slowly to the ground, his attempts to speak blocked by the blade in his gullet.

Cade told himself that Atticus deserved this.

He had threatened his friends. Threatened Amber.

Cade lifted the pistol, pointing it at Atticus’s chest. Then he lowered it and yanked the blade free in a spray of blood.

“I won’t waste a bullet on you,” he said, averting his eyes.

The man gurgled, clutching at his throat, even as blood poured between his fingers. As Atticus’s life twitched away, Cade turned his back, unable to watch.

“Atticus is dead,” Cade announced.

The legionaries in Imhotep’s chamber who were hauling Cleopatra’s embalmed body through stopped in their tracks.

The men stared at Cade, shocked, and only now did Cade notice the blood that had stained his sword arm and chest.

“Why?” one of the legionaries asked simply, his single word translated by the Codex.