"You really thought you'd die quietly?" Zoya's heel clicked twice on the concrete. A wooden crate toppled and hit the floor hard. Ella spat blood into the dust. "You always loved drama," she said. Zoya smiled. "Drama suits me." Her voice was soft. "And endings are my specialty." "You're not a god," Ella said. Her voice rasped. "You're a rich bully with too much time." Zoya crouched so her face was close. "Rich enough to buy your silence. Cruel enough to enjoy it." Her fingers toyed with a syringe tucked at her hip. "Let her go," one of the guards said. "We were told—" "Told nothing," Zoya cut him off. "You obey orders. You lock doors. You look pretty while you do it." A guard pushed the chain on the warehouse door into place and threw the padlock. Metal clanged. The sound filled the hollow room. Ella dragged herself toward the bundle on the floor. She could feel her ribs burning. Her right hand found the baby’s blanket and closed around it like a vice. "Don't touch her," Zoya snapped. "You think that changes anything? People will forget you. People will move on." Ella's fingers tightened. "Not this one," she said. Her voice lost volume but not meaning. "Not him." Zoya laughed. "He'll rot or he'll die. Either way, you won't be the hero brushing off the blood." "He's not a prop," Ella said. Her mouth went dry. The