Chapter 13 - A Fragile Truce
The ballroom was a war zone. Overturned tables, shattered glass, and terrified civilians cowering in corners. Cassian was pinned behind a massive marble pillar, exchanging fire with three of Silas’s mercenaries. He was bleeding from a graze on his shoulder, his ammunition running dangerously low.
Silas paced the upper balcony, screaming orders. "Flank him! He's out of rounds!"
Cassian ejected his empty magazine, realizing with cold certainty that he was out of options. He closed his eyes, preparing for the final breach.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out from the service corridor. One of the mercenaries flanking Cassian dropped to the floor, clutching his leg.
Cassian’s eyes snapped open. Standing in the doorway, barefoot, holding a smoking 9mm, was Elara. Her emerald dress was torn, her hair wild, and her eyes blazing with absolute defiance.
"I thought I told you to run," Cassian yelled over the chaos, a wild, breathless laugh escaping his chest.
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"I don't take orders well!" Elara shouted back, tossing him a spare magazine Marcus had given her.
Cassian caught it flawlessly, slamming it into his weapon and returning fire. With the element of surprise, Marcus and the loyalists breached the main doors, shifting the tide of the battle in an instant.
