I press my forehead against the cool ss, watching the chaos unfold below like some demented circus performance. The Knight is making steady progress climbing out of his pit, and I have to admit, there’s something darkly amusing about watching Niki’s men scramble around like ants trying in vain to contain him.


    They’re hurling chains at him now, as if that’s going to do anything. Even from up here, I can see how ineffective their efforts are. The Knight just keeps climbing, those haunting blue eyes fixed on the tower.


    Fixed on me.


    I should be freaking out right now. This is the monster that’s haunted my dreams since I can remember. But watching him systematically destroy Niki’s little ant farm still brings a smile to my lips.


    A sh of gold catches my eye and I lean closer to the window. Someone on a motorcycle that looks like it was dipped in liquid sunshine is approaching thepound. As they skid to a stop in a cloud of dust, I can’t help but stare.


    The rider dismounts with the kind of dramatic flourish I haven’t seen since attending ys at the Capital theater. He’s dressed like a fairy tale prince who got lost on his way to the ball and ended up in the wastnd by mistake. The first actually tasteful clothes I’ve seen since I got kidnapped. Even from here, I can tell he’s drop-dead gorgeous with long, golden waves cascading over broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build.


    I watch, fascinated, as he strides toward Niki like he hasn’t just strutted onto a fucking battlefield. I expect him to shoot, or for Niki to go for the equally golden and ostentatious revolver on his hip, but instead, they just…


    Bicker.


    A lot.


    There’s history there. I can see it in the way they move around each other, like dancers in a particrly hostile ballet. The pretty neer’s gestures are grand and theatrical, while Niki looks like he’s trying very hard not to strangle him.


    Is this Niki’s jealous ex or something?


    It’s the only exnation that makes sense. The tension between them is thick enough to cut with a knife, and the way they’re bitching at each other reminds me of the old married couples I used to watch fighting in the Capital’s gardens.


    Huh. Maybe it’s just the heat talking, but I wouldn’t mind watching that turn to angry makeup sex under less apocalyptic circumstances.


    A deafening roar draws my attention back to the pit. The Knight has finally broken free. The remaining chains snap like thread as he hauls himself up and out of the pit.


    All hell breaks loose the moment his iron boot hits the ground.


    Men start running in every direction, their screams mixing with the sound of Niki barking orders. I catch glimpses of Lex trying to organize some kind of defense, but it’s clearly futile. The Knight is unstoppable, each heavy step bringing him closer to the tower.


    Closer to me.


    Movement below catches my eye again. The pretty blond man has drawn a gun on Niki—which is admirably dramatic but seems like a terrible idea, all things considered—but before he can fire, something strange happens.


    Niki yells at him.


    And the pretty one just… drops to his knees.


    Niki didn’t shoot him.


    Didn’t even touch him.


    So what the hell just happened?


    I don’t have time to ponder it because a new sound cuts through the chaos. A deep, mechanical rumbling that makes the windows vibrate. I scan the horizon and spot a massive shape emerging from a cloud of dust.


    My heart leaps into my throat as the armor ted vehicle takes shape within the dust, making an unmistakable beeline for the airport.


    ‘Is that a fucking tank?’ I whisper in disbelief.


    It is.


    It absolutely is.


    A honest-to-god tank, rolling toward the chaos at full throttle like the world’s most aggressive party crasher.


    For a split second, I feel a surge of hope that Azarel has finally showed up to save me from this circus, but I immediately squash that thought.


    Azarel would never be caught dead in a tank.


    He might be a closed book emotionally, but he has style.


    I take a step back from the window, trying to process everything happening at once. The Knight is steadily making his way toward the tower, crushing everything in his path. Niki’s men are either fleeing or being tossed around like ragdolls. The pretty boy is recovering from whatever weird thing just happened to him.


    And now there’s a tank involved.


    A hystericalugh bubbles up from my chest.


    Of all the ways I imagined dying—torn apart by the monster from my dreams, murdered by my father’s enemies, poisoned by one of Monty’s rivals, or finally deciding enough is enough and taking shit into my own hands—this has to be the stupidest. Caught in the crossfire between my kidnapper, what appears to be his ex-lover, the demon that’s been hunting me my whole life, and a fucking tank. With Azarel nowhere to be found.


    I always knew my death would be dramatic.


    But did it really have to be so tacky?