Page 76 of The Sentinel

Ryker didn’t flinch, just crossed his arms, his face carved from stone. “She wouldn’t stay put.”

I turned on Claire, closing the gap between us in two strides, my chest heaving. “You shouldn’t be here. This is my work—this has to be done!”

She didn’t back down, didn’t blink, just squared her shoulders and met my glare head-on. “No, Marcus, it doesn’t.” Her voice was steady, cutting through my fury like a blade. “Look at him. He doesn’t know anything.”

I laughed, sharp and bitter, gesturing at Gibson’sslumped form. “He was there, Claire. The night Diego died. He knows something.”

She stepped closer, her eyes searching mine. “He’s an assistant. A nobody. You think Hart would trust him with anything real? He’s scared, bleeding, and still telling you the same story, right? Because it’s all he’s got.” She shook her head, voice softening but firm. “This isn’t how Diego would’ve wanted it. Or your father.”

Her words hit like a gut punch, and I hated her for it. Hated how they sank in, hooking into the cracks I’d been ignoring. I turned away, fists clenching, ready to go back to Gibson, to pound until something—anything—gave.

“You don’t get it,” I growled, stepping toward him, my shadow falling over his crumpled body.

“She’s right,” Ryker said, voice low, cutting through the haze. I froze, glancing back at him. He met my eyes, unflinching. “There’s a better way.”

“How?” I snapped, desperation bleeding into my tone. “Tell me how, Ryker, because I’m out of fucking moves here!”

He shrugged, slow, deliberate. “I don’t know. But maybe Claire’s people can help where we’ve failed.”

I looked at Claire, my chest tight, my hands still slick with Gibson’s blood. Her face was set, determined, but there was something else there—something pleading, like she was begging me to listen, to stop. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, voice rough, almost breaking.

She took a breath, stepping closer, her gaze locking onto mine. “I have an idea.”

29

CLAIRE

Ihad chased monsters my entire career, but tonight, I had walked straight into the dark and found the man I couldn’t bear to lose becoming one.

Wasn’t it ironic?

I could only hope I had arrived before it was too late.

Before we left, Ryker made a quick call, his voice low and clipped as he gave instructions. Sinclair wouldn’t be left to bleed out alone in that concrete box. One of their men would clean him up, patch what needed patching, and keep him under watch until they decided what to do with him.

The van, still parked outside the black site, was being handled, too. Ryker had left the keys with one of their guys, ensuring it would be wiped down and moved before anyone started asking the wrong questions.

Efficient. Precise. Like this was just another night at the office.

As we pulled onto the highway, though, the scent of blood still thick on Marcus, I wasn’t sure anyone had walked away from this unscathed.

Gibson Sinclair’s face—swollen, bloody, barely recognizable.

Marcus’s fists—red, raw, shaking with restrained fury.

The moment I’d stepped between them, put my body between Marcus and the wreckage of what used to be a man.

I should have been scared of him. The way he’d looked at me, eyes full of something unhinged, his body thrumming with the need to destroy. But I wasn’t. Not even for a second.

Because I understood it.

The need to do something. When the world takes everything from you, when justice feels like a ghost you can never quite touch—you lash out. You burn everything down just to feel the heat.

I knew that feeling too well. But I also knew it wasn’t going to get us what we needed.

And now? Now, I had a plan.

Dominion Hall was eerily silent when we arrived.

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