Two weeks passed.
Two weeks of beasts breaking from the infected territories in ugly, uneven waves. Two weeks of fire, blood, ash, pheromone strain, sensor alarms, medical rotations, and Andrea Vale behaving beautifully.
That was the problem.
He behaved.
He stood beside Eva. He stabilized her just enough. He remained inside his marked range. He spoke softly, moved carefully, and obeyed Sahan's monitoring with the humility of a man who wanted everyone to believe access had made him grateful.
Nero hated patient men when they were not him.
By the fourteenth day, burning beasts to ash had lost its charm.
Roslew's eastern field smoked under a gray afternoon sky. The last wave had broken against the outer barricades and been pushed back, leaving scorched earth, ruined trees, and the sharp chemical stink of infected blood in the air.
Nero stood on Andrea's left flank, violet eyes fixed ahead, sword still in one hand, the edge dark from beast residue.
No Sebastian.
