The city of San Francisco didn't know it yet, but its lights were about to go out.
The engine of the SUV purred like a predatory beast as I tore down the winding roads away from the burning wreckage, the tires biting aggressively into the wet asphalt. Beside me, Marcus kept one hand on his weapon and the other pressed firmly against Miller's neck, trying to stem the rhythmic, terrifying pulse of blood that threatened to drain his life right into the leather seats.
"He's still with us, Asher—Sovereign," Marcus corrected himself quickly, his voice tight, his knuckles white against Miller's torn tactical vest. "The pulse is thready, but he's fighting. The neuro-shock from that gas is slowing his heart rate down, which might actually be keeping him from bleeding out entirely."
"He stays alive, Marcus," I said, my voice empty of any human warmth. "Miller doesn't get to die until I say so."
