Chapter 3 The First Strike

Evelyn's Pov

The first gunshot shattered the silence, and I flinched hard. Gyran grabbed my arm and yanked me behind a stone pillar just as another bullet tore through the space where my head had been.

"Stay low," he growled, pulled his gun, and fired back through the open doorway. I heard someone scream outside.

"How many?" I asked, my voice shaking but trying to stay steady.

"Too many," Gyran said, grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the back of the entrance hall. "We need to move now."

More gunshots exploded around us. Glass shattered. Wood splintered. My ears were ringing so loud I couldn’t think straight, but I ran anyway because Gyran was pulling me forward, and I trusted him even though I probably shouldn’t.

"Where are we going?" I yelled over the noise.

"Tunnels," he said, kicking open a door that led to what used to be my father’s study. He pulled me inside and slammed it shut behind us.

He moved fast across the room, shoved a massive bookshelf to the side like it weighed nothing, and behind it was a metal door I’d never seen before. He punched in a code, and it clicked open.

"Your father built these years ago," Gyran said, pushing me toward the dark opening. "Get in."

"What about you?" I said, grabbing his arm.

"I’m right behind you," he said, his eyes meeting mine for just a second. Something passed between us that made my stomach flip. "Go."

I ducked into the tunnel. It was pitch black and smelled like earth and rust. I heard Gyran follow behind me, then the metal door slammed shut and locked. We were alone in the darkness.

"Keep moving forward," Gyran said. His voice echoed off the walls. "There’s a light switch about ten feet ahead on the right."

I felt my way along the cold stone wall. My fingers finally found the switch, and I flipped it. Dim yellow lights flickered on above us, and I could see the tunnel stretched out ahead for what looked like miles.

"This goes under the entire estate and comes out near the old barn," Gyran said, starting to walk. "We should be safe for now."

"Should be," I repeated and followed him. "That’s not exactly comforting."

"Nothing about this is comforting," he said without looking back.

We walked in silence for what felt like forever. My legs were shaking, and my heart was still pounding. I kept replaying the sound of the gunshots over and over in my head, wondering if this was what the rest of my life was going to be like now.

Finally, the tunnel ended at another metal door. Gyran opened it slowly, peeked out, and then motioned for me to follow.

We came out in the old barn, which was falling apart just like everything else. There were three black SUVs parked inside and men with guns standing guard. When they saw Gyran, they nodded and stepped aside.

"Where’s Braydon?" Gyran asked one of them.

"Inside," the man said, jerking his head toward the back of the barn.

Gyran led me through the barn, past stacks of weapons and supplies, then pushed open a door to a small room. There he was.

"Braydon," I breathed, running to him.

My brother looked terrible. His face was covered in bruises. There was dried blood on his shirt and a bandage wrapped around his left arm. But when he saw me, his whole face lit up, and he stood and caught me when I threw myself at him.

"Eve," he said, hugging me so tight I could barely breathe. "I didn’t think you’d actually come."

"Of course I came," I said, pulling back to look at him. "You’re my brother, and you said you needed me."

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I’m so sorry for dragging you back into this, for Dad, and for everything."

"It’s not your fault," I said, wiping my eyes because I was crying again. "None of this is your fault."

"He died because of me," Braydon said, sitting back down heavily. "The Shredder wanted to send a message. He knew killing Dad would destroy me, and he was right."

"Then we make him pay," I said, my voice harder than I expected. "We make all of them pay."

Braydon looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time, then shook his head.

"No," he said. "You’re not getting involved in this, Eve. You’re going to stay hidden until we figure out how to end this war."

"I didn’t come all this way to hide," I argued.

"You came back because I asked you to," Braydon said. He stood and crossed his arms. "Now I’m telling you to stay out of it. This isn’t your fight."

"He was my father too," I shot back.

"She can handle herself," Gyran said from the doorway. Both Braydon and I turned to look at him. "Let her train."

"You can’t be serious," Braydon said.

"I’m very serious," Gyran said and looked at me. "She survived three years alone in a city she didn’t know, with no backup and no protection. She’s still standing. So, yeah, I think she can handle some training."

Braydon stared at Gyran for a long moment, then at me, then sighed and rubbed his face.

"Fine," he said. "But if anything happens to her, I’m holding you personally responsible."

"Fair enough," Gyran said.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in the small cot they’d set up for me in one of the barn’s storage rooms, staring at the ceiling and listening to men talking in low voices outside, boots on concrete, and the distant sound of something that might have been gunfire or thunder.

Eventually, I gave up and got dressed. I walked outside. The courtyard was lit by floodlights, and there were at least twenty men standing around, watching Gyran in the center.

He was shirtless and covered in sweat. He was teaching them hand-to-hand combat. Every movement he made was controlled, precise, and deadly. I couldn’t look away.

He moved like water and struck like lightning. The man he was sparring with didn’t stand a chance. Within seconds, he was on the ground tapping out.

Gyran helped him up and said something I couldn’t hear. Then his eyes found mine across the courtyard. He stopped talking and just stared. I felt my face get hot.

He said something else to the men, and they dispersed. Then he walked toward me. I tried to act casual like I hadn’t been standing there watching him for the past ten minutes.

"Can’t sleep?" he asked when he reached me.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Me neither," he said, grabbing a towel from a nearby bench and wiping his face. "Want to learn something useful?"

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like how to shoot properly," he said, tilting his head toward the makeshift shooting range they’d set up along the far wall. "Your form was always terrible."

"My form was not terrible," I protested but followed him anyway.

He handed me a pistol. I checked it like my father taught me, then stood in front of the target and raised the gun.

"Stop," Gyran said, moving behind me. I felt his chest press against my back, his hands coming around to adjust my grip. "Your stance is too wide. You’re gripping too tight and going to miss."

His voice was low and rough in my ear. His breath was warm on my neck. I couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of his body against mine and the way his hands covered mine completely.

"Better," he murmured, guiding my arms up. "Now breathe in, hold it, and squeeze the trigger slowly."

I did what he said. The gun kicked back, and the bullet hit the target dead center. I gasped.

"Good," Gyran said but didn’t move away. "Again."

We did it five more times. Each time he stayed pressed against me, his voice growing softer and rougher, and each time I hit the target. Each time I became more aware of every place our bodies touched.

"You’re a fast learner," he said finally and stepped back. I immediately missed his warmth.

"I had a good teacher," I said, turning to look at him. His eyes were dark and intense, locked on mine.

The moment stretched between us, neither moved. The air felt thick and charged. I opened my mouth to say something but then a window exploded behind us.

Gyran tackled me to the ground and covered me with his body. Another bullet hit the wall where I’d been standing. Men started shouting and running, chaos erupted around us.

But I barely noticed because Gyran was on top of me. His weight pressed me into the concrete. His face was inches from mine, his eyes searched mine. I couldn’t breathe.

"You said I could handle myself," I whispered, my voice shaky.

"Not when I’m this close," he growled, jaw clenched, gaze dropping to my mouth for just a second before he pulled away, stood, and helped me up.