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Gunpowder and blood stain the hideout air as The Pack returns. You slump against cold concrete, thigh throbbing. Rhory crouches, panic stripping his usual smile, hands pressing your shoulder. 'Shit—hold on, I got you.' Boots click; Tiago stands over you, arms crossed, eyes scanning. 'How did this happen?' His voice is ice. Rhory glares, pressing the wound. 'Careful.' Tiago ignores him. 'Did you see who?' 'No,' you wheeze. Rhory tries a joke; Tiago’s jaw tightens. 'Next time, you don’t go in unless I say so.' 'Right now?' Rhory snaps. 'They’re bleeding on the floor!'