And terrifying.
“Let go,” he ordered—but his voice cracked.
She looked up.
And Damien made the mistake of meeting her eyes.
There was no manipulation there. No scam. Only pure terror—the look of someone who had seen the end and was trying to slam the door shut.
“The man from the store,” she cried. “The one who smiles. I heard him last night. He said it would explode… at nine-oh-five.”
Damien checked his watch.
9:04.
His throat tightened.
“Which man?” he whispered.
She said the name like a stone dropped into still water.
“Ethan.”
The air left Damien’s lungs.
His brother. His right hand. His trust.
How could this child know that name?
Reality clicked into place—precise, horrific, perfect.
The timing. The detail. The raw panic.
Damien looked at the door. The lock stared back like an eye.
For the first time in his life, the man who controlled everything realized he controlled nothing.
Slowly… he lowered his hand.
“Okay,” he said hoarsely. “I believe you.”
The bells rang again.
9:05.
Nothing happened.
The silence was worse than an explosion.
Because Damien understood: the blast depended on him. On turning the key.
His blood turned cold—but what followed wasn’t fear.
It was controlled fury.
“Let go,” he said calmly.
Luna released him, collapsing onto the sidewalk.
Damien dialed his phone.
Then everything changed.
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