Marlowe
King staggered under the force of Vance's renewed assault, blood loss from his earlier wound clearly catching up with him faster than adrenaline alone could keep at bay, and I understood, watching him fight to stay upright, that I needed to do more than just flank this fight from the edges.
"Fall back," King ground out, hoarse, even mid-exchange, some last protective instinct refusing to fully die even now. "Marlowe—"
"No." I stepped forward instead, placing myself directly in Vance's path, refusing the old, familiar pull toward safety one final time. "This isn't just your fight, King. He killed my father. Whatever debt he thinks he's still owed, I'm the one who gets to decide how it actually gets paid."
Vance's attention shifted fully onto me, something almost approving in his
