Chapter 9 · The Road Into Fire

"You are not taking the convoy through the north cut." Gabriel's hand closed around my wrist before I could move the marker. "That route is a kill box."

"Then stop treating the miners like bait."

His fingers tightened. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind me who owned every gun in the room, every truck outside, and the contract still locked around my throat.

I looked down at his hand, then back at his face. "Let go."

"Give me a route that doesn't bury my men."

"Give me one that doesn't bury the families trapped under your old fortress."

The command room had gone silent around us. Officers stood along the steel walls with rifles against their shoulders. A radio hissed near the map table. Somewhere below us, engines growled hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.

Gabriel leaned over the map, his black coat brushing my arm. He smelled like gun oil, smoke, and the sharp soap he used after washing blood from his hands. There was a fresh cut at his temple. I wanted to touch it.

I wanted to slap him instead.

"Those families were in a restricted zone," he said. "They were warned."

"By whom?