Matt leaned against the wall of the abandoned dockyard, trying to shake off the weakness in his limbs. The bruises on his ribs felt like they were setting in for good, but that was nothing compared to the ache in his head. His thoughts felt like they were swimming in fog, a thick layer of desperation and doubt clouding everything.
He should have known this was a trap. The moment Sienna had dumped him at that dockyard, he'd realized they were playing Bishop's game—he had wanted to break him, not kill him.
And yet, despite everything, he was still breathing.
Matt's hand twitched at his side, reaching for the bag he'd left behind. There was something in it—a gun, a few spare rounds. But what good would it do? Could he even trust himself anymore? He had always thought of himself as a soldier in the war, but now? He was starting to wonder if he was nothing more than a pawn.
"I don't know if I can do this," he whispered to the wind, but no one answered.
He wasn't sure why, but the thought of Aaron and Leon coming to his aid felt like a betrayal. They were fighting for their lives, and he was standing here, trying to decide if he had the strength to join them. For what? To die in a blaze of glory, or to be destroyed by someone who'd never considered them anything more than a tool?
The sound of footsteps approaching snapped him back to reality. He wasn't alone anymore. Leon was there first, his grim face barely visible in the shadows. His eyes scanned the area, calculating, as always.
"What the hell are you doing, Matt?" Leon asked, his voice flat.
"Waiting for a sign," Matt muttered.
"Well, we don't have time for signs." Leon's hand shot out to grab Matt by the arm, pulling him upright. "Aaron's waiting for you. Now get it together."
Matt didn't argue. There was nothing left to say. The war wasn't over, not by a long shot, and whether he was ready or not, they had to finish it. This time, there was no turning back.