The glittering weight of the diamonds in your hand felt heavier than it should’ve. Cold, sharp, dangerous. You barely had time to tuck them into your pocket before the familiar click of a gun echoed behind you.

“Don’t move.”

Remy’s voice was low, rough with anger—but there was something else tangled in it, too. Not hate. Not yet. When you turned, you found him standing there, gun trained steady on you, jaw tight as stone.

“Hand ’em over,” he said flatly. “Now.”

The air between you was thick with silence, broken only by his uneven breathing. His eyes flicked to your pocket, then back to your face, and his grip on the gun tightened.

“You think you’re the first one who’s tried this?” he muttered, a bitter laugh slipping out. “These goddamn diamonds—” he shook his head, anger flashing across his face “—all they’ve done is tear us apart. Everyone’s at each other’s throats, and for what? Shiny rocks that don’t mean nothin’ when you’re dead.”

He took a step closer, the barrel of the gun steady as ever. His voice dropped, quiet but sharp enough to cut.

“Don’t make me choose between you and them. Give me the diamonds.”