She pulled out the Catalyst syringe. The liquid inside looked like crushed pearls. One injection, and the Antidote would be overridden. She’d walk into that penthouse cold and clean, put a round through Voss’s left eye, and feel nothing but professional satisfaction.
The Killing Antidote didn’t save the monster.
She slammed her palm against the bathroom tile. The crack echoed like a gunshot. The Killing Antidote
She took the stairs instead of the elevator, counting steps to quiet her mind. By floor twelve, her hands were trembling. Not from fear—from the absence of it. For the first time, she imagined Voss not as a silhouette on a dossier but as a person. A man who might have a daughter. Who might cry.
Shame.
Somewhere above, Voss poured a drink, unaware that mercy had just passed him by. And somewhere in Lena’s chest, a quiet voice that had been dead since Cairo whispered:
She walked back down the stairs, out the building’s service exit, and into the rain. Elias Voss would live tonight. Not because he deserved to, but because Lena no longer trusted herself to decide who deserved to die. She pulled out the Catalyst syringe
She pocketed the booster.