The meeting was arranged in a ruined cathedral outside Prague. Neutral ground.
Elira waited at the altar, draped in black, her face unreadable. A gun on each hip. A dagger in her boot.
She looked like Sienna. Moved like her. But colder.
Sharper.
Sienna entered without fear, flanked by Nico and Colson—but she raised a hand.
"I go alone."
The men hesitated. Then nodded.
Sienna stepped onto broken marble, her voice echoing.
"You know what Lucien wants," she said. "To pit us against each other. Only one survives."
Elira tilted her head.
"That's what he trained me for."
Sienna unholstered her gun.
Tossed it.
"I'm done playing his games," she said. "But I'll fight if I have to."
Elira didn't move.
Then, slowly—smiled.
"You're everything he hates," she whispered. "Emotion. Loyalty. Fire that burns in the wrong direction."
She stepped forward.
"I want that fire."
Sienna tensed. "You want to join me?"
"No," Elira said.
"I want to light the match myself."
She held out a detonator.
Lucien's location. His bunker. Wired and waiting.
"I escaped last week. Planted this where he'd never expect."
Sienna blinked. "Why?"
Elira's eyes glittered.
"Because I was made in his image. But I want to live in yours."
Sienna smiled—and took her sister's hand.
Two weapons. One bloodline.
And a father about to learn what real creation feels like.