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“I can help,” she protested, her whisper fierce despite its softness. Her grip tightened on the dagger.

“I know you can,” he whispered back, and he meant it. He had seen what she was capable of. “But I need you to secure our escape. There might be more men who will barrel down on us at any moment. And if you’re fighting alongside me, they might block our escape route.”

She hesitated, and he could see the internal struggle playing out across her features.

Finally, she nodded, though reluctance was evident in every line of her body.

Smart girl.

She offered him the dagger, but he shook his head. “Keep it. There might be more men outside.”

“But you—”

“No buts.” Gideon nudged her toward the wall to keep her out of sight from the guards. Then he turned away and took a deep breath, filling his lungs despite the protest from his damaged ribs.

He could feel his heart rate slowing as battle calm settled over him.

He gathered all his remaining strength for this crucial moment, drawing on reserves he wasn’t sure he possessed. The pain in his body seemed to fade, pushed aside by the desperate need to survive.

Quietly, he stepped into the main hall. The floorboards creaked softly under his weight, but the men at the table were too engrossed in their game to notice.

Now.

In three long strides, he closed the distance to his targets. His approach was so swift and unexpected that the men remained unaware they were being attacked until the very last moment.

The lean man with graying hair began to turn, some instinct finally alerting him to danger. His mouth started to open, probably to shout a warning, but Gideon was already on him.

He grabbed the man by the head and twisted his neck in one violent motion.

The man’s body went instantly limp, cards spilling from his slack fingers as he fell, lifeless, to the floor.

One down.

The second man—the broad-shouldered one—was rising from his seat, his hand reaching for the weapon at his hip. But Gideon was faster. Ignoring the spike of agony that shot through his skull as he moved too quickly, he snatched the dead man’s knife from his belt and plunged it deep into the second guard’s gut.

The man’s eyes widened with shock and pain.

He gasped for air as his hand closed around Gideon’s wrist, trying to pull the blade free, but his strength was already fading as his blood poured out onto the floor.

Two down.

But the third man was larger than his companions, more experienced, and he had precious seconds to prepare while Gideon dispatched the others.

The man’s scarred face twisted with rage as he charged at Gideon. Even as he ducked the violent attack, Gideon caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. Leila had made it past the carnage and was already at the hall’s main entrance.

That’s all that matters. She’s safe.

The knowledge gave him strength, pushing back the exhaustion and pain.

The scarred man pulled out a sword—no, not a sword, a sword-cane. Gideon’s sword-cane—and swung it, putting his full weight behind each blow. Gideon managed to dodge one attempt after another, throwing himself from side to side despite the protests from his injured ribs.

Fielding another attack, Gideon moved aside and kicked his attacker in the shin with his booted heel.

The man screamed in agony and doubled over. Gideon seized the moment and smashed an elbow into the man’s face. The guard staggered back but quickly rebounded, driving his knee toward Gideon’s injured ribs.

For one terrifying moment, all Gideon could see was black. He staggered back, losing the knife in the process, and waited for his vision to return.

When it did, he saw the guard moving toward him with the sword. Gideon dodged the attack and lunged forward. His hands closed around the man’s thick neck as he drove his forehead into the man’s nose. Cartilage crunched, and blood sprayed across both their faces, a sharp pain radiating from his forehead.