Byron lunged, and the fog tore open around him.
He did not move like a dead man.
The Commander crossed the distance, warping timing and depth. His boots pulverised asphalt, as though the world itself bent to accommodate him. Victor barely registered the angle of attack before instinct took over. Fire roared along his wings. Ice crystallised along their edges as he launched upward to meet Byron head-on.
The collision split the street.
The impact sounded like a detonation. Victor crashed through the rusted shell of a bus, metal screaming as it folded inward around him. Windows exploded. The bus frame twisted like soft tin as Victor tore through it and slammed into the far side of the road.
Byron skidded backward, carving trenches through asphalt before stopping himself with a single heel. He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders like a man loosening stiff joints.
His eyes locked on Felicity with predatory intensity.
Snow Team and Ivan's people moved at once.
