His Queen of Chaos
I flinched.
"Down," Vance said, low and fast, and I knew the voice, and I stopped fighting it. "Get down, get under, I got you. Stay low." And he pushed me off the chair to the cold concrete and put himself over me, his broad back to the door, and I understood that even a nine-year traitor could choose, at the very end, which story got told about him.
The dark filled with muzzle flash and the smell of cordite and diesel and blood, and over all of it, closer every second, cutting through the chaos like the one true thing in the world, came a voice I'd know at the bottom of the ocean, roaring my name into the black.