The war began at midnight.

At the borderlands of the Court and the Liberated, gunfire kicked off at sporadic intervals. The narrow streets channeled the sounds of gunfire through the Church District. Sirens screamed in the shattered night, red and blue lights searing across the faces of skyscrapers and apartments. The hastily-assembled neighborhood watch, eager and anxious, manned their posts at the windows and doorways of their shops and homes. Will and Karim stood to, positioning themselves at the eastern end of the neighborhood, standing in the shadows with their guns out.

Yuri and Kayla rested.

They would need their energy. The war hadn’t spilled over here, not yet. They still had time for rest. The last thing Yuri needed was to enter a firefight with an empty tank. But he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He simply sat on the ground floor of his safe house, weapon and gear within easy reach, and slipped into a twilight state of deep meditation.

The night calmed two hours later. Slowly, reluctantly, the Church District stood down. Karim returned to his hideout. Yuri and Kayla headed to bed in separate safehouses. Will maintained his lonely patrol—this time with his carbine slung around his neck. Just in case.

At daybreak, blood-maddened howls greeted the sun.

That left the entire neighborhood scrambling. The militia barricaded themselves indoors, weapons close to hand. The operators geared up and rolled out, assembling by the church.

And waited.

And waited some more.

And waited even longer.

Rush hour arrived without incident. The operators stowed their long guns and assumed the illusion of civilianhood. Shopkeepers poked their heads out windows and doors. The braver among them opened for business. Parents walked their children to the bus stop or to the train station, some openly carrying firearms.

It was in naked violation of city regulations. Nobody cared. There were no cops around to protest. Not anymore.

At nine in the morning, the authorities rolled out the official narrative. Five dead in three separate killings all across the city. They took extra pains to avoid naming the perpetrators, but they did disclose the identities of the dead: three from the Liberated, two from the Court.

And the Liberated dead had been ripped to shreds.

With the escalation in violence—and permission from the locals—came a shift in tactics.

Kayla patrolled the roof of Sanger Goodman. Ten stories tall, the department store was the largest structure in the area of operations. From here, she had a wide field of view along the southern front of the district, but the urban landscape obstructed her coverage of the other three sides.

Yuri joined her.

They maintained their vigil in silence, swapping out every two hours. Though they kept their carbines close, their new primary weapons were their long-range railguns. Hers was set up for long-range fires, his was fitted with an electromagnetic grenade launcher.

Karim and Will transitioned to a twelve-hour shift. Noon to midnight, midnight to noon. Will had the day shift, Karim had the night. They wanted to mix things up, keep the New Gods from pinning down Will’s patterns. Should they move by night, they would run into Karim and his god.

But it would be hard on them. On Will. He’d walked the streets for six hours and would have to walk for twelve more, staying one hundred percent alert from start to finish. He made do by chugging down more cans of coffee.

All through the day, groups of men penetrated the district. Hard young men in unseasonably thick clothing and ballistic-grade eyeshields, the wrong crowd for the Church District. They poked around the eateries and the shops. They interrogated the shopkeepers. They studied the environs.

They were soldiers of the New Gods.

The Liberated solicited information on the Court of Shadows. The Court demanded intelligence on the movements of the Liberated. Both pressed for information on Will Connor, and anyone else working with him.

The shopkeepers resisted questioning however they could. Most deflected or pretended ignorance. Some passed on white lies and half-truths. A brave few refused to answer altogether. Whenever the New Gods weren’t looking, people scurried to the neighborhood fabricators to put their railguns together.

The shopkeepers kept each other in the loop in their neighborhood chat. Yuri and Kayla called out warnings whenever they spotted a group. Will constantly repositioned himself, shadowing the soldiers while keeping his distance. When things got too hot, he took cover inside Nagase’s cafe.

In the fullness of time, the law arrived.

The police and the New Gods existed in a delicate state of tension, upheld by fragile illusions. There was no way the police could stop the New Gods from acting. Yet the New Gods had to maintain the fiction of upholding the social contract, the better to achieve their goals. The cops could not stop the believers from pursuing their objectives, but they could exert a moderating influence on them.

And when the Court and the Liberated bumped into each other, they kept both sides from drawing steel.

Barely.

The reconnaissance lasted all through the day. When the coast was clear, Will evacuated the cafe and joined Karim in the boutique apartment they’d rented across the street from the Church District. With so many soldiers around, continuing the patrol was suicide. And with so many cops in the vicinity, there wasn’t anything more he could do to contribute.

Up on the roof of Sanger Goodman, Yuri wished for more resources. This should be a platoon or even a company-sized objective. There was no way he could secure the Church District with just four people. The local merchants helped, sure, but the overwhelming majority of them were untrained civilians. Or undertrained, anyway. During their downtime, the team had passed on tips, tricks and tactics to the locals, to those willing to listen, but that didn’t come anywhere close to a formal training program. While it was true that _most _of the soldiers of the New Gods weren’t much better at warcraft either, they had tech, wealth, influence, power. The people of the Church District only had each other.

And four washed-up operators from what used to be the premier special operations unit in the nation.

As darkness fell, the inquisitors retreated. So, too, did the cops.

And the monsters would come out to play.

Karim and Will joined Yuri and Kayla on the roof of Sanger Goodman. Over takeout sponsored by local eateries, they discussed their next step.

It was only a matter of time before the New Gods made their move. Anyone with eyes could see that. The problem was that they held all the cards.

They chose the time and place of engagement. They had superior manpower, firepower, resources, influence. They had a reasonable idea of the local geography. They controlled the city’s utility grid. They held the world in the palms of their hands—and paws, and tentacles, and whatever graspers they used.

The team? They had operational agility. They had the support of the locals. And… that was it.

Wolfing down a skewer of grilled chicken, Karim said, “They may not even come tonight. Or tomorrow. Or anytime soon. They may send their street punks to make some noise, but they won’t commit their Elect or their pros until they’re certain of victory.”

“They know I’m operating in the area,” Will added. “We have to assume that they know we’re also protecting the district, even if they haven’t gotten eyes on any of us yet. They know what we can do, they know we can bring down a world of hurt on them. They won’t want a stand-up fight with us. They want us exhausted from responding to provocations and penny-ante bullshit before they strike.”

“Or they’ll use those provocations to draw us out and whack us, like they tried at Ikeda’s,” Kayla said.

Yuri slurped up piping hot ramen from his paper bowl. He chewed, swallowed, waited. And then he spoke.

“If we’re facing just one faction, we can count on that. But we’re not. We’re facing two, potentially three.”

“The Church District is a small place. They’re going to run into each other. Guaranteed,” Kayla said.

“You’re thinking of something,” Will said.

Yuri nodded. “We don’t respond to provocations. Period. We let the cops handle them. We only intervene if there’s a significant risk of violence, or if people start shooting at each other.”

“That’s not what we’re paid to do,” Will said.

“The locals pay us to protect them, and we can’t do that if we’re exhausted or dead.”

“They’re civilians. Even if they’re armed, they’re not going to have the same ability to assess risks and respond to threats the way we do,” Kayla said.

“I expect them to start screaming for help whenever the punks show up, even if all they do is give people the mad dog,” Kayla said.

Yuri pursed his lips. What made sense to a soldier would offend a civilian. And without the support of local civilians, the mission was as good as failed.

“We don’t have to roll up to every incident,” Yuri said. “We stay at a distance, preserve our energy and resources, call in the cops and get them to do their job. But if things escalate, we step in and put things down.”

“We do that, we have to move in pairs at least,” Will said. “We have to assume there’ll be an ambush waiting for us.”

“We’ve got to treat every provocation as a set-up,” Yuri agreed.

Kayla chewed thoughtfully on a gyoza. “We need to communicate all this to the committee. Let them know what we’re up to, what the New Gods want, and why we’re going what we’re doing. We need their buy-in.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Will said.

“Much obliged,” Yuri said.

The shopkeepers weren’t happy. They didn’t have to be happy, they just had to understand. It took a lot of back and forth, with Will delivering the blunt hammer of facts, Yuri applying the scalpel of reason to any objectors, and Kayla assuaging ruffled feathers. Karim had the easy part. He finished his meal, grabbed his gear, and headed down to begin his patrol.

Eventually the committee came around, and with them the rest of the neighborhood. Yuri had to draw deeply of his less-than-abundant stocks of social experience. Will was practically exhausted by the end of it. But they weren’t paid to be exhausted, so Will downed yet another can of coffee.

“You sure you’ll be able to sleep?” Kayla asked.

Will raised his can in mock-salute. “I’ll sleep when this is over.”

Shinsekai was a world of night. Even with the threat of war on the horizon, the entertainment quarter came to life. Neon seas graced the waters and the streets. Signboards burned in a thousand dazzling colors. Gorgeous women, sleek tech and pulse-pounding blockbusters splashed across gigantic billboards. As motor traffic dwindled, people flooded the streets. White collars knocking off from work, families on a night out, knots of young adults and dating couples, schoolkids looking for fun, tourists taking in the sights. The regular people of Riveria.

Crowds built up across the Black River, among the restaurants and the shopping arcades. As the night drew on, visitors crossed the waters. Some hunted for bargains in the department store. Others sought new tastes in the eateries. All came to soak in the atmosphere of the Church District, the oldest and coziest neighborhood in Riveria.

Followers of the New Gods included.

At a quarter to eight, a crew of Shadow Court punks strolled into a spa and ran their line. The Court runs the area now, the Liberated are invaders, everyone is looking for Will Connor. Shortly after that, a Liberated Elect stepped out of a cubicle where he’d been receiving a full body massage. Both sides exchanged harsh words and harsher oaths.

The mama-san, a tiny but fiery elderly woman, produced a humongous revolver from under the counter and ordered them to get out.

They complied.

In the alley outside the spa, Karim stepped out of the shadows, carbine in hand, and in a stage whisper, politely requested them to leave the area. Or else.

They fled.

Word quickly spread among the New Gods. And the shopkeepers. The residents kept their weapons at the ready. Followers of the New Gods received a cold reception everywhere they went. Those who tried to intimidate the merchants found themselves staring down colder steel. The last of them departed by the close of the hour, or so the committee reported.

At half past nine in the evening, the shooting started.

A string of high-pitched cracks carried across the Minato River. The serpentine streets captured and amplified the echoes, carrying them across the Church District.

Yuri, standing watch on the roof of Sanger Goodman and looking the wrong way, startled. Instinctively he dropped into a deep crouch, bringing his railgun up to the shoulder, scanned. More gunfire resounded, and now his brain kicked in.

“Shots fired to the north! At least two shooters with automatic weapons!” Yuri reported over the comms net.

Kayla ran to the edge of the roof, railgun up. “Scanning for threats!”

“Lycan, any eyes on the shooting?” Yuri asked.

“Negative. I’m at the east. Moving north now. Five minutes out.”

“Pick up Boomer while you’re en route.”

“No need for that. I’m awake,” Will said, though fatigue strained his voice. “I’ll head out.”

More gunfire rang out. Muffled shouts reached Yuri’s ears. He summoned the secure comms app, entered the neighborhood group chat and dictated a message.

“Shooting across the river. Possible attack. Grab your guns and prepare to defend yourselves.”

Gun case in hand, pack shouldered, he rushed to Kayla. She had positioned herself by the parapet, lowered into a half-crouch, her railgun propped up on a bipod.

“I see movement across the river. People are scrambling across the bridges, heading towards the north side of the AO. Shooters may be herding them our way,” Kayla said.

“Do you have eyes on the shooters?” Yuri asked.

“Stand by… Got one. He’s at the Helix Bridge. Werewolf, chest rig, SMG. He’s… aiming at the crowd.”

“Take him out!”

Before Yuri could finish his order, the railgun screamed. Even with the suppressor mounted on the muzzle, there was no way anyone could silence a flechette rocketing forth at one and a half klicks per second. But it did kill the muzzle flash and diffuse the report, making the shot sound like it came from everywhere at once.

“Grape shot,” Kayla reported.

The flechette was long but thin. It didn’t matter. At such ludicrous velocities, it would fragment into a cloud of razor-sharp shrapnel. What was left of it would yaw like a demon. Couple that with a head shot and the bad guy was a goner.

More gunfire thundered in response. Kayla swiveled in place, hunting for the other shooter.

“Samurai, Lycan. Be advised, we’ve got hordes of people running across the bridges. I do not have eyes on any shooters.”

A string of shots concluded Karim’s report.

“All call signs, activate contingency plan. Boomer, alert Father Joseph. Get the locals to push the refugees to the church.”

“Roger,” Boomer said.

“Good luck,” Kayla said, still sweeping the world behind her scope.

Yuri smiled grimly.

“Deadeye… green light.”

“Acknowledged,” she said.

Gear in hand, Yuri dashed to the…

Paused.

Thought for a second.

Returned to Kayla.

“I’m leaving my railgun here. You need high-ex, feel free to use it,” Yuri said.

Where he was going, the railgun would be a poor choice. Too much penetration, too much power, and way too slow to recharge. He didn’t need that weight.

Yuri set his gun case and railgun next to her, then ran to the roof access. Unlocked and removed the security chain holding the handle in place. Sprinted down the stairs. Burst into the lift lobby. Summoned the elevator.

As he waited, he set his pack down on the floor, shrugged off his jacket, and unzipped the pack. Out came his chest rig and his MR-77. He snapped his chest rig on over his shirt, then pulled his jacket over it. He grabbed his carbine, unfolded the stock, slung it around his neck, and donned his pack once again.

Good to go.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a trio of civilians.

They gaped at him.

He nodded at them.

“Excuse me.”

They got out. He got in. He rode the elevator all the way to the ground floor.

He stepped out into the picture of normalcy. Shoppers browsed shelves and display cases. Sales staff tended to them. A security guard waddled down the aisles, facing the wrong way.

Yuri wasn’t surprised. The dense construction of the building would have insulated it from outside noises.

He raced to the rear of the store. Most people ignored him. They didn’t even notice them. The few who did gasped, froze, stared. Someone yelled at him. Yuri tuned her out and burst out the rear exit.

And ran.

Full-auto fire resounded in the alleys. Sirens wailed in the night. Wolves gave tongue in reply, their calls echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once. Kayla’s railgun shouted, and a wolf fell silent. Citizens bumbled about in the street, only dimly aware of the danger. Residents showed their faces at windows and doorways, trying to find the source of the noise.

Yuri steered around the people in his way. He squeezed through tight spaces, he swiveled around people, he cut through couples. All conscious thought ceased. There was only threat and not-threat, movements and vectors, shrinking space and diminishing time.

At last, he came to the church.

Candlelight blazed from the stained windows. The doors stood wide open. The bell tolled in a slow, steady rhythm. Father Joseph stood by the doors. As civilians streamed into the courtyard, he waved at them, beckoning them to shelter inside.

On the other side of the courtyard, inside a cafe, Karim poked his head above the window frame, his backpack close to hand. From where he was, he could observe anyone entering and leaving the church, while the darkened glass made it difficult for others to see him.

Will stepped out around the back of the church. He was in war mode, fully kitted out, scanning the world around him for threats. Yuri waved him over, then linked up with Father Joseph.

“How are things?” Yuri asked.

He had dispensed with the traditional greeting. God would understand.

“Safe, for now. No shooting here,” the priest replied.

“How many people are inside?”

“Twenty, thirty I think.”

Will and Yuri exchanged a nod.

“Let’s do this,” Will said.

The men swept into the nave. Citizens mingled by the walls, trying to keep out of sight. A few of them hid behind the altar. The wooden walls and table wouldn’t stop rifle bullets, but at least they offered a measure of concealment.

Yuri and Will walked as angels among men. Armed and armored, they walked with grim purpose, weapons held low, heads swiveling back and forth. Eyes hidden by his eyeshields, Yuri sized up everyone around him. He keyed on hands, on posture, on faces, looking for weapons, threat indicators, signs of hostility. The refugees tracked their every step, yet shied away from their approach. They squashed themselves into the corners, fixated on the guns. A few panicked. Someone shrieked. Yuri shook his head and smiled at her.

“We’re church security. We’re here to help,” he said.

The civilians relaxed. Slightly.

More gunshots sounded outside. More screams. More howls. The protectors took positions by the altar. A family of four, huddled by the Holy Table, looked up at Yuri.

“You might want to hide under the tablecloth,” Yuri suggested.

The civilians obeyed, scrambling under the table. Yuri adjusted the cloth until it hid the civilians from view. In their shoes, he would have overturned the table and used it for cover. But he supposed that was too great a sacrilege, even for a nonbeliever.

And if he did his job right, they wouldn’t need cover.

Kneeling by the altar, Yuri and Will watched the windows, the door, the civilians all around.

“Samurai, I hear more shots and howls, but I do not have eyes on any other shooters. They could be inside the district,” Kayla replied.

“Copy. Boomer, need you to get on the group chat, see if anyone’s spotted them. Lycan, got anything?” Yuri asked.

“Negative. But the shots sound like they’re coming closer,” Karim replied.

“Witnesses report shooting from the direction of the waterfront,” Will replied.

More gunfire. More screaming.

“More refugees entering the courtyard,” Karim reported.

“Over here!” Father Joseph yelled. “Come inside!”

Three females staggered into the church. Catching sight of Will and Yuri, the one in the lead froze. The other two bumped into her, saw the armed men, froze also.

“We’re local security!” Yuri said. “Any of you saw the bad guys?”

A woman pointed at the door. “There! They’re coming from that direction!”

“Bridges! They were at the bridges!” another yelled.

“I saw them at the bar!” a third person shouted.

The nave descended into chaotic clamoring. The civilians hollered back and forth, their voices growing every louder, trying to drown each other out, until there was only a deafening babble.

“QUIET!” Will boomed.

He spoke with the force of a sergeant major on the parade ground. Yuri swore he sensed the windows shake in their frames. The civilians immediately piped down.

“All of you, get down!” Yuri urged. “The shooting isn’t over yet!”

The civilians picked their way through the crowd and joined the general huddle. Outside, the sounds of sirens grew louder.

Relieved murmurs passed through the crowd. Yuri and Will glanced at each other. Yuri shook his head. Will’s expression hardened.

They knew the truth. Until the cops physically took control of the area, it wasn’t safe. There was no telling how long it would take—or even whether the cops would actually enter at all, or leave the situation to the PSB. Or the New Gods.

So much had changed since the fall of the STS, most of it for the worst.

“Two subjects entering the courtyard,” Karim said. “I see wolves in them using Aethersight. Say again, wolves.”

“Interrogative: do you mean they are werewolves?” Will asked.

“Affirmative. They are in human form, but I can see they are bonded to a wolf god. Not the Lord and Lady of Shadows.”

“Over here! It’s safe here!” Father Johnson urged.

“Here we go,” Yuri said.

The two men scooted around, taking positions behind the altar.

“Subjects approaching the church. Two males, black clothing, eyeshields,” Karim reported.

The men breached the nave. They were demons in black, long black cloaks swirling around them with every step, their visor-like eyeshields breaking up the shapes of their faces to foil facial recognition.

“Freeze! Hands in the air!” Yuri boomed.

Their hands shot up.

“Hey, hey, easy!” the shorter one said. “We’re—”

“The two of you are Elect! Which New God do you worship?” Yuri demanded.

Gasps passed through the crowd. People scrambled away from the newcomers.

“There’s a misunderstanding,” the taller subject said. “We just got here!”

“Identify yourselves immediately!”

“We’re nobodies, man! Don’t shoot us!”

“Leave them alone!” a woman shouted.

Yuri ignored her. “Take off your coats now!”

“You’re joking!” the taller one said.

“Do it now, or get out!”

The subjects glanced at each other.

And in the direction of—

“Motherfucker!” a man yelled.

Yuri swiveled to his left.

By a window, a younger man seized an older man by the collar by the left hand.

“You cut that shit out!” the younger man yelled.

“I didn’t do anything!” the older man protested.

The newcomers moved.

Yuri swung his weapon back to the door, realizing too late that the shouting was a distraction, that he and Will had arrived too late, that there were wolves among the lambs.

Parting their coats, the intruders shuffled away from the door, away from the fatal funnel. Instinctively they sought cover, but there was no cover to be found, so they just shuffled on, closing in on the protectors, their hands reaching for—

“GUN!” Will warned.

And fired.

The threat on the right went down in a spray of blood. Yuri registered the movement even as his optics rose into his field of view, his hands seating the buttstock firmly in the pocket of his shoulder, settling the sights on the other threat.

That guy had almost completed his presentation, right hand pulling out from under his armpit to expose a machine pistol, but the length and awkwardness of the draw had cost him, and Yuri had never skimped on weapons manipulation drills. The moment the crosshairs found his center of mass, Yuri fired.

The threat jerked back. Yuri brought the reticle to his head, fired again.

The gunman crumpled into a boneless heap. The civilians screamed, instinctively pulling back from the corpse.

“DOWN! DOWN! EVERYBODY DOWN!” Will yelled.

Yuri swung back around, returning his attention to the young man—

Who was now scrambling around the old man, encircling his powerful left arm around his neck, legs hooking around the civilian’s torso, right hand swinging around to bring a silvery pistol to bear.

The young man shouted something. Yuri barely noticed. The world shrank down to the window of his optics, to the hostage, the hostage-taker.

The kid behind the hostage-taker.

Yuri rose to his full height and stepped to his right, aiming down at the threat and away from the kid. A muzzle flashed, smoke billowed, something cracked next to his ear. Another shot rang out. His heart calm, his mind empty, propelled solely by focused intent, his body compensated for the sudden displacement. The hostage struggled one way, the hostage-taker writhed the other, the reticle flowed to his target. A sense of peace, of rightness, filled every fiber of Yuri’s being.

He fired.

The hostage-taker’s weapon hand exploded in a cloud of red. Shrieking in pain and disbelief, the former gunman stared in open-eyed horror at what was left of his hand.

Yuri sprang to his feet and rushed to the threat. The old man pulled the threat’s other arm down and scrambled away.

“Hands up! Hands up! Hands up!” Yuri chanted.

The threat yelled.

Paused.

Blinked.

“We are in a house of God! Your powers aren’t going to work here!” Yuri shouted.

The threat snarled.

Twisted around.

Reached out.

“Don’t do it!”

He grabbed his fallen weapon.

Yuri fired.

Again and again and again, stitching him up his side, his armpit, his temple.

Yuri rushed up to the threat, toed him over to the other side, then planted his boot firmly on the weapon. Spinning around, he hunted for more threats. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Will looming over the body of a woman, his carbine smoking, crushing a handgun under his heel.

“Clear!” Yuri called.

“Clear!” Will replied.

Screaming, crying, yelling, civilians scrambled for the door. A woman tripped. Others trampled over her. Others held each other even more tightly, cowering in the corners.

“Stop! Stop that!” Will shouted. “You’re crushing her!”

His words fell on deaf ears. The flight continued unabated. Swearing, Will picked up the discarded pistol and plowed into the crowd.

Yuri hung back, weapon at the compressed ready, still scanning for threats, for infiltrators, for any other soldiers of the New Gods.

Will grabbed the fallen woman and dragged her to safety. She moaned incoherently, her legs twisted in the wrong directions. More people moved to the door. More and more, until a second wave of civilians rushed out into the night.

Outside, a bullhorn amplified a stern male voice.

“Riveria PD! We are here to help! Make your way over to us now!”

“Finally,” Yuri groused.

“Never any cops when you need them,” Will muttered.

“Samurai, Lycan. Cops are pulling into the courtyard. Need me to hang around?”

“Negative,” Yuri said. “You should exfil. Deadeye, you too. Get out before SWAT mistakes you for a Tango.”

“Acknowledged,” Kayla said. “Going black.”

Yuri lifted the tablecloth and looked under the altar. The family of four were still there, whispering a prayer under their breaths.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, guide and protect us…”

“It’s safe now,” Yuri interrupted. “Head outside. The police have arrived.”

“Thank God!” the mother cried.

“What about you?” the father asked.

“We’ll be fine. Go on. Get out of here.”

The family crawled out from under the table. The mother turned to the Mother of God, pressed her palms together, and bowed her head in supplication.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she whispered.

Her husband wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Come on. Time to go.”

The family hustled for the door. Shouts filtered through the windows. Heavy boots pounded the courtyard outside. Father Joseph protested loudly.

Yuri looked at Will. Will sighed and shook his head.

They unslung their carbines and placed them on the floor. They unholstered their pistols and set them down. They removed their blades and piled them on their guns. They stepped aside from the mound of hardware.

The SWAT team burst in.

A dozen cops, armed to the teeth, bulked out in heavy armor. Fanning out, they advanced down the nave, weapons high, screaming at the top of their lungs.

“POLICE! POLICE!”

“HANDS UP! HANDS UP! DO IT NOW!”

Yuri and Will raised their hands.

“About time you get here,” Will muttered.

Yuri saved his breath.

He was going to need it.

​

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