Twenty-Five.

Mikhail.

The ringing in my ears is deafening, drowning out the screams and cries for help that echo around the gallery. My vision blurs as I wipe blood from a cut above my eye. My mind races, trying to make sense of what just happened.

"Mikhail Ivanov!" Anton shouts my name, but I can't see him through the smoke. "Mikhail Ivanov!"

"Find my sister!" I yell back. My hand flies to my side, and panic seizes my throat when I do not feel my gun. It takes me a second to remember that I had left it behind because tonight was supposed to be a respectable affair.

Around me, people lie sprawled on the floor, some motionless, while others claw at the debris that pins them down, their faces twisted in agony. Blood splatters are on the once pristine walls, and the canvases are hanging in tatters.

It's all gone. In seconds, it has been destroyed.

"Help! Please, somebody, help!" Izzie's voice pierces above the din, her desperate sobs rising above the commotion. I glance over to her, cradling Gaspar i