Seraphina’s words lingered like the echo of a siren in Lucien’s ears.They tried to rewrite me.He had seen the fear in her eyes before, but this was not that. It was something deeper. It was the look of someone who had faced death, manipulation, confusion, and come out the other side with her mind sharpened like a blade. She was not broken.She was sharpening.Vincenzo watched from a few feet away as Lucien moved to stand closer beside her. He was quiet, but his eyes were tracking every twitch of movement in the treeline and every fluctuation in Seraphina’s voice.Seraphina stood under the cold wash of moonlight, the wind whipping her dark hair across her face. Her expression had settled into unreadable calm, but something about the way her fingers flexed near her side gave her away. Not to most—but to Lucien, it was enough.She was not under control. She was playing a part.Lucien watched her in silence for a few more seconds, letting his eyes scan her posture, her breaths, even the
Lucien froze as Seraphina stepped into the corridor. Her body moved with deliberate grace, but her face betrayed nothing. Not relief. Not surprise. Not fear.Not recognition.He lowered his weapon a fraction. Vincenzo and Matteo hung back, silent, waiting."Seraphina," Lucien said, his voice quiet but clear.She blinked once, slowly. Her head tilted as if considering the weight of the name.Then she smiled. A small, practiced smile. The kind she used at embassy dinners years ago when she was keeping secrets."Lucien," she said.The name came out right, but her tone was wrong.Too neutral. Too steady.Not how she should sound after all that had happened.He took a step forward."You sent the message. You marked the table. We came for you.""I know," she said, hands at her sides. Her posture never shifted.Behind them, the door sealed itself with a soft mechanical hiss.Matteo raised his weapon again.Lucien glanced over his shoulder. "Hold."Something about the air had changed. It was
The air in the safehouse was heavy with focus. Morning light filtered through slatted blinds, cutting pale bars of gold across the hardwood floor. Lucien sat at the head of the central planning table, hunched over a file that Matteo had decrypted during the early hours. It was a mess of redacted memos, contract routes, and deployment manifests, each piece a fragment of Tobias Marren's movement pattern.Vincenzo leaned over his shoulder, pointing at a line of numbers."This one repeats. Every third week, same airspace, same burn pattern. He’s using a privately leased jet under the alias Renner Kael."Lucien nodded slowly. "Has the flight touched down?""Ten minutes ago. Tripoli sector, just outside the secondary commercial field. Not a major hub. Private carriers only."Matteo brought up a live feed from a drone circling overhead. On the screen, a man in a dark field jacket and sunglasses stepped down the metal stairs from the jet, flanked by two plainclothes escorts."That's him," Matt
The sound came first. Dull, mechanical, steady.Lucien blinked once.Then again.A slow, rhythmic beeping, like a clock carved from breath and wires. The ceiling above him was soft beige, sterile but not unfamiliar. He inhaled deeply, the sharp tug of a rib injury clenching in protest.He didn’t need to look to know he was in a recovery suite, cleaner than a hospital, quieter than a safehouse. And far too still.His body felt heavier than it should. Sedatives. Monitors tracked the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his lungs.He turned his head.Lucio wasn’t there.Neither was Seraphina.Panic tried to surface, but something stronger held it back. The same thing that had always steadied him when the world burned.Control.He shifted slightly, triggering the soft chime of a proximity sensor. A second later, the door opened, and Vincenzo entered, dressed in black, dark circles under his eyes. But relief crossed his face when he saw Lucien awake.“You’re back,” Vincenzo said, voice low but
The last thing Seraphina remembered was the weight of the detonator in her hand, the heat from Lucien’s blood on her chest, and the way Lucio looked at her, wide-eyed and silent, trusting her in the worst moment of their lives.She’d stood between them and the enemy.Then she pulled the trigger.Silence.And now, cold.Her eyes opened to dim, sterile light, the faint hum of ventilation, and a low ache across every inch of her body. Her shoulder throbbed. Her ribs screamed when she tried to shift. But she was alive.Alive.Which meant someone had a reason to keep her breathing.The room around her was too clean, too controlled. The walls were a dull matte gray. The bed beneath her was standard, thin mattress, single sheet. No visible windows. One door. One camera.Not a hospital.Not a military base.Something in between.She sat up slowly, ignoring the tug of pain. She’d lived through worse.But she’d never felt this kind of stillness before.Then came the knock.Soft. Sarcastic.And
The bulkhead slammed shut behind her like the closing of a tomb.Steel-on-steel. Sealed. Final.Seraphina didn’t flinch.She raised her weapon, eyes sweeping the tight corridor now flooding with footsteps. Her breath was steady. Her heart didn’t race. The chaos didn't shake her. It sharpened her.Two men rounded the corner. Combat gear. Black visors. Rifles raised.She didn’t hesitate.Double-tap. One to the throat, one to the eye.They dropped.The second wave came from the side, closer. One reached for Lucio.He never made it.Seraphina lunged like a shadow and drove her blade between his ribs, twisting up. The man gasped, surprised he was already dying.She grabbed his rifle before it hit the floor.Reloaded.And turned toward the next enemy.Lucien was bleeding badly.He’d dropped to one knee, pressing his arm against the wound on his side. Vincenzo dragged him behind a collapsed piping rig while Lucio crouched next to him, eyes wide, breathing sharp little gasps but not crying.E