Page 44

The quiet of the bedroom offered relief after the tension-filled planning session.

My mind ran through contingency plans, mapping sight lines, calculating response times.

Prometheus had trained me for decades. He'd anticipate my standard tactics.

I needed to be unpredictable while still protecting Vincent.

I pulled out my secondary weapons cache from beneath the bed. These weren't my usual tools; these were contingencies for scenarios I'd never shared with anyone. Prometheus taught me to always have a plan no one else knew about. Now I'd use that lesson against him.

I secured my modified Glock 19 with suppressor in my shoulder holster and added throwing knives in specialized sheaths at my ankle, wrist, and belt. The routine flowed like meditation, each item triggering muscle memory and confidence.

A strange lightness filled me today, as if something poisonous had drained from my system.

Eighteen years of carrying that shame, of not even having the words to understand what had happened to me.

Vincent gave me that. Not just the safety to fall apart, but the framework to understand it wasn't my fault.

That what Prometheus did wasn't training or initiation. It was assault.

After years of thinking I was broken because I couldn't enjoy Prometheus's affection, I finally understood that my instincts were right all along.

My body knew what my mind couldn't admit.

And now that I'd finally said it out loud, admitted what he'd done to me, something shifted inside me.

Lighter. I could finally breathe properly for the first time in decades .

Now, my weapons became armor, steel resolve replacing the confusion and shame. When I faced Prometheus again—and I would face him—it would be as an equal, not as his weapon or his creation.

I thought briefly of Jasper, the man Diego and Lo had introduced us to at the airfield.

Jasper might or might not be the disgraced former director Hephaestus, but he had warned us about someone above even Prometheus.

His warning had seemed far-fetched then, but now I was less certain. How deep did this conspiracy go?

When Vincent returned to the main room, I looked up from my weapons check.

My breath caught at the sight of him in that perfectly tailored Armani suit.

He looked composed, professional, nothing like the man who had fallen apart under my hands last night.

The armor beneath the suit disappeared completely, but knowing he had that layer of protection eased the tightness in my chest.

My eyes widened, darkening as they traveled from his shoulders down the fitted suit.

I swallowed hard, hands stilling on the disassembled rifle component I'd been cleaning.

"Damn. That looks good on you." My voice dropped to a dangerous growl.

"Almost makes me want to skip the funeral and tear it off you. "

A flush spreading across his cheeks. I could practically see his pulse quickening beneath the elegant line of his throat, his body responding to my words despite his careful professional demeanor.

"Later," he promised, his voice lower than usual. The single word sent heat flooding through me, the promise behind it unmistakable.

Our eyes locked across the room, the air between us suddenly electric. For a moment, the funeral plans and Prometheus and danger faded away, leaving just us and the unspoken things that had shifted between us last night .

Lo cleared his throat dramatically. "Save the eye-fucking for after the funeral, darlings. I need doctor gorgeous focusing on not getting killed today."

We left the suite behind and moved through the Acropolis as a unit, Lo taking point while I stayed close to Vincent.

Every nerve ending stood alert. The marble floors echoed under our footsteps, the air thick with the familiar scent of weapon oil, expensive cologne, and the subtle metallic undertone that seemed to follow professional killers everywhere.

The usual activity of the underground sanctuary continued around us, other assassins nodding as we passed.

Word had clearly spread about our situation; sideways glances and subtle assessments from my so-called colleagues suggested they wondered if we'd return or if they'd collect the bounty on our heads by nightfall.

My muscles coiled tight each time another ferryman passed, spine straightening on autopilot while electricity buzzed under my skin. My focus narrowed.

Vincent moved beside me, his gait casual to any observer, but I could sense the tension radiating from his shoulders, his breathing slightly faster than normal.

For all his composure, he clearly hadn't yet adapted to moving through waters filled with predators.

I shifted closer, my arm brushing his in quiet reassurance.

As we approached the main exit, Charon materialized from behind his desk, elegant and imposing as always. "Checking out, Mr. Aleksandar?"

"Hold the room. We'll be back."

"Very well. Your biometrics will remain active." He turned to Vincent, slightly inclining his head. "Dr. Matthews. I trust your stay has been... educational. "

Vincent managed a remarkably composed smile. "You could say that."

The Acropolis elevator ascended smoothly, carrying us toward the surface world where contracts bound us and death waited for the unwary. Vincent's hand brushed against mine, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not. I allowed our fingers to touch briefly, silently reassuring him.

"The moment we cross the river, we're fair game," I reminded everyone as the elevator slowed. "Eyes sharp, weapons hot, no unnecessary risks."

The doors slid open, revealing the sunlit world above. After weeks underground, the natural daylight hit harshly, almost painfully. I squinted, scanning our surroundings for immediate threats.

The riverfront appeared normal—tourists taking photos, businesspeople hurrying to meetings, street vendors hawking overpriced souvenirs.

But certain details stood out. The man reading a newspaper on a bench, his shoes too expensive for his casual clothes.

The woman adjusting her sunglasses, her posture too perfect, too aware.

The maintenance worker sweeping the same spot on the sidewalk for far too long.

We made our way toward the black SUV parked at the curb. Diego leaned against it, sunglasses hiding his eyes, looking every bit the professional driver in a tailored black suit. He nodded slightly as we approached, opening the door without a word.

The nape of my neck tingled with the weight of too many eyes. The spring air carried exhaust fumes, the river's brackish scent, street vendor food, and beneath it all, the subtle tang of danger.

Vincent slid into the SUV's backseat and I climbed in beside him while Lo took the front seat. Diego slipped behind the wheel, adjusting his mirrors. As we pulled away from the curb, I watched the faces tracking our movement.

The hunt had begun. But this time, everything had changed. I wasn't just fighting for a contract or for my own survival. I was fighting for Vincent. For the future we might have if we survived this.

And nothing would stop me from keeping him safe.