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Jinx leaned against the gnarled trunk of a towering pine. The cool bark rough against his back as he absently ran his fingers through the thick fur of Lycos’s three wolf-dogs. The old male let out a deep, contented groan and rolled to his side, exposing his belly to the late afternoon sun, while the youngest pup pounced playfully, nipping at his ears. The mother wolf-dog watched from a few feet away, her intelligent eyes flicking between Jinx and her offspring. She assessed him the way only an animal could, instinctively and without judgment. The other wolf must have stayed in the cave with his people. It didn’t wander too far from the cave when it was outside.

It had taken him over a month to track down the hidden entrance to Lycos’s home—an isolated fortress buried deep in the Colorado wilderness. He hadn’t found it through skill or training but by noticing the smallest anomaly—the faint displacement of pine needles where the wolf-dogs had passed, then vanished. A clue only someone attuned to the wild would have noticed.

Jinx smirked. His mentor would probably kill him if he knew he was that close. Lycos had rigged the entire mountain with sensors, cameras, and traps—each carefully designed to funnel intruders into areas covered by high-tech surveillance and lethal countermeasures. Genius. Jinx admired the setup. The kind of place he could see himself living. Remote. Controlled. Safe.

A home of his own.

The thought was fleeting, dismissed almost as quickly as it had formed. He had no roots. No attachments. Just an unexplainable connection to animals that had always come naturally. He understood them, and they, in turn, recognized something in him—something primal, silent, undeniable. He’d never questioned it too deeply. Just as he’d never questioned why that same ability to bond didn’t extend to people.

Brando’s voice crackled through his earpiece, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Jinx, you’re up.”

Jinx exhaled slowly, watching as the puppy lifted its head, ears perked. The little one tilted its head at the sound, studying him, sensing the shift. With mild amusement, he realized he’d never actually spoken around them. Animals didn’t rely on words. They read body language, intent, and presence. It was humans who complicated things with conversation.

“When?” His voice was calm, unreadable.

Brando’s response was immediate. “Briefing in six hours.”

Six hours. That meant he needed to move.

The trek off the mountain was painstakingly slow, every step deliberate, every movement measured. It took him four and a half hours to weave his way through Lycos’s layers of defenses, avoiding motion triggers, bypassing traps, and ensuring there wouldn’t be a single trace left behind when he was gone.

When he reached his vehicle, the sky had deepened to twilight, the first stars blinking through the cold, inky darkness. He drove, pushing the vehicle over rugged back roads until he reached a deserted scenic overlook. It was the kind of place tourists pulled into for a glimpse of the mountains before continuing their journey. But Jinx wasn’t there for the view.

He parked, killed the engine, and waited.

A few minutes later, his encrypted comm activated.

“Archangel is online, and I am clear in three … two … one.”

A brief pause. Then the voice of his employer. Cold. Measured. Absolute. “Jinx.”

“Sir,” Jinx acknowledged.

“We’re sending you back to Venezuela.”

Jinx’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. A single eyebrow arched at the unexpected directive. He hadn’t been back there in two years. Two long, quiet years.

“Target?”

The answer came like a thunderclap. “El Fantasma.”

Jinx’s jaw clenched. The name wasn’t just infamous. It was legendary. The Ghost . A phantom assassin whose true identity had remained a mystery for years. No confirmed images. No known alias. Just death, precision, and vanishing into the ether. The man would make a damn good Shadow if he didn’t work for the drug trade.

He let the name roll off his tongue. “The Ghost.”

“Yes. We have intel on his identity. He’s been coded by the Council.” Archangel’s voice remained devoid of emotion. “Where are you?”

“Colorado.”

“Good. Brando will send you the airfield coordinates. Wheels up in six hours. Your full briefing will be waiting for you when you board.”

“Copy.”

“Archangel clear.”

The comm went silent.

Jinx inhaled deeply, staring out over the vast mountains bathed in silver moonlight. But he wasn’t seeing them. His mind was elsewhere.

He was back in Venezuela.

Back in that small, unremarkable house where he had spent nights with the only woman he had ever considered leaving Guardian for.

The one he had walked away from without a word.

It had been the hardest thing he had ever done—harder than any kill or mission. Those left him detached and unburdened. She had made him feel . And he had spent the last two years burying that weakness, convincing himself that walking away had been the right call.

His fingers flexed against the wheel, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Maybe … just maybe, he could ensure she was safe. No contact. Nothing left behind. Just … a glimpse.

She wouldn’t even know he was there.

That would be his last thought of her.

The very last.

Because once he stepped into Venezuela’s underbelly again, there would be no room for distractions.

Not even for the woman he had loved and left.

* * *

Jinx’s second chance at love and redemption comes at a cost. When an assassin decides to make family a priority, will the mission suffer?

* * *

Pick up your copy of Heir of Honor , Talon King’s story to see how the Seige shaped the man now at the helm of his own team. The past could shine light on his future and his chance at love.