Page 13

Filed under: Lies, Lust, and Liptauer cheese

Vienna’s beautiful in the kind of way that feels like a trick—cobblestones too perfect, air too crisp, history too heavy. Like the city knows you’re lying and is politely pretending it doesn’t care. Which makes two of us.

I’ve been here three days. Long enough to memorize the tram schedule, case five potential exits, and figure out which café has the best melange and the worst security cameras.

I’ve already compromised two diplomats, flirted with a man I might have to kill, and found three new ways to conceal a weapon in a cocktail dress.

Victor would’ve liked it here. All old money and whispered secrets. He liked places that felt expensive just to breathe in. But he’s a ghost now. One of many. I’m getting used to them.

Killion, on the other hand? Still very much alive. Still under my skin like a splinter I can’t dig out.

Now, someone named Vahyna has entered the chat and I don’t know if she’s someone I can trust, or someone I’ll end up shooting in the head.

She’s tangled in something called Resurrection Protocol , which sounds like either a religious cult or a black-ops clusterfuck. Probably both.

But I’m too far down the rabbit hole now to play it straight. My instincts are screaming—something big is coming. Bigger than anything I could’ve imagined. Bigger than the Dollhouse.

And me? I’m not ready. But I’m not running either.

I’ve got stilettos, cyanide tabs, and a soul stitched together with bad decisions.

Let the games begin.

—L