Lucien Drake had died once.
Officially.
His heart had stopped for exactly one minute and forty-two seconds on a classified battlefield that did not exist on any map. The mission had been scrubbed, the bodies burned, the records sealed. The world believed Lucien Drake had survived untouched.
That was a lie.
Only one woman knew the truth.
Ava Blackwood stood on the rooftop helipad of Drake Tower as the wind tore at her coat, the city glowing beneath her like a living organism. She had not seen Lucien in six years-not since she had dragged his bleeding body through fire and gunshots, not since she had stitched him together with shaking hands and a knife sterilized by flame.
The helicopter landed with a predatory snarl.
Lucien stepped out dressed in black-tailored coat, polished boots, presence heavy enough to bend the air. His face was sharper than she remembered, his eyes darker. Not empty.
Occupied.
By monsters.
"Captain Blackwood," he said, voice smooth, lethal, controlled. "You look unchanged."
"You look alive," Ava replied. "I made sure of that."
His lips twitched. Not a smile. A recognition.
They stood three feet apart-two weapons acknowledging each other.
"You didn't come here for sentiment," Lucien said. "Tell me who hurt you."
Ava's eyes were glacial. "Everyone," she replied. "I want them ruined."
Lucien studied her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Then we'll start with your ex," he said calmly. "And end with whoever thinks they can touch what's mine."
Ava did not correct him.
