“How can I help you?” she asks, the politeness thin.

  I force the flirty off my face and keep the charm dialed low. She’s not in the mood for games, and neither am I, really.

  “Afternoon,” I say, sliding the forged requisition across the counter. “I need to pick up schedules for next week’s incoming shipments.”

  One of her brows lifts by just a fraction, but I chuckle and shake my head like we’re sharing some grand joke.

  “Annoying, right?” I ask. “Someone thought dumping a pile of fresh recruits at the main gate during rush was a good idea. It’s a total mess up there. I figured grabbing these might score a few points with the brass.”

  Her mouth softens into faint amusement as she takes the paper, and my pulse kicks up the moment it leaves my fingers. Gideon swore his stolen letterheads and signatures would pass, down to the right names and authorization codes, but I haven’t had time to double-check. I’m betting everything on a man who can barely stand the sight of me, and can only hope his need to finish the job outweighs his very real desire to toss me to the wolves.

  As she scans the page, I let my gaze drift so I’m not hovering, and it lands on the Ramves male again. He’s still watching me, head tilted like he’s trying to place something. Familiarity prickles at the back of my neck, but I can’t pin it down.

  Paranoia, probably.

  I flash him a quick, casual smile to test the waters.

  He dips his chin in acknowledgment, then turns back to his screen. Nothing more.

  Papers rustle and draw my attention forward again. The worker’s ice-blue eyes flick up over the edge of the sheet, indifferent behind the deep navy of her skin.

  “Give me a few minutes to work on these,” she says as she pushes her chair back.

  “Sure thing—”

  “I can grab them, Zephne,” the Ramves offers, already standing, “if you don’t mind holding the counter. I need to pull a couple of things for myself anyway.”

  “Thanks!” She’s brighter now that she doesn’t have to do the legwork, and hands him the request.

  We’re asking for the full list of schedules, deciding it’s better to look overly thorough than suspiciously specific. There are a dozen or more deliveries, which is annoying for them, but safer for me.

  “This’ll take a few minutes,” he says as he takes the paper without meeting my eyes, then nods toward the row of chairs in the lobby. “Have a seat. I’ll bring them out.”

  “Appreciate it,” I reply, forcing another easy smile as I step back from the counter.

  I don’t sit.

  Nerves coil too tight in my gut to let me settle. Instead, I pace a slow circuit, pretending to read the faded informational posters on the walls, flipping through a stack of brochures by the door… anything to look like I belong while I wait. I count seconds and watch the clock out of the corner of my eye, my uneasiness swelling.

  My gaze drifts back to the counter. There’s only one other customer here, tapping his foot impatiently while Zephne handles him, and still no sign of the Ramves through the back door.

  I’m seconds from bolting, plan be damned, when the door finally swings open. He steps out carrying a thin stack of papers, spots me waiting, and ambles over like he has all the time in the world.

  “Sorry for the wait. I wanted to make sure I copied everything and double-checked the list.”

  “No worries,” I answer, reaching for the papers.

  He doesn’t hand them over right away. Instead, he flips a couple of pages deeper into the stack.

  “I put them in chronological order,” he explains. “Figured that’d help with whatever mess you’re sorting up at the gate.”

  “Appreciate it.” I reach for the stack again, trying to signal I’m on a clock, but he turns another page.

  “This day here shows three separate arrivals,” he goes on, tapping the sheet. “But it’s really just one big convoy split across lanes. Place burns through supplies fast.”

  “Yeah, it does,” I say, a little tighter than I mean to.

  He pauses, then glances up. “In a rush?”

  I school my face before the irritation surfaces and flash an apologetic half-grimace. “Sorry. Lunch rotations are kicking off, and things fall apart quick when I’m not there to herd the fresh blood.”

  “I imagine they do,” he says with a smile, and finally slides the papers toward me.

  My fingers close around them and pull, but he doesn’t let go.

  Our eyes lock, and his smile shifts. Something colder settles in as he leans in just enough to keep his voice low.

  “One more thing… Mikhail.”

  My heart slams hard against my ribs. He didn’t see my ID. I know he didn’t. The gate guard barely looked, and it’s been in my pocket since.

  “Yeah?” I manage, steady as I can.

  “You’re a face that’s hard to forget,” he says, voice laced with venom, “especially when you’re flirting with my boyfriend right in front of me.”

  “Boyfriend?” I echo, shaking my head, but his derisive snort cuts me off.

  “At the gate a few days ago. Ankir. You were practically draped all over him.”

  My stomach drops as the memory clicks into place. The Dreven guard I’d flirted with to get inside the city, and the second guard who’d watched the whole thing with a scowl sharp enough to cut glass.

  The same scowl he’s wearing now.

  I force a placating smile onto my face and shake my head. “I didn’t realize he was taken. It was just harmless flirting.”

  “You used your sick little mind tricks on him,” he accuses, leaning in closer. “Made him want you.”

  “No,” I snap, the word sharp as my mask slips. “I didn’t. Absolutely not.”

  “I looked you up after you left… one perk of working in records,” he says with a smirk. “I couldn’t find a Cavese named Mikhail in any active database. Plenty of dead ones, or ones posted halfway across the world, but your accent told me you weren’t transporting in from Sydney or Kyiv… so I reported it. Just in case.”

  The papers crumple in my fist, and I shove him hard enough that he stumbles back and hits the floor with a heavy thud.

  I’m already moving.

  I bolt through the lobby door and out into blinding sunlight. The two gate guards twist toward the noise, and move to block my escape. I summon my power as the first reaches for me, commanding them to get out of my way.

  Both of them stumble and leave me an opening that I dart through, but the effort drains my energy so fast it feels like ice pours from my stomach into my toes.

  Movement in my peripherals catches my eye, and I find a platoon marching up the street toward the building. The lead soldier spots me and bellows something I don’t wait to hear.

  I push aside my exhaustion and run.

  Feet pounding against the pavement, I weave through the crowd, but out here on the edges it’s thinner, and there are fewer bodies to hide behind. If I can hit the city center markets and the crush of people there, I can lose myself among them.

  They don’t know who I am, after all, just that I’m not who I claim to be.

  I shoulder past anyone in my way, leaving a trail of confused mutters and angry curses behind me. Lungs burning, I cut around a corner and duck into a narrow alley, searching for any path to lead me away or any shadow that might swallow me.

  Around another turn, the light at the end of the alley offers an escape, and I desperately need it as I waver. I push all my remaining energy into my legs right as a massive figure steps out from an open garage door.

  I slam into him at full speed. The impact jars me, but he’s solid as a wall like he was bracing for it and barely budges. Before I can register more than a flash of red hair, an arm hooks around my waist, and I’m hauled up and over his shoulder.

  “What the fuck—” I hiss, caught between fury and the need to stay quiet.

  He grunts as my boot connects with his gut. “Shut it unless you want them to hear you,” he growls, already moving deeper into the shadowed garage.

  He shoulders through another door into a darker room, and another presence shifts in the shadows. My panic spikes, and I’m disoriented from being tossed around, but I’ll be damned if I don’t put up a fight.

  I twist, ramming my hip into his jaw hard enough to make his teeth clack, and his grip loosens. I slip free and hit the concrete with a thud that rattles my brain, scrambling to get my feet under me while the world tilts.

  He recovers faster.

  A heavy knee on my sternum pins me to the floor and drives the air from my lungs in a silent gasp. His weight settles, and while he’s careful not to crush, it’s more than enough to hold me still.

  I freeze, chest heaving, and every instinct screaming as I stare at my captor.

  He’s tall, and broader than any human has the right to be, with coppery hair falling across a face set in hard lines. Scars cover the right side of his neck and lick up his chin and cheek in a pink, pitted pattern that’s mostly covered by a thick, neatly trimmed beard. Brown eyes narrow with pure contempt as his knee presses harder.

  “Let me go,” I order, as I reach for the remnants of power churning in my stomach.

  His weight shifts, and he starts to lift while I get ready to run.

  Rough fabric drops over my head and turns everything black. It startles me enough to make me lose my grip on my magic, and the pressure on my chest doubles down.

  “No, no. None of that,” a second voice chimes in, lighter and amused, like he’s enjoying the show. “We know all about your little mind worm tricks.”

  “Mind worm?!” I gasp, and as I draw in a desperate inhale, cloth sucks into my mouth and turns the hood into an effective gag. It chokes me and muffles my words, and sends a jolt of panic through my veins as I try to catch my breath.

  The man scoffs as though he’s offended. “Yeah. That freaky mind-control thing your kind can do. Dom told us all about it, but I call it a mind worm because that sounds more, like, gross, ya know? Really paints the picture.”

  “What the fuck?!” I rasp into the hood, the words garbled and frantic around the fabric.

  “Can’t worm our brains if you can’t see us,” he sing-songs cheerfully.

  “That’s enough, Sakane,” the redhead barks. He eases his weight enough to allow me a ragged breath. “Why were those soldiers chasing you?”

  “Gotta be my dashing good looks,” I wheeze through a cough. “Jealousy’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  He pushes right back down on my sternum as more air punches from my lungs. “Keep talking shit,” he warns. “See where it gets you.”

  “Probably the morgue,” I admit breathlessly, “but at least I’ll die as I lived. Pretty and mouthy… my legacy.”

  He pats me down with a growl, his hands rough as they smack up and down my frame. When he finds the folded papers tucked under my waistband, he yanks up my chestpiece.

  “If you wanted to feel me up, you could’ve at least taken me for dinner first,” I rasp. “I’m pretty easy, actually. Fuck on the first date if you buy me dessert. Doesn’t even have to be fancy, just get me a donut and all this could be yours. Hell, get the kind with sprinkles and I spread like butter.”

  “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Papers rustle violently as he flips through them. “What are these?”

  “So… that’s a no on dessert then?”

  He pushes his weight onto his knee, grinding down until stars burst in my vision and air whistles out of me.

  “We watched you stroll into that building like you owned the place,” he hisses, leaning in so close his coffee breath burns my nostrils, even through the hood. “Ten minutes later, half the damn army was scrambling after you. Why?”

  “Stalking me already, pretty boy?” I choke out, forcing the words through the pain. “That’s hot.”

  “I’m going to fucking murder you.”

  “Get in line,” I mutter, the fight leaching out of me.

  “What do we do with him?” Sakane asks around what sounds suspiciously like chewing, then the crinkle of a wrapper confirms it.

  These two are infinitely better odds than the soldiers I was running from, so I force my body to sag against the floor.

  It’s not surrender, just a calculated pause.

  My magic is drained and my energy isn't far behind, but while I’m not free, I’m not staring down a firing squad.

  That’s something.

  The redhead pauses. “We take him to Dom. As tempting as it would be to throw him back out and watch the soldiers scoop him up, he has information. We need answers first.”

  Air floods my lungs as the knee lifts. Relief lasts half a second, just long enough for rough hands to haul me upright and sling me over his shoulder again.

  He grunts under the extra weight, adjusting his grip on my thighs. “Fucking hell, you’re heavier than you look.”

  “Flatterer,” I mutter into the fabric over my face. “You should feel me after pasta night.”

  I shift, trying to get comfortable with his shoulder digging into my stomach.

  “I can walk, you know,” I complain.

  He snorts. “We saw how fast you run. Not a chance.”

  Frustrated, I growl but force myself to go deadweight. It’s the pettiest rebellion I can manage, but makes me feel marginally better.

  The redhead shifts me higher on his shoulder and starts moving with steady, purposeful strides that echo faintly off concrete. We’re underground now, or at least somewhere enclosed. The air is damp, with a faint tang of must and old stone.

  It makes sense. They can’t parade a hooded captive through daylight.

  Wherever they’re taking me, it’s deeper into the shadows, and for now, I’m along for the ride.

  Momentary acceptance, I remind myself.

  It gets me out of the military’s hands while I buy time and listen. I need to figure out how to turn this around while I regain my strength.

  The second an opportunity shows up, I’ll be gone.

  They walk in silence for what I judge to be about fifteen minutes. The man carrying me shows no sign of tiring, even with my full weight slung across his shoulder and my deliberate attempts to make myself heavier. We pause before his footsteps turn cautious on a metal stairwell. A key scrapes in a lock, and another door swings open.

  Murmured voices grow clearer as the air shifts to something more comfortable. It’s cooler, with the low whir of fans and brighter light filtering through the hood.

  “Hey, Cato—” someone starts, then cuts off at the sight of me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “Not now,” the guy carrying me says curtly. “Where’s Dom?”

  “Uh… in the conference room.”

  “So many cooler names we could use,” Sakane complains from beside me. “Command center. Ops hub. Even headquarters sounds a little badass.”

  “It’s a big empty room with a table,” Cato responds. “We have meetings there. It’s a fucking conference room.”

  “Party pooper,” Sakane mutters.

  Cato snorts. “Call it whatever you want, man. Just don’t expect me to salute your little bun when you walk in like you’re leading the revolution.”

  “This bun is iconic,” Sakane argues. “It’s got presence.”

  “Yeah,” Cato deadpans. “Presence. That thing is so tight it's cutting off circulation to your brain.”

  Sakane gasps, and there's a smacking sound from where he walks beside Cato. “You take that back. The bun is sacred.”

  Cato chuckles like he's ready to argue more, but we pass through a door and the chatter around us swells. Murmurs turn into alarmed whispers, building into a rising tide of confusion and curses in every variation of ‘what the fuck.’

  “Are you at least making my ass look good if it’s on display for everyone?” I grumble.

  Cato ignores me entirely, then knocks on a door.

  “Hey, Dom? We’ve got a situation out here? Kinda need to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, alright, come on in,” the voice calls from inside.

  My eye flares inside the hood.

  The door opens and the same voice sharpens. “What the actual fuck, Cato? That’s a soldier over your shoulder.”

  “It is,” Cato agrees.

  My heart ratchets in my chest at the familiar irritated scoff that follows.

  “Alright, let me rephrase,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Why do you have a soldier in our headquarters?”

  “At least someone is using that word,” Sakane grumbles.

  “We were watching the scheduling office,” Cato explains, “and this asshole charged out with half the damn military on his heels. He had these stuffed in his pants—schedules for next week's shipments.”

  Papers rustle from my side where Sakane stands, and I grow hyper-aware of the embarrassing way Cato has me slung over his shoulder like a rag doll.

  “Why were they chasing him?”

  “Dunno,” Cato answers with a grunt as I try to shift, but he only grips me tighter. “We asked but he isn’t exactly playing nice. Thought maybe you could get more out of him.”

  “Don’t look him in the eyes, boss,” Sakane adds conspiratorially. “It’s one of those with the mind worms.”

  “A Cavese?”

  Cato nods, then drops me to my feet. I stagger, grabbing his arm for balance before rough hands yank the hood off my head. Light floods in and I wince against the sudden brightness until my vision clears.

  The world’s most stunning hazel eyes stare back at me, and shock slacks his face like he’s seen a ghost. I swallow, and he does the same. Four years apart and we’re still mirrored, reacting before thought can catch up.

  We might be as good as strangers now, but our bodies and souls are old friends. They reach for each other, unable to stand one doing something the other can’t match, so we follow and mimic.

  Every buried emotion erupts from its cage, shattering the walls I built to contain them. They rip through me and tear open the wound I’ve carried ever since that damning day. Hiding the pain becomes impossible, so I stop trying and let it loose.