The first time I saw behind the curtain, it was bags of drugs. I told myself it was an exception. Just one account, one deal, one dirty secret. I could survive it. I could fix it later.
But then there was Mia. My one and only friend. I loved her like a sister.
She was nineteen, quiet, a translator Hydra used for overseas deals. She reminded me of myself—bright eyes, sharp mind, hungry for approval. We’d sit together after events, trading jokes, pretending the champagne tasted as sweet as the rich men said it did.
And then one day, she was gone. No transfer, no goodbye. Just gone. I saw the way Roger Grand watched her; he took her, it had to have been him. He would pay.
When I asked questions, Hydra smiled tightly, their grip colder.Not your concern, Elara.
But I knew. God help me, I knew. And that’s when the mask I’d built started to crack.
The SUV jolted, dragging me back. My eyes snapped open, heart thudding too fast, too loud. Across from me, Beckett was watching, his stare as steady as the rifle in his lap.
I wondered, not for the first time, what he’d do if he knew all of it—that I’d once stood on a stage and sold Hydra’s lies with perfect teeth and a polished voice.
Would he see me as an asset worth guarding? Or just another piece of rot to let burn?
“Two minutes before we ditch the vehicle,” River said.
I straightened, fingers tightening on the straps of my vest, the past shoved back into the dark where it belonged.
Masks were armor. They always had been.
But as Beckett’s gaze locked on mine, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—he’d already seen beneath it.
18
Elara
The desert air rushed in hot and dry, carrying dust and the faint smell of rain. Who would have guessed that a few miles out of Palm Springs is where the devil did his dirty work? My pulse slowed—even though it should have sped up, maybe, but the feeling felt familiar. Hydra had trained me for chaos. And chaos was where I remembered how to breathe.
Oliver went left, Gage peeled right, Beckett motioned me behind him, rifle up, every line of his body screamingstay in my shadow.
I followed… but not too close.
The convoy came into view fast—three trucks grinding down a narrow service road, flanked by two SUVs with blacked-out windows. Hydra’s signature: subtle enough to pass at a glance, deadly if you looked twice.
Shots cracked. Oliver’s round punched into a tire, sending the first SUV skidding sideways. Men spilled out, shouting in two languages, weapons flashing in the sun.
I dropped low, instinct kicking in, heart hammering with the strange calm Hydra had carved into me. They’d trained me to blend in at galas, but they’d also trained me to stay alive whendeals turned ugly. Not with rifles—never rifles—but with knives, with leverage, with precision.
One of the gunmen rushed too close, spraying fire wild and high. I rolled, caught his wrist, twisted. The weapon clattered into the dirt, and in one smooth movement, I shoved the heel of my hand into his throat. He crumpled, gasping. My pulse barely flickered.
Beckett’s shout cut across comms. “Voss—on me!”
I was already moving, ducking into cover by the side of a truck. The metal burned against my shoulder, but I pressed in tight, eyes scanning. Hydra men swarmed like ants, uncoordinated but vicious.
One of them spotted me, recognition flashing in his eyes. His lips curled into something too close to a smile. “Princess Voss,” he called in accented English. “Didn’t expect to see you on this side of the curtain.”
The words hit harder than bullets, tearing up the dirt near my boots. Princess. That was what Roger called me when he polished me, paraded me, and used me. My stomach twisted, bile rising.
I raised my voice, steady, sharp. “Then you should know I don’t wear crowns anymore.”
His smile faltered a second too long. I lifted the pistol I’d pulled from my vest—clean, aimed, no hesitation—and fired. He dropped, dust puffing around him.
For half a second, the battlefield noise dulled. I stood there, chest heaving, weapon hot in my hand, and realized I’d crossed another line I couldn’t uncross.
Beckett appeared at my side, hand gripping my arm, eyes scanning my face like he expected me to shatter. “You good?”
