Not just into this room. Into this life.
The Reaper in me whispers ancient truths: a queen balances the blade. A mate strengthens the root. But the man I pretend to be—the one in suits and sarcasm—he wants her, too. Not just for her mind. Or her body. But for what she does to the silence.
She fills it.
I’d give her everything.
If she asked.
But she never will.
And maybe that’s why I’ll never stop chasing her.
CHAPTER 3
ARIA DAWSON
The universe has a sick sense of humor.
That’s the first thought that hits me as I stare at the glowing datapad in my hand, the Justice Minister’s official seal blinking at the top like it’s some goddamn badge of honor. I’m still half in my sleep clothes, hair wild, mug of tepid stimbrew hovering in my grip like an afterthought. The message came in priority code, timestamped at 04:33—a bureaucrat’s idea of mercy.
I scroll down the directive again, just to be sure my sleep-deprived brain didn’t conjure this out of spite.
“Effective immediately, Assistant Prosecutor Dawson will serve as legal liaison to the Glimner Witness Protection Authority for the high-profile testimony of one Aebon Rexx, under directive Order 77-Beta due to immediate threats from the Nar’Vosk Syndicate.”
The mug shatters when it hits the floor.
Hot ceramic and liquid splash across my bare feet, but I barely notice. My pulse is already doing acrobatics, ears roaring with the shriek of disbelief. The bastard. The kingpin. The man who’s danced circles around my courtroom with that smug smile and reptilian grace—he’s going to be awitnessnow?
And I’m supposed to protect him?
My boots thud against the tile like war drums as I storm out of my apartment, slamming the security lock with a hiss of frustration. The air outside still smells like cold metal and neon fumes—Goldwin’s ever-present perfume. I take the transit platform direct to the Ministry, and it’s all a blur of motion: people parting, faces blurred, my fingers clenched white around my case satchel.
By the time I’m standing in the Minister’s office, the anger has morphed into something colder. Sharper.
He’s an older man, grey hair slicked back, lines carved deep into his cheeks like grooves worn by perpetual disappointment. Minister Valtari doesn’t look up when I enter, just gestures for me to sit.
“I trust you’ve read the directive.”
“I read it,” I say, voice clipped. “Doesn’t make it less insane.”
He finally meets my gaze. His eyes are old, but not soft. “You’ve been tracking the Centauri Sect for nearly five cycles. You know their structure. Their habits. Rexx is offering testimony that could dismantle two-thirds of the Nar’Vosk Syndicate’s leadership. That puts him in play.”
“He’s a criminal.”
“He’s an asset.”
I stand. “He should be in a cell.”
Valtari leans forward. “He should be dead. But he isn’t. And right now, he’s the only one who can give us leverage before the streets drown in blood. You want justice, Aria? Sometimes it’s ugly. Sometimes it walks into court wearing bone spurs and tailored suits.”
My jaw tightens until it aches.
“Why me?”
“Because you know him better than anyone. And because I need someone who won’t be charmed into stupidity.”
The room is too bright. The walls too close. I force a breath past the lump rising in my throat.
