“Mama?”
Lucian nods once. “The way you set your jaw when you’re determined. The way you walk into a room like you belong in the center of it and dare anyone to say otherwise.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. I want to ask him more — about her, about us, about what he sees when he looks at me — but I can’t find the words fast enough.
So instead, I say, “You’re sending me into a place built like a fortress. Against mercenaries. You sure you’re not the reckless one?”
That earns the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth.
“If I could keep you off this mission,” he says, “I would. But this team is the best we have. And you…” He trails off, eyes darkening. “You’re not one to hide away, Gracie.”
I nod.
But he doesn’t stop there. “I need you to come back,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “No heroics. No sacrifices. No last-minute changes to the plan. Do you understand me?”
I do. But I also know this world doesn’t offer guarantees — especially not to people like us.
So, I meet his eyes and say, “I’ll come back. You’ll just have to trust me.”
He stares at me for a long moment.
“You’re your mother’s fire,” he murmurs. “And my storm.”
He pulls me into a hug then nods toward the exit.
“Go,” he says. “Suit up. I’ll see you on the other side.”
The locker room is cold.Not the kind of cold that bites, but the kind that wraps around you slowly, sterile, industrial, humming faintly with fluorescent lights overhead.
The door clicks shut behind me. I’m alone.
The boys have gone to their own lockers or are already waiting in the mission wing. This room is mine—gray walls, black benches, rows of matte steel lockers. A digital display on one wall counts down from thirty minutes. Our launch window.
For the first time all day, there’s silence.
No briefing. No eyes on me. No decisions to make.
Just my heartbeat and the low buzz of fluorescent lights.
I peel off my jacket and drop it onto the bench. My shirt follows. One layer at a time, I shed everything soft, everything familiar. I’ve done this before — training drills, mock missions — but this is different.
Because this is real.
I open the locker Lucian assigned to me. Inside is the gear I’ve been fitted for: tactical bodysuit, armored vest, comms earpiece, utility belt, gloves, and a sheathed blade engraved with the Guild crest.
I dress in silence.
Gloves last.
I flex my fingers once, testing the fit. They feel tighter than they did in training. Or maybe that’s just me, the pressure, the adrenaline threading through every nerve.
What scares me is how much I want to be ready. How much I want to prove I’m not just the girl Daniel tried to break. That I’m not running anymore. That I’m not hiding.
I secure the last strap of my vest and reach for my knife. The handle is smooth, warm from the lights. It slides into place at my side like it belongs there.
The second locker is heavier.
When I open it, it hisses slightly, a secure weapons case built into thebase. My ID tag flashes green as the biometric scanner accepts my clearance. The lid pops up with a soft click.
