"Hale's private executive suite. Third floor, east wing. The biometric-locked master ledger just pinged the security network. It is active. Repeat: the target is active and accessible."
My amber veins flare.
Bright.
Incandescent.
Because this is it.
The opening we have been waiting for.
I look down at Tamsin.
Her dark eyes meet mine.
And I see it.
The same understanding.
The same readiness.
The same absolute, unwavering determination.
"Together?" she asks quietly.
"Together," I agree.
I take her hand.
And we move.
Chapter 22: Tamsin
One hour ago, I was a broke massage therapist eating ramen for dinner three nights a week.
Now I'm committing corporate espionage in a four-thousand-dollar dress.
The service corridor is narrow and utilitarian—bare concrete walls, exposed piping overhead, industrial lighting that flickers every few seconds. It's the kind of space designed to be invisible, tucked behind the polished marble and crystal chandeliers of the main ballroom where the supernatural elite are currently drinking champagne and pretending they don't want to murder each other.
My heels click against the concrete.
Sharp.
Precise.
Way too fucking loud.
Cyprian moves ahead of me, his massive frame filling the corridor, his wings folded tight against his back. He doesn't make a sound. Not a single footstep. Not a breath. He's just thissilent, terrifying presence gliding through the shadows like he was born to infiltrate high-security corporate towers.
Which, I guess, he was.
My heart is hammering against my ribs.
The obsidian silk gown keeps catching around my legs, forcing me to hike the fabric up with one hand while I navigate the uneven concrete in three-inch heels that were absolutely not designed for industrial espionage. The diamond choker around my throat feels like it weighs ten pounds, pressing against my windpipe with every breath.
His mother's choker.
The one that marks me as his.
