“…please.” Her voice breaks on that one word, and it kills me.
I drag a hand over my face and force myself to stand. My reflection in the dark window of my office stares back. Jaw tight, eyes hollow; demeanor carved out of guilt and violence.
President first. Man second. Always.
I type the safest lie I can.
Steel: I’m fine. Busy. We’ll talk later.
It’s short. Cold and distant. It feels like punching myself in the throat. Her reply comes immediately.
Aria:Okay.… Stay safe.
Two words. And a silence louder than the alley where I left three men bleeding.
I shove the phone into my pocket just as the door creaks open and Rampage pokes his head in.
“Prez,” he says. “Rock needs you. We got a location ping from City on Syndicate movement.”
Perfect. More fire. More war. More reasons I can’t answer the only person I want to hear from.
“On my way,” I mutter.
Rampage gives me a long look before leaving. Not suspicious. Not yet. But close.
I follow him out, boots heavy on the wood floor, shoulders tight, and mind racing. Every step feels like moving deeper into a war I didn’t start but have no choice but to finish.
And the whole time, Aria’s voice echoes in the back of my head like a ghost I can’t shake.“Just let me know you’re safe.”
I can’t. Not without making her a target. Not without breaking the brotherhood rules my father carved in blood. Not without admitting the truth I’ve been swallowing since the night we touched again. The thought of losing her terrifies me more than any enemy ever could.
Rock leads the way into the war room. One of the back offices that we stripped down to bare walls and a heavy table years ago.No windows. No cameras. Nothing but concrete, wood, and a map pinned with too many nails.
City’s laptop is open on the table. He’s perched in front of it like a hawk, fingers flying across the keys, eyes narrowed, and jaw tight. Something in his posture tells me I’m not going to like what I see.
“Talk,” I say.
City doesn’t look up. “They moved,” he says. “Ten minutes ago. Two Syndicate burners pinged off a tower near the courthouse.”
My stomach drops. Aria’s office.
“Any ID?” I ask, voice low.
“Not on the burners,” City replies. “But…” His fingers pause. “They sent something else.”
He turns the screen toward me. A cold, grainy single image fills it. Syndicate-cam quality.
A picture of Aria. Taken from across the courthouse street, hours ago, before the attack on her office. Her hair is blowing in the wind. Her head bent over her phone. Her scarf is wrapped tightly around her neck. She has no idea they are stalking her.
No. No. No.
A low, dangerous sound leaves my chest, almost a growl.
Rampage swears. Crusher inhales sharply. Rock just goes still, as if readying for impact. But City isn’t done. He clicks once, and a second image appears.
Aria’s house. Taken at night with her porch light off. Her silhouette is faint behind her curtains.
Another click.
