I glanced at the mirror-lined wall across from me. My reflection stared back, all sharp angles and old scars. Pale skin that never saw sunlight. Steel-gray eyes that had forgotten how to hold anything soft. Dark hair cut military-short because anything longer felt like a liability, like something an enemy could grab hold of in close combat.
But there was color in my cheeks now. Heat under my skin. The ghost of Dom's grip still burning around my wrists.
I looked like exactly what I was.
A weapon someone had forgotten to dismantle. But one that could still feel the warmth of a brother's hands, even if only in violence.
“Feeling human is luxury,” I said quietly, more to my reflection than to Dom. “I cannot afford luxuries.”
He opened his mouth to answer, probably to call me on my bullshit the way he always did, but my comm buzzed. Sharp. Urgent. Adrian's voice crackled through, clipped and formal in the way that meant business, not brotherhood.
“My office. Now.”
I pulled the comm from my ear and wiped sweat from my neck with the towel Dom had been using. He made a face but didn't complain. Smart man. He knew when to push and when to shut up.
“Guess playtime's over,” he said, and there was something in hisvoice now. Concern, maybe. Or just the awareness that when Adrian used that tone, someone's life was about to change.
“Playtime,” I repeated, and couldn't quite keep the edge of warmth from my voice. “Is that what we call it when you make me work for my morning coffee?”
“I call it keeping you sharp.” He tossed me a water bottle. I caught it without looking. “Someone's got to make sure you don't go completely feral.”
“Too late for that.”
“Yeah.” His grin softened into something more real. Something that looked almost like affection. “But at least you're our feral bastard.”
I didn't answer. Just stripped off the training gloves and headed for the door, boots echoing against the polished floor like gunfire. Each step measured. Controlled. The way I'd learned to move through the world after Anya died. After I realized that caring about anything meant watching it bleed out while you stood there useless, powerless, too fucking late every single time.
The doorto Adrian's office was already open. I could see firelight flickering inside, smell the cigar smoke and expensive scotch that always clung to the air around him like a signature. He stood by the fireplace, tailored suit immaculate despite the late hour, looking every inch the predator he was. Calculated. Controlled. Dangerous in ways most people didn't recognize until it was too late.
Adrian Calloway. Scarred face. Ruthless mind. The kind of man who'd burn the world down for the people he loved and sleep soundly afterward because he knew he'd made the right choice.
He'd saved my life once. Pulled me out of the gutter when I was half-dead and fully broken, gave me purpose when I had nothing left but ghosts and guilt and a loaded gun I'd been too much of a coward to use. I owed him everything.
Which meant when he said jump, I asked how high and didn't complain about the landing.
Noah was already there, curled in one of the leather chairs with a laptop balanced on his knees. Dark hair falling into his eyes. Focused on whatever he was working on with the kind of intensity that made the rest of the world disappear. He looked different than when I'd first met him a year ago. Softer somehow. Less haunted. Like Adrian had somehow managed to sand down the sharp edges of trauma without breaking what made Noah himself.
He glanced up when I entered. Smiled. Warm. Real. The kind of smile that made it obvious why Adrian had gone to war for him.
“Viktor. Hey.” He closed the laptop. “Adrian said you were coming.”
“Noah.” I nodded. Respectful. He'd earned it.
I stopped in the doorway, waiting. Adrian liked control. Liked making people come to him. I understood it. Respected it, even.
“Close the door,” Adrian said without turning around. “Sit.”
I moved to the empty chair across from Adrian's desk. Before I could sit, Noah stood.
“Actually, take this one. Better angle to see the files.” He gestured to the chair he'd been occupying.
“Is fine where I am?—“
“No, really. I insist.” Noah was already moving, laptop tucked under his arm.
He perched on the arm of my chair. Casual. Easy. Then, without warning, slid directly into my lap.
I froze.
