Ash's POV
There's something about waking up in a place built for criminals that makes you feel like your bones are already guilty.
I didn't dream.
I hadn't in years.
When I opened my eyes, the ceiling above me looked the same as when I closed them—gray, cracked, humming with the quiet buzz of overhead lights. Even in sleep, this place never shut up. The walls breathed with secrets and muffled screams. And today, they whispered one word louder than the rest.
Assignment.
Every recruit knew it was coming. A test. A trial. A chance to prove yourself—or get tossed out with a bullet in your head.
My boots hit the floor before I was even fully awake.
By the time I finished strapping my holster, a sharp knock hit my door. Two times. Pause. Once.
Viper code for "showtime."
I didn't bother asking who it was. I just grabbed my knife, locked the door behind me, and followed the messenger down the corridor.
The meeting room was small, windowless. Tinted glass on one side, observation-style. No mirrors in this place—only eyes you couldn't see watching your every move.
A man waited for me inside. Square-jawed. Unsmiling. One of Seraphina's handlers. Or her pet. Hard to tell which.
He didn't offer a name. Just a file.
I took it and opened it.
Photos. Notes. A target.
"She's a courier," the man said. "Moves product through safe houses in Sector 4. Sloppy. Cocky. But she knows things."
"Dead or alive?" I asked.
"Alive if you can manage. Dead if she tries anything stupid."
I nodded once.
But before I could turn to leave, another voice slid through the room like ice on steel.
"Add a tail."
My jaw locked.
I didn't need to look to know who it was.
Seraphina stepped out from behind the glass like she'd been watching the whole time—which, of course, she had.
Her hair was pulled back tight again. Black turtleneck, high-waisted pants, leather gloves like she was afraid to touch the world raw.
She was always dressed like a funeral was about to happen.
Maybe mine.
"A tail?" I echoed, turning to face her.
She raised one eyebrow. "I want to see how you play with others."
I didn't take the bait. "I don't."
"You will today."
Her lips curled slightly. Not a smile. A warning.
"You'll be paired with Harper," she said. "She'll observe. You'll lead."
"And if she gets in my way?"
Seraphina's eyes gleamed.
"Don't kill her unless I say so."
I hated her voice. The way it slithered into your spine and made everything sound like a dare.
Harper was young. Too young.
Sharp jaw, short-cut blonde hair, and the kind of wide-eyed stare that told me she still thought this life was temporary. Cute. Naïve.
We didn't talk on the drive to Sector 4.
Didn't need to.
I had a job to do. She had one to watch.
We parked two blocks from the safe house and moved on foot.
The streets here were broken teeth—cracked pavement, graffiti-covered walls, broken glass like confetti in the gutters. A kid screamed somewhere in the distance. No one turned.
Sector 4 was rot under the city's tongue.
The target's building was low-rise, half-boarded windows, one flickering camera by the door that didn't even bother to follow us as we approached.
I nodded to Harper, signaling for her to stay back.
She hesitated.
Then obeyed.
Good.
Inside, the smell hit first—burnt rubber, mold, piss. The kind of scent that clings to your hair even after three showers.
I found the courier on the second floor.
She saw me, screamed, reached for something in her jacket.
Too slow.
My hand was already on her wrist, twisting until she dropped the small pistol clattering to the floor.
I slammed her against the peeling wall, my forearm digging into her throat.
"I just want to talk," I said.
She spat in my face.
Typical.
I slammed her again. This time harder.
"Start talking."
"Go to hell."
"Already there."
I pressed my blade lightly to her stomach—not deep. Just enough to suggest pain was possible.
She cracked after a few minutes. They always did. I didn't enjoy it. But I didn't flinch from it either.
By the time I was done, I had names. Locations. A time window.
And her blood on my hands.
She was still alive when I left her cuffed to the rusted radiator. Barely.
Harper stared at me when I stepped out into the hallway.
I didn't bother explaining.
I didn't apologize.
She didn't ask.
When we returned to base, Seraphina was waiting.
Of course.
She leaned against the corridor wall near the weapons locker, hands behind her back like she had all the time in the world.
I barely glanced at her.
"Mission complete," I said, walking past.
Her voice followed me like smoke.
"I didn't say dismissed."
I stopped.
Slowly turned.
She stepped forward. Close. Too close again.
Harper faded down the hall, smart enough to get out of the way.
Now it was just me and her.
"You went off book," she said, soft but sharp.
"I got results."
"She wasn't supposed to bleed."
"She was supposed to talk."
Her eyes didn't move from mine.
"Cold, aren't you?" she murmured.
"You know what they say. Ice attracts ice."
She tilted her head.
"You didn't hesitate."
I stepped closer, the tension twisting tighter between us.
"Was that a test?"
"Everything is."
She leaned in.
The space between us vanished.
Just two inches of air. One flick of breath.
No knives. No fists.
Just pressure.
Electric and unspoken.
"You keep coming at me like that," I said, voice low, "and one of us is going to snap."
"Good," she whispered. "I want to see what you look like broken."
We stood there, eye to eye, breath to breath.
And I knew she hated me as much as I hated her.
Which only made me want to taste the blood behind her lips.
That night, I didn't sleep again.
I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched, fists tight.
She got under my skin.
Her voice. Her face. Her perfect posture.
Like she knew she owned the room, the building, the city.
And now she wanted to own me too.
I wasn't going to let that happen.
But I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder what it'd feel like to press her against the wall just to wipe that smug look off her face.
Not with words.
Not with fists.
But with something worse.
Something I couldn't afford.
Desire.
Because that's how people like us died.
Not from bullets.
But from distraction.
And Seraphina Viper?
She was a walking, talking, dressed-in-black disaster.
The kind I wasn't sure I could survive.
But damn it—I wasn't running.
Let her come closer.
Let her hate me harder.
Because whatever this was between us?
It wasn't over.
Not even close.