The garage of the Orchid Estate was a cathedral of chrome and gasoline. Jace Wilder didn't pick a sensible sedan or a guarded SUV. He walked straight to a customized, blood-red Ducati with gold trim.
"You said you were driving," Jace smirked, tossing a carbon-fiber helmet at Elara's chest. "But I don't think you can handle this beast, little muse. So, you're on the back. Hold tight, or don't. I don't mind picking you up off the asphalt."
Elara caught the helmet, her jaw tightening. "I've survived the streets of Seoul for twenty-four years without a silk pillow, Jace. Your bike doesn't scare me."
She climbed onto the back, her hands hovering uncertainly near his waist. Jace grabbed her wrists and yanked them forward, forcing her arms to wrap around his leather jacket. Through the material, she could feel the heat of his body and the hard lean muscle of his torso.
"Don't be shy," he whispered over the roar of the engine. "We're going to be much closer than this before the night is over."
With a screech of tires, they tore out of the estate.
The city became a blur of motion. Jace rode like a man with a death wish, weaving through the midnight traffic of Gangnam and heading toward the older, darker heart of the city—Dongdaemun's industrial district. Here, the neon signs flickered with a dying buzz, and the air smelled of ozone and wet metal.
They stopped in an alleyway tucked behind a row of crumbling textile factories. Jace hopped off the bike, not even winded, and gestured for her to follow.
"There's a man here," Jace said, his playful tone replaced by something sharper. "An old chemist named Mr. Han. He has the cinnabar you need—the real stuff, mined from the same vein they used five hundred years ago. But he doesn't sell to people in suits. He only sells to people he trusts."
"And he trusts you?" Elara asked, skeptical.
"He owes me. I kept his son out of a debt-collector's furnace last year."
They entered a basement shop that was a sensory overload of jars, dried herbs, and chemical vats. Mr. Han, a man whose skin looked like weathered parchment, sat behind a counter. He looked at Jace, then at Elara.
"The girl has the Sight," the old man whispered, his eyes widening. "You brought a Dragon into my shop, Wilder."
"Just give her the pigments, Han," Jace said, stepping between them protectively.
As Elara examined the samples, her eyes began to glow with a faint, amber hue—a physical manifestation of her gift. She could see the molecular purity of the cinnabar. It was perfect. But as she reached for a jar, a shadow blocked the doorway.
Three men stood there. They weren't Orchids. They wore gray suits and carried heavy, lead-lined batons.
"The Stone Family," Jace spat, his hand going to the hilt of a knife hidden at his lower back. "I should have known you'd be sniffing around."
"The Black Orchid thinks they can monopolize the Muse?" the lead man said. "The Stones want a piece of that map, too. Hand her over, and maybe we won't break your legs, Wilder."
Jace turned to Elara, a wild, dangerous glint in his eyes. "Elara, get behind the counter. And don't look away. You wanted to see how the colors are made? This is the shade of Red I like best."
The fight was a symphony of violence. Jace moved like a blur, his style a mixture of street brawling and refined martial arts. He didn't just defend; he hunted. He used the environment—shattering a jar of indigo powder to blind the first attacker, then delivering a devastating spinning kick to the second.
But the third man pulled a retractable baton and swung for Jace's head.
"Jace, left!" Elara screamed.
Her "Sight" allowed her to see the trajectory before it happened. Jace reacted instantly, ducking the blow and slamming his elbow into the man's throat. Within minutes, the three men were groaning on the floor.
Jace stood over them, his chest heaving, a smear of blood on his cheek. He looked back at Elara, expecting fear. Instead, he found her standing tall, clutching the jar of cinnabar, her eyes burning with a fierce, untapped power.
"You're not a mouse," Jace breathed, walking toward her. He reached out, his thumb wiping a smudge of dust from her forehead. His touch was rough, but his eyes were filled with a sudden, intense respect. "You're a lioness."
"I'm a restorer," she corrected, though her heart was hammering against her ribs. "And we have what we came for. Let's go before more of them show up."
They rode back in silence, but this time, Elara didn't hesitate to hold on to him.
When they returned to the mansion, the front doors swung open to reveal Killian and Alistair. Killian's face was a mask of cold fury.
"You took her out of the perimeter, Jace," Killian said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "The Stones attacked. If she had been hurt—"
"But she wasn't," Jace interrupted, sliding off the bike. "She saved my skin, actually. She's got more fire than all of you combined."
Alistair stepped forward, checking Elara's pupils with a penlight. "Your adrenaline is peaked. You need rest, Elara. And Jace... you need a lecture on security."
"I'm fine," Elara said, pushing Alistair's hand away. She looked at Killian, then at Jace. "I got the pigments. The restoration continues tomorrow. But let's get one thing straight—I am not a prize you hide in a vault. If you want this map, you accept that I am part of the world it belongs to."
She walked past them, her head held high.
Killian watched her go, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned to Jace. "If you ever put her in danger again, the Pact won't save you."
"Admit it, Killian," Jace smirked, ignoring the threat. "You're not mad because she was in danger. You're mad because she enjoyed the ride with me."
Upstairs, Elara locked her door. She looked at her hands. They were still shaking, but not from fear. From the thrill. For the first time in her life, she wasn't just surviving. She was living. And she had five of the most powerful men in the world trapped in her orbit.
She opened the cinnabar jar. The deep, blood-red powder shimmered under the light.
"The game has changed," she whispered to the empty room. "And I'm the one holding the brush."