The safehouse in the 16th arrondissement of Paris was a symphony of cold steel and glowing screens. Outside, the city of lights was waking up to news of the "gas leak" explosion near the Louvre, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of high-stakes vengeance.
I sat at a command console, my fingers dancing across a holographic interface. "Sebastian, activate the Vance-7 orbital satellite," I commanded. "I want a thermal sweep of every private airfield and port within five hundred miles of Paris. The Architect's wheelchair has a unique magnetic signature. Find it."
"Already on it, My Lady," Sebastian's voice crackled through the comms.
Darius stood behind me, his jacket discarded, revealing the tactical vest beneath. He was on a secure line, speaking in a language that sounded like a series of rhythmic, lethal clicks—the secret dialect of his elite overseas legion.
He hung up and looked at me, his eyes dark with murderous pride. "The Iron Vanguard is mobilized. Three minutes ago, I authorized a 'scorched earth' protocol on every Shadow Council asset in Europe. If they hide him, they burn with him."
"Wait," I said, my eyes narrowing as a red alert flashed on my central monitor. "We have a live broadcast incoming. It's coming from... a news van outside the cordoned-off zone at the Louvre."
I tapped the screen, and the face of Julian Thorne appeared.
He looked like a man who had crawled through the pits of hell. His face was covered in soot, his eyes wide and bloodshot with a manic, terrified energy. He had grabbed a reporter's microphone and was screaming into the camera as the live feed went out to millions.
"It's her!" Julian shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at the camera. "Elara Vance! She's the Living Yama! She just blew up the Louvre! She's married to a demon! You all think she's a philanthropist heiress, but she's a monster! She bankrupted me because I found out the truth! Look at her! She's coming for all of you!"
The news anchor tried to wrestle the mic away, but Julian was possessed by fear.
"Darius, shut him down," I said, my voice eerily calm.
"With pleasure," Darius growled, reaching for his tablet.
"No," I stopped him, a slow, cold smirk spreading across my lips. "Let him keep talking. He's doing my marketing for me. He's telling every hidden snake in the Shadow Council exactly who is coming for them. He's making sure that when I walk into a room, the air leaves their lungs before I even touch my scalpel."
I looked at the screen where Julian was being tackled by security. He had served his final purpose. By trying to ruin my reputation, he had officially turned "Elara Vance" into the most feared name on the planet.
Chime.
"Thermal match confirmed, Madam President," Sebastian reported. "The Architect's signal just pinged at a private chateau in the French Alps. It's a fortified bunker disguised as a vineyard."
I stood up, the silver scalpels on my thigh catching the light.
"Darius," I said, looking at the man who was already checking the magazines of his rifle. "How do you feel about a trip to the mountains?"
Darius walked over, his large hand cupping the back of my neck, pulling me into a fierce, possessive kiss that tasted of impending war.
"I've always loved the snow," he whispered against my lips. "It makes the blood look so much brighter."
"Tell the pilots to prep the helicopter," I commanded, my voice echoing with the authority of a queen heading to her final battle. "Tonight, the Architect finds out that some surgeries are permanent."