Chapter 1 Aaron
Aaron
Location: Lisbon, Portugal
It’s dark outside. I notice her because she doesn’t notice me.
That alone makes her dangerous.
She stands outside the archive building with her phone pressed to her ear, shoulder tucked against the stone wall like she’s trying to disappear into it. No panic. No urgency. Just quiet concentration while the city moves around her.
Tourists pass. A tram rattles by. Life continues.
And somewhere deep in my chest, instinct tightens.
“She doesn’t know,” I murmur into the mic.
Ronan’s voice comes back low and steady. “Confirm.”
“She thinks she’s safe.”
That’s confirmation enough.
I watch her end the call and slip the phone into her bag, fingers brushing a silver pendant at her throat—nervous habit. She exhales, glancing up at the building behind her like she’s debating whether to go back inside.
Don’t.
Every part of me wants to tell her not to.
“Name’s Lark London,” Lena says in my ear piece. “NGO data archivist. No priors. No combat training. No idea she’s flagged.”
I follow Lark as she starts walking, at an unhurried pace, posture relaxed. She doesn’t see the man step out of the alley behind her.
I do.
“Contact,” I say quietly.
The man closes the distance fast. Too fast. Wrong energy.
I move.
No warning. No announcement.
I catch him mid-reach and slam him into the wall hard enough to rattle teeth. He gasps, hands flying up in reflex.
“Run,” I tell Lark.
She freezes.
Our eyes meet for the first time.
Wide. Intelligent. Shocked—but not screaming.
Good.
I repeat myself. “Now.”
She runs.
The man struggles once.
That’s all he gets.
When I release him, he collapses to the pavement, unconscious and irrelevant.
I turn back toward Lark—already moving after her, heart hammering with a realization that lands like a warning shot:
She wasn’t collateral.
She was chosen.
And whatever’s coming next?
I’m already too close to walk away.