Nova didn't sleep.
Not after Vienna. Not after the rooftop.
Not after that kiss.
Yelena wasn’t just Irena’s hidden daughter. She was something else entirely.
An echo of everything Nova had fought to leave behind.
And yet… a mirror too.
That kiss hadn’t been about desire.
It had been a dare.
A warning.
And maybe… an invitation.
Back in Croatia, the estate was locked down tighter than ever.
Tatiana reviewed security footage for hours, rewinding and replaying Yelena’s rooftop escape like it held the secrets to the universe.
It almost did.
"She landed on a black Ducati," Tatiana muttered, squinting. "Helmetless. Classic narcissist move."
Nova leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Where’d she go?”
"Underground. We traced her to Berlin. Then Paris. Now she’s off-grid again."
No
