The adrenaline doesn't fade. It doesn't crash. It curdles in my veins, turning into something thicker, hotter, and infinitely more dangerous.
I stare at the bodies on the floor—the men I broke, the men I ended—and I don't feel remorse. I feel a terrifying, vibrating hum of power.
Stavros sees it. He sees the dilation of my pupils, the flush on my skin that has nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the kill.
He drops the blueprint. He steps over the corpse of the man I stabbed and slams me back against the cold steel wall of the corridor.
"You're vibrating," he growls, his hands gripping my waist, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh beneath my tactical vest.
"I'm alive," I gasp, looking up at him. My chest is heaving, crushing against the hard ceramic plate of his a
