Down in the subterranean estate armory, the heavy air smelled of gun oil, cold steel, and rain filter exhaust.
While Dante and Clara were finalizing the perimeter sweep in the upper war room, Mia sat on a wooden workbench in the far corner, swinging her legs nervously. Her eyes were fixed on the sprawling wall of tactical gear, automatic rifles, and sleek sidearms.
The heavy steel door of the armory hissed open, and Viktor walked in.
He had shed his drenched tactical vest, wearing only a black fitted t-shirt that stretched tightly over his broad, scarred chest and shoulders. He moved with the quiet, predatory grace that made him the most lethal commander in the Northern Syndicate except right now, his sharp blue eyes were softened, fixed entirely on Mia.
"You shouldn't be down here alo
