LETHAL LEGACY

Chapter 1: The Asset

POV: Leo

The lecture hall at St. Jude’s University had four exits. I sat in the back row—the Sniper’s Perch—and watched all of them.

I wasn't listening to Professor Clarke drone on about the structural integrity of Gothic arches. I already knew how to build a cathedral. More importantly, thanks to my father Ezra, I knew how to bring one down.

My focus was on the third row, seat F.

Asset 1.

Rian Ellis.

He was currently chewing on the end of a blue biro, his brows furrowed as he tried to sketch the vaulted ceiling instead of taking notes. He was messy. His hair was a riot of copper curls that looked like they hadn't seen a comb in two days. His backpack was open, spilling an expensive architecture textbook that I knew cost three months of his rent.

He was a security nightmare. No situational awareness. He exposed his neck when he stretched. He left his drink unattended.

It made my fingers twitch.

I wanted to zip his bag. I wanted to move his water bottle. I wanted to stand behind him and break the wrist of the guy in the row behind him who was looking at Rian’s neck.

Ezra had taught me to identify High Value Assets.

Is it rare? Yes. There was no one else like him in this grey, miserable city.

Is it fragile? Yes. He looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over.

Do you want to keep it?

I tightened my grip on my tablet. The screen cracked slightly under my thumb.

Yes.

The lecture ended. The herd began to move.

Rian stood up, fumbling with his bag. As he bent down to pick up a dropped pen, two guys from the rowing team pushed past him. They didn't apologize. One of them checked Rian’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

"Watch it, scholarship," the rower sneered.

Rian flushed pink. "Sorry," he mumbled.

He apologized. For being assaulted.

A cold, dark sensation pooled in my gut. Protocol: Aggressive Defense.

I stood up and moved down the stairs, sliding through the gaps in the crowd like water. I reached the double doors just as the rowers were exiting.

I stepped on the back of the lead rower’s shoe. Hard.

He stumbled, the heel of his shoe crushing. He flailed, grabbing the doorframe. He spun around, finding himself chest-to-chest with me.

I was six-foot-two. I was wearing a black coat that cost more than his tuition. And I wasn't blinking.

"Problem?" I asked. My voice was low, rusted from disuse.

The rower looked up. He saw the Vane face. Everyone knew the name Vane. They knew my father owned half of London. They knew my other father scared the police.

"No," the rower stammered. "No problem, Leo. Just... tripped."

"Walk carefully," I whispered, leaning in. "Accidents happen. Bones break."

I brushed past him, stepping out into the corridor.

I looked left. Rian was walking toward the library, hugging his sketchbook. Safe.

I pulled out my phone and opened the tracking app I had installed on his device three days ago while he was distracted in the cafeteria.

Distance: 20 meters. Heart Rate: Elevated.

"Calm down, Asset," I murmured to the dot on the screen.

I started to follow him. I wasn't stalking. That was a dirty word. I was providing unauthorised lethal care.