Luna’s hands trembled around the yacht keychain, its silver crescent moon catching the SUV’s dim light. The chaos—gunfire, smoke, Roberts’s laughter, Damien’s screams—still echoed in her mind, a storm refusing to pass. But Grayson’s arm was steady, his heartbeat a calm rhythm against her cheek. They had escaped Building 12, but danger still lingered. Roberts had vanished. Damien’s words—You’ll always be mine—still clung like poison.

Grayson brushed her bruised cheek, ...