By morning, the rules had changed.

Not that Ember had agreed to any.

She woke to the sound of music low, instrumental, orchestral. It wasn’t comforting. It sounded like a funeral disguised as a waltz.

Lucien Vairo was waiting when she opened the door.

Black shirt. Sleeves rolled. No tie. Gun holstered at his back, like always. That face, a mask carved from storms. The kind of beautiful you regret trusting.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“I’ll pass.”

“Shame.” He glanced at her torn dress, then tossed a box at her feet. “Change. You’re coming with me.”

“I’m not your pet.”

“No,” he said coolly. “Pets don’t lie. Or sneak into auctions with pistols.”

“And what exactly am I to you, Lucien?”

He didn’t blink. “A ticking clock.”

She changed in the bathroom. The box held a sleek combat suit black, tactical, minimal. It fit her too well. Custom. He’d planned this.

She stepped out ready to kill. He looked her up and down, nodded once.

“You handle yourself well under fire. Let’s see how you do in real blood.”

Location: The Lower Docks.

The place reeked of salt, rust, and old blood. Five black SUVs parked in a half-circle. Men in masks. Guns drawn.

Lucien handed Ember a sidearm.

“What are we doing?”

He didn’t answer. Just pointed at a rusted metal door. “In there. Our friend wants to negotiate terms.”

Ember narrowed her eyes. “Terms for what?”

“A name. One I think you’ll be interested in.”

He stepped back. “You’re going in alone.”

She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “You brought me as bait?”

“Not bait,” Lucien said. “Bait doesn’t shoot back. You? You’re the distraction.”

“And if I die?”

Lucien smirked. “Then I was wrong about you.”

Ember gritted her teeth and entered.

Inside, shadows swam like sharks. One bare bulb overhead. A man stood waiting older, tattooed, eyes cold.

“Nice of him to send you,” he said, voice gritty. “Didn’t expect such a pretty company.”

“You have a name for me?” Ember asked, stepping forward.

He chuckled. “I got something better. A message.”

He raised a gun.

Too slow.

Ember dove. The bullet grazed her arm, but she was already rolling, pulling the sidearm Lucien gave her.

One shot to the leg. The man dropped. She kicked the gun from his hand.

He grinned through blood. “He said you’d be good.”

“Who?” she snapped, pressing the barrel to his cheek.

“Rafael.”

Her breath caught. “He’s dead.”

“Try again.”

Before he could say more

The wall exploded.

Smoke. Shouts. Gunfire rained in from outside.

Lucien’s men poured in. The room turned into hell. Ember ducked, shot two men in masks. One screamed. Another dropped beside her.

Lucien stormed through the dust, gun raised, expression unreadable.

“Who told you Rafael’s alive?” he shouted at her.

She turned, eyes wild. “He did!”

Lucien grabbed the wounded man by the throat. “Tell me where he is.”

The man laughed. Choked. “You’re too late. He’s already got her.”

“Got who?” Lucien snarled.

The man’s eyes slid to Ember.

Lucien went still.

“What the hell does that mean?” Ember demanded. “Got who?”

“Your father,” the man croaked. “Didn’t leave you. He was taken.”

Lucien tightened his grip. “Where?”

“Check the church,” the man gasped. “Beneath the altar ”

Bang.

A single shot. The man’s head snapped back.

Lucien’s second-in-command stood behind him. Gun still smoking. “Sniper. Roof. Had to take the shot.”

Lucien didn’t move. His knuckles were white.

Ember stared at the corpse. “He was about to tell us ”

“I know,” Lucien said, ice-cold. “And someone didn’t want us hearing it.”

Back in the SUV, silence reigned.

Ember clutched her arm. Blood soaked through the tactical sleeve.

Lucien finally spoke. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t know Rafael was alive,” she said.

“But you knew your father wasn’t dead.”

Her eyes flashed. “I hoped. That’s not the same.”

“You played me.”

“Right,” she hissed. “Because you’ve been so honest.”

Lucien turned to her, voice lethal calm. “I never promised you anything but danger.”

She laughed bitterly. “Well. Thanks for over delivering.”

Then he did something that shocked her

He reached out, gently, and unzipped the fabric over her wound.

She flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m not your enemy.”

“No,” she whispered. “But you’re not my ally either.”

Lucien didn’t reply. He ripped his shirt sleeve, pressed it to her arm.

“You’re bleeding because of me,” he said quietly.

“No,” Ember said. “I’m bleeding because of the truth. That’s what hurts.”

He looked at her for a long time. Then said, “We go to the church tonight.”

“And if it’s a trap?”

He smirked faintly. “Then we spring it together.”

That night: The church.

Fog curled around broken statues. Candles flickered behind stained glass. The altar stood cracked, old, forgotten.

Lucien pried open the floor beneath it. Wood groaned. A staircase led down.

Ember followed him into the dark.

The basement reeked of incense and gun oil. A single room. A single chair.

A single photo nailed to the wall.

Her father. Tied. Beaten. Alive.

Lucien stared.

But it was the message scrawled beneath it in red that made Ember's knees buckle:

“I found your daughter first. – R.”

Lucien turned to her. His voice was quiet. “He’s been watching you this whole time.”

Ember’s voice trembled. “Then why let me come here?”

Lucien answered with ice in his tone.

“Because Rafael wants you back.”

Lucien’s stare burned into her.

“He’s been watching you.”

The words echoed louder than gunfire in Ember’s skull.

She took a shaky step back from the photo. Her father’s face bloodied, still breathing was seared into her mind. But it was the message that made her skin crawl:

“I found your daughter first.”

– R.

Ember’s fingers curled into fists. “Rafael knew who I was. All along.”

Lucien didn’t speak. He was too still, too calm in that way men are before they shatter.

“Why would he take my father?” she asked, voice breaking.

“Because Rafael doesn’t kidnap for leverage,” Lucien said darkly. “He does it for sport.”

Ember stared at the old wooden chair bolted to the floor. Rusted chains still dangled from the arms. One had a tuft of grey hair caught in the hinge.

She turned away, bile rising in her throat.

“We have to get him out.”

“We don’t know where he is.”

“He left this,” she hissed. “He wants us to follow.”

“Or walk into a bullet,” Lucien growled. “You think my brother plays fair?”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “I want my father back.”

He grabbed her wrist not hard, but firm. “And I want my brother dead.”

They stared at each other, heat and rage and old grief twisting between them.

“Then maybe we want the same thing,” she said. “Because after I get my father, I’ll help you put a bullet in Rafael’s skull.”

Lucien’s jaw ticked. “You really think you can kill him?”

“If I have to,” Ember said. “No one tortures my family and walks away.”

For a moment, something dangerous flickered in his eyes. Pride. Or madness.

Then he stepped closer, his hand still on her wrist. The air between them burned.

“You should be scared,” he said softly.

“I am,” she whispered. “Of what I’ll become if I let this consume me.”

“You’re already becoming her,” he murmured.

Their lips were inches apart. The church cold vanished. The grief, the blood, the lies it all blurred.

Lucien tilted his head.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

She didn’t.

So he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It was fury. Teeth. Desperation wrapped in silk and steel. Her hands tangled in his shirt; his slammed her against the stone wall, not to dominate but because he needed to feel something real. Alive.

His mouth tasted like ash and obsession.

Her body answered in kind.

But just as quickly, she shoved him back. Breathing ragged.

“I’m not a weapon you can fuck into obedience.”

Lucien smirked. “No. You’re a storm I can’t outrun.”

She wiped her lips, eyes blazing. “We’re not allies. Don’t forget that.”

“No,” he said. “We’re fire and gasoline. Let’s see what burns first.”

Behind them, the candle at the altar flickered then extinguished.

Somewhere in the shadows, a silent figure watched. Eyes like knives.

And a voice whispered into the dark:

“Soon, little sister. Soon.”