The river was black glass under the moonlight—cold, merciless, swallowing every sound.

Aria’s body hit the water like a stone. The shock bit into her lungs, but she surfaced quickly, gasping, clutching the waterproof pack tight to her chest. The painting was safe. That was all that mattered.

She turned in the current—and saw him.

Lucien Drake emerged from the shadows of the water, every line of him lethal and deliberate, as if the river itself had bent around his will. His dark hair ...