POV: Bea Sharpe

Fighting beside Ben felt like breathing.

We moved as one unit. His strategy covering my aggression. My strength protecting his vulnerabilities. Eight years of rivalry had taught us each other's patterns so completely that we didn't need words anymore.

Ian's remaining guards attacked from three sides. Professional killers following their final orders.

Ben went low. I went high. We cleared the first wave in seconds.

"Left!" Ben called.

I was already moving. Blocked the ...