“Hands in the air!”

The floodlights blinded her, so bright that Aria instinctively raised an arm to shield her face. The blare of sirens and the metallic click of guns being cocked froze her blood.

“Now!” the officer barked again.

Beside her, Damien didn’t move. His hands stayed at his sides, his stance steady, his jaw tight.

Aria’s pulse thundered. “Damien,” she hissed, tugging at his sleeve. “Do what they say!”

Slowly, his head turned toward her, gray eyes unreadable. “If I do, we don’t walk away from this.”

Her stomach dropped. “What are you talking about? They’re the police”

“They’re not here for justice, Aria,” he cut in, his voice low but razor-sharp. “They’re here for me. And now, for you.”

The officers advanced, guns steady. One of them shouted, “Aria Collins? Step away from him immediately!”

Her breath caught. “They know my name?”

Damien’s mouth curved in a grim line. “Of course they do. You’re leverage now.”

Her knees threatened to buckle. Leverage. That word twisted through her gut like a knife. She wasn’t just collateral damage anymoreshe was bait.

“Don’t make me repeat myself!” the officer roared.

Damien finally raised his hands, slow, deliberate. “Easy, gentlemen.” His tone dripped with ice. “You’ll scratch the merchandise.”

Aria whipped her head toward him, fury sparking despite her fear. “Merchandise?”

“Play along,” he murmured.

Before she could snap back, two officers rushed forward. One grabbed Damien, wrenching his arms behind him with rough efficiency. The other seized Aria by the wrist.

“Wait!” she yelped, stumbling as they dragged her toward the police car. “I didn’t do anything”

“You’re coming with us,” the officer cut her off, voice flat. “For questioning.”

Damien shot her a look over his shoulder, sharp and warning. Say nothing.

The command in his eyes made her bristle, but fear kept her quiet as they shoved her into the back of the cruiser. Damien was forced in beside her, his hands cuffed, his expression cool, detached.

The doors slammed shut. The city lights blurred as the car sped away, sirens wailing.

Aria pressed herself against the window, her chest tight. “This is insane. I don’t even know what I’m being arrested for.”

Damien leaned back against the seat, his cuffs clinking softly. “You’re not under arrest.”

She spun on him. “Excuse me? Because it sure feels like it.”

His gray eyes locked on hers. “You’re being collected.”

Her blood ran cold. “Collected by who?”

The corners of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t amusement. It was grim certainty. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

The cruiser jolted to a stop outside a looming stone building that looked nothing like a precinct. No neon signs. No bustling city officers. Just a fortress of tinted glass and shadow.

Aria’s stomach clenched. “This isn’t the station.”

“Very observant,” Damien muttered.

The officer yanked open her door, pulling her out with rough hands. “Move.”

“Where are you taking us?” she demanded.

The man didn’t answer.

Damien was hauled out beside her, still cuffed but walking with the quiet authority of someone not used to being restrained. He caught her eye briefly. Stay close.

They were marched inside, down a long corridor lined with cameras and doors that all looked the same. Sterile. Cold. A prison that didn’t look like one.

Finally, they were shoved into a windowless room with a metal table and two chairs.

“Sit,” the officer barked.

Aria dropped into the chair, her pulse racing. Damien sat across from her, chains clinking against the table as they cuffed him down.

The officers left without another word, the door clicking shut behind them. Silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.

Aria leaned forward, whispering harshly. “What the hell is going on, Damien? Who are these people?”

His gaze flicked up, steady, unreadable. “Not police. Government. Or at least, what’s left of it.”

Her stomach knotted. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to,” he said flatly. “You just need to know this: everything that’s happening tonight? It isn’t random. It’s war.”

“War?” Her laugh came out brittle. “Between who? You and that Vivienne woman?”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Between the Blackwoods and everyone who’s ever wanted us destroyed. Which, as you’re seeing, is a long list.”

Before she could answer, the door creaked open.

A man in a crisp suit stepped in, tall and severe, his eyes glinting behind thin glasses. He closed the door carefully, almost politely, before turning toward them.

“Mr. Blackwood,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “And Miss Collins. What an unexpected pairing.”

Aria stiffened. “Who are you?”

The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Someone who asks the questions.”

He set a folder on the table, flipping it open. Aria’s breath caught when she saw her own photograph staring back at her. Her working at the bar. Her walking home late at night. Her with friends. All dated. All recent.

Her voice trembled. “Why do you have these?”

The man ignored her, his gaze fixed on Damien. “You were warned to keep your head down, Blackwood. But instead, you resurface with her.” He tapped Aria’s photo. “Why?”

Damien’s expression didn’t flicker. “Coincidence.”

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t believe in coincidence. Neither do I.”

Aria’s fists clenched. “I don’t even know him. I didn’t ask for this!”

The man’s eyes finally shifted to hers. Cold. Calculating. “No. But you’re in it now. And if you want to live, you’ll tell me everything you know about Damien Blackwood.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t know anything.”

“Then start learning.” His smile was thin, sharp. “Because the clock is ticking.”

Damien leaned forward, his cuffed hands rattling the chains. His voice was low, lethal. “If you touch her”

The man held up a hand, amused. “Save the threats, Damien. You’re in no position to make them. Not anymore.”

He closed the folder with a snap and leaned in, his face inches from Aria’s. “The only question is: how much pain are you willing to take before you talk?”

The door burst open againand this time, it wasn’t an officer or interrogator who entered. It was Vivienne, her smile wicked, her voice silk. “Oh, don’t scare the poor girl. That’s my job.”

Vivienne glided into the room as if it belonged to her, her heels clicking against the concrete floor. The interrogator straightened instantly, his mask of authority cracking into something closer to deference.

“Ms. Cross,” he greeted, bowing his head slightly.

Aria’s stomach twisted. Cross. So this was Vivienne’s full name. It suited Hersharp, deadly, impossible to ignore.

Vivienne ignored him, her gaze settling directly on Aria. She leaned against the table, her velvet dress pooling like ink, and smiled sweetly.

“Darling, you must be so confused,” she purred. “Dragged from your little bar into all this darkness. Men with guns, secrets you don’t understand, Damien brooding at your side like some tragic hero” Her eyes glittered. “Tell medoes it thrill you?”

Aria’s jaw tightened. “It terrifies me.”

Vivienne laughed, the sound rich and cruel. “Good. Fear is the only language worth speaking here.”

Damien’s chains rattled as he leaned forward, his voice sharp. “Vivienne, stop.”

Her gaze flicked to him, mock sympathy painting her features. “Oh, Damien. Always so protective. But you can’t shield her forever. She doesn’t belong in your world.”

Aria forced herself to hold Vivienne’s stare. “Then why drag me into it?”

Vivienne’s smile sharpened. “Because you walked into his path. And anyone who touches Damien Blackwood becomes a weapon.”

The interrogator cleared his throat, uneasy. “Ms. Cross”

“Leave us,” Vivienne snapped without looking at him.

He hesitated, then gathered his folder and slipped out. The door locked behind him, leaving only the three of them in the suffocating room.

Vivienne leaned closer to Aria, her perfume heady, intoxicating, dangerous. “Now,” she whispered, her smile razor-thin. “Let’s see how long it takes before you break.”

Vivienne reached into her velvet clutch, pulling out a small silver bladeand set it gently on the table between them.