The forest presses in around us as we move through the pre-dawn gloom, the air heavy with mist and the sharp scent of pine. My glasses fog with every breath, and the crowbar in my hand feels heavier with each step. Roman leads the way, his movements silent and precise, like a predator navigating its territory. I’m Sienna Cruz, an art restorer, not a soldier, but the weight of the key in my pocket and the absence of the documents drive me forward. Marcus—my friend, my anchor—is out there, and if Roman’s telling the truth, he’s in danger because of me.

We’re headed to a rendezvous point, a diner on the outskirts of a small town, where Roman says Marcus has been laying low. My mind churns with questions. How does Roman know about Marcus? Has he been watching me longer than I thought? And what happens when we find him? The documents are gone, stolen from the shed, and with them, our leverage. Roman’s empire is crumbling, and I’m caught in the fallout.

“Keep up,” Roman whispers, glancing back at me. His face is pale in the dim light, the cut above his eye crusted with dried blood. He’s shed his torn suit jacket, his dark shirt clinging to his frame, and there’s a rawness to him now, a crack in the polished facade. I want to hate him, but his words in the safehouse—*“You’re the only one who can”*—linger like a splinter in my mind.

“How do you know Marcus is at the diner?” I ask, my voice low but sharp. “And don’t give me vague answers. I’m done with your secrets.”

Roman slows, turning to face me. The forest is quiet, save for the distant hoot of an owl. “I’ve had people watching you,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “Not just you—anyone who got too close. Marcus started digging into my past after you took the job. He’s good, Sienna. Too good. He tripped alarms I set up years ago.”

My stomach twists. “You spied on me?”

“I protect what’s mine,” he says, his eyes locking onto mine. “And whether you like it or not, you’re part of this now.”

“I’m not yours,” I snap, gripping the crowbar tighter. “And if Marcus is in trouble because of you, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he cuts in, stepping closer. His voice is low, dangerous, but there’s a flicker of something else—desperation. “You need me, Sienna. Just as much as I need you. Those documents are gone, but Marcus might know something we don’t. He’s our only shot.”

I want to argue, to shove the crowbar into his chest and run, but he’s right. Marcus is my lifeline, and if he’s in danger, I can’t abandon him. “If you’re lying about him,” I say, my voice cold, “you’ll wish those men had killed you.”

Roman’s lips twitch, almost a smile. “Noted.”

---

The diner is a neon-lit relic on a deserted stretch of highway, its sign flickering like a dying star. The parking lot is empty except for a rusted pickup truck and a motorcycle that looks like it’s seen better days. Roman scans the area, his body tense, before motioning for me to follow. The bell above the door jingles as we step inside, the smell of burnt coffee and greasy bacon hitting me like a wave. A tired waitress glances up from the counter, her eyes narrowing at Roman’s bloodied appearance, but she doesn’t say anything.

Marcus is in a corner booth, his sandy blond hair tousled, his leather jacket slung over the seat. He’s hunched over a cup of coffee, his face drawn, but when he sees me, his eyes light up. “Sienna,” he says, standing. Then he spots Roman, and his expression hardens. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“It’s complicated,” I say, sliding into the booth across from him. Roman sits beside me, his presence a heavy weight. “Are you okay?”

Marcus ignores Roman, his blue eyes searching mine. “I’ve been better. I got your message about the vault, the paintings. I dug deeper, and… Sienna, you’re in way over your head.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I mutter, glancing at Roman. “What did you find?”

Marcus leans forward, his voice low. “Roman’s empire isn’t just art and real estate. He’s been laundering money for some very bad people—cartels, politicians, you name it. Those paintings in the vault? They’re not just art. They’re coded records, each one tied to a deal. The defacement wasn’t random—it’s a signature, a way to mark what’s his.”

My heart stutters. I glance at Roman, who’s watching Marcus with an unreadable expression. “Is that true?” I ask.

Roman doesn’t flinch. “Part of it. The paintings were my way of keeping track, yes. But I didn’t deface them for pride. I did it to remember what I’d done. What I’d lost.”

“Lost?” Marcus scoffs. “You mean Elena? The woman you got killed?”

Roman’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. I lean forward, my hands clenched. “Marcus, what do you know about her?”

Marcus glances between us, his expression wary. “Elena was an art restorer, like you. She worked for Roman, got too close to his secrets. The official report says she died in a car accident, but I found witnesses who say it wasn’t an accident. Someone ran her off the road. Someone tied to Roman’s deals.”

I turn to Roman, my voice shaking. “You said it was your fault. Did you kill her?”

“No,” Roman says, his voice low, raw. “I loved her. But I let her get too close, and my enemies used her to hurt me. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Bullshit,” Marcus snaps, his hand twitching toward his jacket. I grab his wrist, stopping him. I don’t know if he’s reaching for a weapon, but I can’t let this escalate.

“Stop,” I say, my eyes locked on Marcus. “We need him. The documents are gone, Marcus. The people after Roman—they have them now.”

Marcus’s eyes widen. “Gone? Sienna, those documents are a death sentence. If they’re in the wrong hands—”

“They are,” Roman cuts in. “Which is why we need to move. Now.”

Before I can ask what he means, the diner’s door jingles. Two men step inside, their faces hard, their hands in their pockets. Roman tenses, his hand sliding under the table. Marcus curses under his breath, and I realize with a jolt that these aren’t random customers. They’re here for us.

“Get down,” Roman whispers, his voice urgent. I slide under the table, my heart pounding, as Marcus pulls a knife from his boot. The men approach, their steps deliberate, and I clutch the crowbar, my palms sweaty. Roman’s right—we’re out of time. But as the men draw closer, I catch a glimpse of something in Roman’s eyes: not just fear, but resolve. He’s ready to fight, and so am I.

---

The diner erupts into chaos. Roman lunges from the booth, tackling one of the men before he can draw his weapon. Marcus is on the second, his knife flashing in the neon light. I scramble out from under the table, the crowbar raised, my pulse hammering. The waitress screams, ducking behind the counter, as plates crash to the floor.

Roman’s opponent is bigger, but Roman’s faster, his movements precise as he disarms the man and slams him against the wall. Marcus is struggling, the second man landing a punch that sends him staggering. I don’t think—I swing the crowbar, catching the man in the shoulder. He grunts, turning toward me, but Marcus recovers, driving his knife into the man’s thigh. He collapses, clutching his leg.

“Out!” Roman shouts, grabbing my arm. We sprint for the door, Marcus limping behind us. The pickup truck in the lot is our only option. Roman hotwires it in seconds, and we pile in, the engine roaring to life as more headlights appear on the highway.

“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice shaking as Roman floors the gas.

“Somewhere they won’t find us,” he says, his eyes on the road. “But we need those documents back, Sienna. Without them, we’re dead.”

Marcus leans forward from the back seat, his face bloody but determined. “I know someone who can help. A hacker, off the grid. She can track where those documents went.”

Roman glances at him in the rearview mirror. “You trust her?”

Marcus nods. “More than I trust you.”