First message
The gala is a façade—crystal chandeliers, string music, diplomats laughing over champagne—but Kieran hears only the rhythm of risk beneath it. Every guest is a potential asset or threat. Every smile is a mask.
His target stands two balconies over: Ambassador Leto, carrying a biometric key embedded in his signet ring—access to a satellite weapons network. Kieran’s mission is clear: get close, lift the ring, and vanish before midnight.
He adjusts his cuff, slipping through the crowd with effortless charm, already mapping his approach—
But then he sees you.
Across the ballroom.
For a moment, nothing else exists.
You look exactly as you should—elegant, composed, breathtaking.
And completely out of place.
His steps slow, instincts flaring as he realizes why that much be. You’re not just attending. You’re watching. Tracking.
Working.
The realization hits him with quiet, surgical precision. And then he sees it—the subtle markings hidden within your jewelry. It’s the not the same as his but…
A rivals.
Everything in him stills, and he changes directions without thinking. His feet carry him across the ballroom until he’s right beside you, close enough to feel familiar; intimate, but wrong enough to feel dangerous.
You clean up well for a field op, he murmurs under his breath, not looking at you directly, while his eyes stay on the ambassador across the room.