Chapter 1

Nova’s POV

Cairos Veyne is going to die tonight.

I stood in the center of my apartment, my eyes scanning the gear laid out on my kitchen island. Everything was in its proper place, organized by size and lethality. I checked my throwing knives first, ensuring the edges were razor-sharp, then tested the tension on my holsters. I moved on to my taser and my preferred sidearm, checking the magazines with practiced ease. It was a ritual for me at this point.

I am obsessed with order. I need things to go according to plan because I’ve seen what happens when they don’t. Years ago, back when I was still part of the group that raised me, I deviated from a plan just once. It was a small decision, a momentary lapse in judgment, and it cost my best friend his life. I watched his head get blown off because I thought I could be spontaneous. Now, I work alone. No partners, no friends, and definitely no men.

That’s how I’ve made it to twenty-four. You don’t become one of the deadliest assassins alive by catching feelings or taking risks. I’ve given sweat and literal blood to get here. If I stripped off my clothes, my skin would tell the story of every narrow escape and every lesson learned the hard way. My body is a map of scars, and each one reminds me why I stay solo.

I walked to the bathroom mirror to fix my disguise. My eyes are a forest green, a trait far too memorable for someone in my line of work. I popped in a pair of dark contact lenses, masking the color instantly. Next, I grabbed the flat iron. My hair is naturally dark and unruly, a mess of curls that I usually just tie back, but tonight I spent the time straightening it until it fell in sleek, unfamiliar lines. It was just another part of the disguise.

Back in the living room, I looked at the photo pinned to the cardboard boxes stacked against the wall. A small knife held the picture in place, right through the man’s throat. Cairos Veyne. He was handsome in a rugged, dangerous sort of way. He had the kind of face that belonged on a billboard, not a target list. It was a pity he had to go, but I didn't feel bad about it. Sentiments don't pay the rent, and this contract was paying very well.

The setup was handled through an anonymous, high-end matchmaking service for VVIPs. My cover was simple: I was a woman on a blind date. It was the perfect way to get into close proximity without raising alarms. I’d done my homework on Cairos. He was a businessman with a not-so-good reputation, but I had handled worse.

I checked my reflection one last time. I was wearing my usual gear of fitted black leather pants and a matching jacket with high boot heels. It made me look like I belonged on the back of a bike, which was fine because I did.

I couldn't bring myself to wear a dress. They’re flimsy, they restrict your movement, and they have nowhere to hide a backup blade. The leather was practical. It hugged my curves enough to be a distraction for most men, which was all the "date material" I needed. Hopefully, Cairos liked sexy women as much as the next guy. It would make his drink easier to spike.

I grabbed my face cap, pulling it low, and stepped out of my apartment. It was a mid-range place on the fourth floor. I had the money to live in a much better place, but I preferred this neighborhood. People here minded their own business. They didn't ask why I came home at 3:00 AM or why I carried suspicious looking bags in the middle of the night.

I took the elevator down to the garage and unchained my bike. The metal links clattered against the concrete as I stowed them away. I climbed onto the seat, kicked the kickstand up, and let the engine roar. The vibration was a familiar comfort. I stuck to the side streets, weaving through traffic with an ease that came from years of running from people who wanted me dead.

By the time I reached the restaurant, my heart was ready. I parked, took off my cap, and shook out my hair. I took a second to check the 9mm tucked into the small of my back and the knife hidden in my boot. Everything was where it should be.

I walked into the restaurant with my head held high. It was a high-class place with dim lighting, expensive smells, and soft music. It was the kind of place where people came to pretend they were better than they actually were.

I spotted him immediately.

He was impossible to miss. Even in a room full of wealthy, powerful people, Cairos Veyne commanded the space. He was sitting at a table in the back, his presence like a weight you could feel from across the room.

Coincidentally, he was dressed almost exactly like me. He wore a dark, short-sleeved shirt that showed off his forearms, fitted trousers, and a leather jacket. His hair was ruffled and untamed, giving him a wild look that contrasted with the polished atmosphere of the restaurant.

He had piercing dark eyes, the kind of eyes that were designed to intimidate and break people down. But they didn't work on me. I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun too many times to be scared of a look.

As I approached, I realized he wasn't looking at a menu or his drink. He was already looking at me. He sat there with his hands folded on the table, watching my every step like he had been waiting for this particular moment all night.