The music inside Club X was loud, but not the kind of loud that made you dance. It was the kind that sat heavy in your chest, like it did not care if you liked it or not. Lights flickered in lazy colors above the floor. They moved across faces that looked more tired than thrilled. Shepherd Nexon stood behind the bar with a half-dirty rag in one hand and a glass in the other.He wiped the counter again even though it was already clean. He was not thinking about drinks or tips. He was thinking about how long he could keep pretending this life made sense.“Back room is flooding again,” someone shouted from the DJ booth.It was the manager. He always sounded annoyed even when he wasn’t. Shepherd did not respond. He looked at his phone instead.There was a message notification glowing on the screen. The name on it made his stomach twist. Before he could open it, the phone began to buzz in his hand.Once.Twice.Three times.He picked up.“Hello?”The voice on the other end did not belong t

The lights in the ballroom were like stars in glass. Shepherd came in with a tray of glasses. His white jacket was tight on his wet hoodie. Nobody paid any attention to him. Good.He bowed his head and went through the crowd like a ghost.Guests laughed. Women were dressed in frosty dresses. Men were talking of money and deals. There was the odor of wine and perfume, heavy and sweet.His eyes roved the room.Then he saw her.Arielle.She was in the middle of the ball. She wore a dress of brilliant white, which flowed like a cloud. The ceiling lights were softly glowing and kissing her skin, and her long earrings were shining as she turned her head.She had a perfect smile.Fake. But perfect.Darion Creed was standing beside her. One hand lay on her backside. The other hand was holding a champagne glass. His shoulders were broad. His jaw rose. The way his mouth curled up was saying that he felt he deserved everything around him.Shepherd froze.His breath was arrested.His chest contra

The first thing Shepherd felt was cold.Not a normal kind of cold. This one was deep. It crept into his bones like frozen hands and refused to let go. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself lying on a flat metal table. The surface was hard. The air smelled like chemicals and metal. His limbs felt heavy, as if something had drained all his strength while he slept.Where am I? The thought came slow and broken.He tried to move. Pain answered. Sharp, sudden pain. There were needles stuck into his skin. He couldn’t feel his fingers. His legs were numb. Still, he blinked again and expected darkness.But the darkness was gone.Light touched his eyes. Then more light. Everything around him came into focus. It was not just clear. It was perfect.He saw the bright white walls. He saw cables hanging from the ceiling like vines. He even saw a small green plant sitting quietly in the corner. A peaceful thing in a room that felt anything but peaceful.I can see.His eyes opened. He blinked on

Shepherd remained on the middle mat.The ground under his feet was solid, yet his heart was beating louder than anything. His hands were bound. His arms were covered with sweat. The shirt was stuck to his back. The morning had been a drilling time, and now the actual test had arrived.His teacher turned to him.Tall. Masked. Calm. The man made every movement sharp and clean. As a knife that had been whetted by years of silent war.Think not, said the man. His voice was like steel. “Trust your instincts”Shepherd nodded.He drew a breath.Then another.He needed to pass this training. The Syndicate had assured him power. Control.Zoya’s wellbeing and Revenge.And that was his new purpose.The initial attack was quick.Too fast.A hand was swung at his face and cut through the air. The elbow of his instructor came next, to his jaw. Most would have blinked too slow to notice it. However, Shepherd was no longer like most people.He foresaw it before it actually occurred.Not only the punch.

It had been a few weeks since Shepherd had settled into his new life. The Syndicate had kept their word, giving him anonymity, a routine, and assignments that kept him occupied—tasks that were simple but full of subtle testing.The bar became his cover. It was in the heart of the city, tucked between towering buildings and crowded streets, yet it was bland enough for him to blend in. He worked long shifts, wiping down glasses, serving drinks, listening to the chatter of the patrons, each of them oblivious to the man who stood behind the counter, pouring their drinks.But even in the mundanity of it all, his senses were sharpened. He observed everything—the way people interacted, the small tells in their movements, the words they didn’t say. His cognitive sight was like a second instinct, and it allowed him to pick up things others wouldn’t notice. A drink lingering too long on the counter. A hand nervously tapping against the table. The glance exchanged between two men seated at a bac