The Sullivan Solutions office was brimming with energy as Michael adjusted his tie for the third time. The company's first major public presentation was about to begin, and folding chairs were arranged in neat rows facing a small stage with a projector screen, while a catering table offered coffee and pastries that Alexis had insisted were absolutely important for making the "right impression." "Stop fidgeting," Lizzy whispered, smoothing a wrinkle from her navy blue dress. "I'm not fidgeting," Michael muttered, then immediately adjusted his tie again. "You're totally fidgeting. Relax, darling. You know this material better than anyone," Alexis appeared beside them, looking effortlessly elegant in a turquoise suit and black stilettos. "It's not the presentation I'm worried about. It's everything else," Michael nodded toward the entrance where three well-dressed men from North's crew stood casually by the door, looking like professional security rather than reformed criminals.

The van was parked deep in the woods, tucked behind some overgrown trees that kept it out of sight from Maxwell's fancy estate. Michael tugged at the bulletproof vest North insisted he wear. It felt stiff and clunky over his button-down shirt. A pair of borrowed night-vision goggles rested crooked on his head, making him feel like he was in a video game. "All teams check in," North's voice crackled through the radio headset. "Salvatore's boys are posted out front," someone replied. "We're creeping around back now," came another voice, one of North’s crew, moving through the woods. "Backup team is ready to rumble," Esteban's hechman reported from somewhere in the darkness. Michael adjusted his earpiece and tried to calm his racing heart. Through the van's tinted windows, he could see nothing but black forest, but he knew that right now, armed men were moving through those trees quietly. "Remember," North's voice came through clearly, "we just knock out the guards first. Nobody g

Michael was wrapping his hands with tape when Salvatore Russo walked into the warehouse. North looked up from where he was adjusting the heavy bag and, upon seeing Salvatore, he frowned. "What do you want, Russo?" North asked. "I want to help train the boy," Salvatore said simply, removing his jacket and hanging it carefully on a clean hook he'd apparently brought with him. "He's my student," North replied, crossing his massive arms. "I'm doing fine without your help." "I'm sure you are. But there are things he needs to learn that punching bags can't teach him." Salvatore rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms that were lean but clearly strong. "I'm not taking him away from you, North. He'll remain your student. I just want to teach him a few valuable lessons he'll need." The steakhouse was the kind of place that whispered wealth rather than shouting it. Dark wood, leather seating, and the soft clink of expensive silverware against fine china. Michael felt underdressed despit

The "training area" was a cleared section of warehouse floor with some old gym equipment that looked like it had seen better years. A heavy bag hung from a chain that creaked loudly, and there were free weights scattered around that were covered in rust and what Michael hoped was just old sweat.Michael stood in the makeshift training area, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet the way North had taught him, trying to pretend his entire body wasn't already protesting the workout they hadn't even started yet. It had been a week since their first training session, and Michael had been back every day. His body was a roadmap of bruises in various stages of healing, ranging from the deep purple-blacks of fresh impacts to the sickly yellow-greens of older injuries that were finally starting to fade. He looked like he'd been in a fight with a paint mixer and lost badly. "You're looking less like a scarecrow and more like an actual human being," North observed, circling him slowly. "St

The safe house smelled like stale coffee and desperation. Michael sat hunched on the couch, staring at his untouched sandwich while the television droned in the background. Three days had passed since their escape from the hotel, and he hadn’t slept more than two hours at a stretch.The knock on the safe house door came at exactly three in the afternoon. Michael looked up from the punching bag Alexis had installed in the corner. It was a cheap inflatable thing that barely stayed upright when he hit it. He slowly wiped sweat from his forehead. "Expecting someone?" Zara asked, not looking up from her laptop where she'd been tracking news coverage. "No," Michael said, grabbing a towel. "And that's what worries me." Alexis peered through the peephole, then broke into a grin. "Well, I'll be damned." She unlocked the door to reveal Professor Nakamura in his signature Hawaiian shirt, this one featuring cartoon pineapples, and Lizzy Medici. "Professor?" Michael said, surprised. "How did