The harbor at midnight was like a dormant, gray beast.

The air tasted of brine and rot, heavy with a thick, clinging mist that swallowed the distant, flickering lights of fishing boats. Raven Sullivan killed the engine and stepped out of her car. Two men in workwear peeled themselves from the shadows, their silhouettes jagged against the gloom. One of them had a cigarette dangling from his lip; he squinted at her, his voice a raspy gravel.

"Looking for the old woman?"

"Yes."

Raven’s voice was unnervingly steady in the biting wind. Only she knew the truth: her back was drenched in a cold, prickling sweat. She had run dozens of high-stakes operations, danced on the edge of countless razor-thin crises. But this was different. This was Etta. Her only blood.

She wasn't afraid of dying. She’d made peace with the reaper the day she pinned on the badge. She was, however, terrified of a world where Etta wasn't in it.

The man signaled his partner. The second one stepped forward, his touch brutal as he frisked her. He tore through her coat, his rough hands lingering too long at her waist and thighs. Her sidearm, her spare mags, even the tactical blade she’d tucked into her boot—all of it was confiscated and tossed into a filthy canvas bag.

"Get on." The man jerked his chin toward a rusted, iron-hulled cargo ship moored at the pier.

The vessel was a wreck. Its paint was flaking off like dead, diseased skin, and it bobbed sickeningly in the murky water, groaning as if it might sink at any second. Raven didn't hesitate. She stepped onto the swaying deck. She knew the odds were abysmal, but retreat was a death sentence for Etta. She marched forward, eyes locked on the darkness ahead.

The interior of the ship smelled of stagnant mildew and raw fish. Dim light bled through the cracks, casting long, sickly shadows. Raven’s gaze darted to the corner. Etta was there, curled into a ball, bound with heavy rope. Her white hair was a tangled mess, her face ashen, her eyes squeezed shut. She wasn't moving.

"Etta!" Raven choked out a breath and lunged forward.

"Ms. Sullivan. It’s been a while."

A voice like shards of ice scraped against her spine. Raven’s blood turned to slush in her veins. She spun around.

Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the dark sky, was a man in an expensive cashmere coat that looked like a blasphemy in this grime-streaked hole. He was wearing a thin, cruel smile. It was Hector Barnes. The man she had personally cuffed and sent to the lockup.

How? He was supposed to be behind bars.

Hector took two leisurely steps inside, his gaze crawling over Raven’s face like an insect. He looked as if he were admiring a prize he’d finally clawed back from the trash.

"Surprised? A little medical parole, a few greased palms, and here I am. You didn't think I’d just rot in there, did you?" He chuckled, a sound devoid of mirth. "I owe you so much, Officer Sullivan. While I was in the hole, every waking second was spent dreaming of this reunion."

Hector’s pistol was aimed steadily at the unconscious woman in the corner.

"I should be on a boat to international waters by now," Hector muttered. "But a man like me doesn't just lose to a woman and walk away. I couldn't swallow that humiliation."

"What do you want?" Raven asked, her voice lethal.

Hector’s eyes swept over her with sickening intensity, his grin widening. "You’ve got a reputation for being a sharpshooter. I’m curious—let’s see how you look when you’re not holding a gun. Take it off. Piece by piece. Strip until I’m satisfied."

Raven felt her insides tighten. This wasn't just a kidnapping; it was a ritual of destruction. She could hear the faint, shallow hitch of Etta’s breathing, a sound that pierced her ears like a needle. She knew she had to play along. If she didn't, they would both be dead before the tide turned.

"Fine," she whispered.

She raised her hands and began to unbutton her jacket. It slid from her shoulders, revealing the white shirt underneath, her skin trembling from a mix of fury and fear.

"Damn," Hector purred, his grip on the gun loosening just a fraction as his focus shattered. "Keep going."

Now.

A flash of cold, predatory light crossed Raven’s eyes. She whipped the heavy coat in her hands, launching it straight into Hector’s face. The fabric swallowed his vision.

"Dammit!" Hector roared, his finger jerking on the trigger.

*Bang!*

The shot was deafening in the confined hold. A bullet grazed Raven’s right arm, the heat of it searing through her flesh, shredding her sleeve and drawing a bright, jagged line of blood. She didn't feel the pain. She moved like a striking viper. She slammed her hand against the coat covering his head, pinning it to his face, then caught his wrist and hammered it against the bulkhead with everything she had.

The gun clattered to the floor. Raven lunged, a knee driving into Hector’s chest, and shoved him against the wall. She scooped up the weapon and pressed the muzzle hard against his temple.

"Don't move," she hissed, her voice a promise of violence.

Hector’s face went white. He raised his hands, shaking. Outside, heavy boots thundered on the deck—his men had heard the shot.

"Get a boat ready! If you want your boss to live, get my grandmother on that boat now!" Raven shouted at the door.

A flurry of curses echoed from the hallway, but the cold weight of the barrel against Hector’s skull kept them in line. A small dinghy was lowered into the water. Raven watched as Etta was helped into it. Etta had regained consciousness, her eyes streaming as she reached out a trembling hand. "Raven... come with me."

Raven shook her head. She couldn't. If she boarded that boat, they’d both be riddled with lead before they cleared the hull. She had to stay, to act as the shield.

"Etta, go! You promised not to get in the way of my job. Just go!"

Etta wept, but she knew the reality. She nodded once and pulled the starter. The motor roared, and the small boat cut through the oily water, vanishing into the night. Raven held her breath until the sound of the motor faded into nothingness.

That one second of relief was all Hector needed.

He lunged, driving an elbow into her wounded arm. A bolt of white-hot agony blinded Raven, and her grip faltered. Hector tore himself free, rolled, and scrambled back toward his men. "Kill her! Don't let her leave!"

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

Bullets chewed through the rotting wood of the ship. Raven dived, scrambling behind a stack of crates as wood splinters exploded around her. She fired back, her training taking over—every shot she squeezed off was met with a cry of pain. But there were too many of them. Her magazine clicked empty.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"Officer Sullivan! You’re out of ammo, aren't you?" Hector laughed, his voice drawing closer. "Why fight it? Come out, and I might make it quick."

Heavy, rhythmic footsteps began to close in from all sides. Raven pressed her back against a freezing iron pipe, her breath hitching. Her arm was a ruin of blood and torn fabric. She was trapped. She looked toward the railing, contemplating a leap into the dark, freezing sea.

Then, a blinding, white spotlight cut through the fog like a sword.

It struck the ship, pinning Hector’s men against the cargo containers. They shielded their eyes, blinded and panicked. From the darkness, a sleek, black speedboat surged toward the ship at breakneck speed.

"Raven! Jump!"

A familiar voice blasted from a megaphone. Caspian Armstrong.

Raven didn't hesitate. She launched herself off the deck toward the speeding boat. She hit the padding of the bow, and a pair of steel-strong arms immediately hauled her up.

"Go! Get us out of here!" Caspian roared at the pilot, his eyes never leaving Raven’s bleeding arm. He pulled her in, his face turning ghostly as he saw the wound. "Hold on, we’re almost—"

His voice died in his throat.

As the speedboat banked to turn, Hector Barnes emerged on the roof of the ship, a sniper rifle braced against his shoulder. A tiny, crimson laser dot appeared on Raven’s chest—a death sentence.

"Die, you bitch." Hector’s finger tightened.

In that fraction of a second, a warm body slammed into Raven. Caspian had thrown himself in front of her, moving with the speed of a man who had already decided that her life was worth more than his own.

*Thud.*

Caspian let out a strangled, wet gasp against her ear. He swayed, his knees buckling, but he refused to hit the deck. He kept his arms wrapped around her, shielding her from the ship until they were far out of range.

The speedboat’s engines shrieked as they bolted into the safety of the dark. But Caspian’s back... the exit wound was a nightmare of red, the blood drenching the fabric Raven pressed against him. His breaths were coming in shallow, shuddering gasps.

"Caspian! Look at me! Stay with me!" Raven screamed, her hands frantic as she tried to stem the flow.

"I'm... fine," he wheezed.

He gazed at her, beads of cold sweat rolling down his forehead. He tried to force a smile, but it looked like a jagged, broken thing. "Let me... hold you for a second. Just one more..."

He tried to tighten his embrace, but the light left his eyes, and his arms fell, limp and heavy, into the night.