Celina stared at her hand.
Still glowing.
Still burning.
The red symbols pulsed like veins beneath her skin, each one humming with energy she didn't understand—but felt deep in her bones.
Her fingers didn't hurt. Not really. But they throbbed with something alive. Ancient. Wired into her.
And the dead man at her feet—his veins blackened, eyes wide open—was proof that the power wasn't just real.
It was deadly.
"Celina," Darius said gently, stepping toward her, "put the gun down."
She looked at him, dazed. "I didn't shoot him."
"I know."
"He just—he froze. Like something shorted out inside him."
Darius crouched beside the body, checking the man's vitals.
"His nervous system collapsed. Synaptic disruption. I've only ever seen this once before..."
He looked up.
"When your father ran his first Talon test. The subject didn't survive."
Celina's hand trembled. "Then this is what I am? Some kind of—neural weapon?"
"You're more than that," Darius said quickly. "The Protocol wasn't designed to turn you into a killer. It was meant to lock information inside a living vault. A failsafe."
"Well, it failed," she muttered, backing away. "Because now I'm glowing like a radioactive nightmare and apparently short-circuiting people with my touch."
"It only activated under threat," he said. "You were cornered. It protected you."
Celina leaned against the wall, heart thundering. "I'm not safe. Not for you. Not for anyone."
He stepped closer. "You are."
"No, I'm not!" she snapped, tears stinging her eyes. "I don't even know who I am anymore. Just a name. A face. A locked-up ghost of a girl someone decided to program like a hard drive."
Darius reached out—slow, gentle. His hand hovered above hers.
"Let me see it."
She hesitated.
Then let him.
Their fingers touched.
No sparks. No burning.
Just warmth.
Connection.
She exhaled shakily.
"You're not dangerous to me," he said softly. "You never have been."
She looked at him, searching his face. "Why?"
"Because I've spent ten years watching you find your way through a world designed to break you. You don't destroy—Celina, you survive. That's your power."
Her eyes welled.
And something in her chest cracked.
A door opening she didn't know was still locked.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Darius held her tight. No words. Just presence.
Steady. Fierce. Unshakable.
They retreated to the vault after securing the mansion—at least, what was left of it.
The eastern wing was a scorched ruin. The security system fried. The assassins' bodies had been cleared, but the silence that settled afterward was heavy. Like the calm before a second, bigger storm.
Inside the vault, Celina sat on the steel bench while Darius tended to her hand. The glow had faded, but the symbols lingered—like a brand etched from the inside out.
"I think they'll return," she said quietly.
"They will," he replied. "They think you're a weapon. And Lenora doesn't take failure lightly."
"She was there when my father died," Celina whispered. "She watched him bleed out."
Darius nodded grimly. "And she's been after the Protocol ever since. But she doesn't just want what's in your head. She wants control."
Celina looked up. "Control of what?"
"The system your father designed. The Talon Network. It wasn't just a cipher—it was a map. To something buried. Something powerful enough to destabilize nations."
She swallowed. "So I'm the map."
"You're the only one who can unlock it."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of that truth settling between them.
Then Celina spoke, voice low. "If they get to me…"
"They won't."
"If they do," she pressed, "you have to promise me something."
"No."
"Darius."
He turned to her, eyes dark. "I will never hurt you. Don't ask me to."
She stared at him, heart pounding.
"Then you'd better help me learn to fight."
Training began at dawn.
The mansion had a hidden room Darius rarely used—an underground combat gym outfitted with weapons, virtual targets, and a mirrored wall.
Celina stood barefoot on the mat, sweat dripping down her spine, hands wrapped.
"You're holding back," Darius said, circling her. "Again."
"I'm not trying to fry you, genius."
"Good," he said, smirking. "Because I'm not planning on dying today."
She lunged.
He dodged. Grabbed her wrist. Spun her.
She twisted free and swept his legs.
He grunted as he hit the mat.
She stood over him, breathing hard.
"Still think I'm holding back?"
Darius grinned. "Not anymore."
She offered him a hand. He took it.
The moment stretched—her fingers curling around his, their bodies close.
Darius's eyes darkened slightly.
"Careful," he said, voice rough. "You keep pinning me like that, I might forget this is training."
Celina's pulse skipped.
"You say that like you want to lose."
He stepped closer.
"Only if it's to you."
Their lips almost touched.
Then the door slammed open upstairs.
Both froze.
Darius drew his weapon.
Celina grabbed a blade.
Footsteps thundered.
But it wasn't an assassin.
It was Ivy.
Her face pale. Shirt stained with ash. Cuts on her arms.
She stumbled down the stairs.
"They found me," she gasped. "Lenora's people. They burned my safe house. I barely made it out."
Celina ran to her. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Ivy panted. "But we're out of time. She knows the Protocol is awake. And she's sending someone else."
Darius narrowed his eyes. "Who?"
Ivy looked up.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Her son."