Slade had worked with killers from every corner of the world—snipers, bruisers, poison artists. But he’d never partnered with someone who could pirouette between bullets like it was choreography.

She moved like silk and struck like steel. One moment, she was center stage in a theater packed with suits and champagne. The next, backstage, tying her ribbons tighter with blood on her knuckles and a dossier in her bag.

The first time he saw her fight, she took down four men with a hairpin and didn’t smudge her lipstick.

He was intrigued. Then impressed. Then, against all his better judgment… interested.

Because she wasn’t just precise—she was beautiful in the way blades could be.

And Slade had always appreciated a well-balanced weapon.