The underground facility was dimly lit, the air thick with the usual mix of gunpowder, sweat, and coffee that had been left to burn too long. Graves rolled his shoulders, rubbing a hand down his face as The Shadows filed in, their boots heavy against the floor. At their center was them.

"Before you say anything," Jace started, his voice already defensive, "we didn't know where else to put 'em."

"They were just there," Vex added. "Nobody else was stepping up."

Graves barely heard them. He’d been prepared for a problem. A threat. Something with too many teeth or too many limbs. Instead, he was looking at them.

Holy hell.

He felt it like a punch to the gut. His fingers twitched at his sides, caught between the urge to grab a weapon and the much worse, much stronger urge to reach out and touch.

They were massive. Broad shoulders, powerful build, height that made even him feel insignificant. And their face—damn. Strong, striking, devastating in a way that rewired his brain on the spot.

"You see why this is complicated," Jace continued, mistaking Graves' stunned silence for thought. "We can't exactly hide 'em, can't send 'em anywhere without people asking questions—"

"Yeah," Graves muttered, still staring. His heart was hammering. He hadn’t felt this off-kilter since his first firefight. "Complicated."

Vex frowned. "Uh. You good, boss?"

Good? Graves felt ridiculous. His entire life had been blood, war, and strategy. He'd faced monsters before. He’d killed monsters before.

But this?

This was different.

This was gorgeous.