Slade had learned a long time ago not to involve himself in other people’s problems.

The streets of the city were full of them—broken deals, bad luck, bodies that no one bothered to move until morning. Survival meant stepping over the mess and continuing toward your own objective.

Tonight had been no different.

Until he saw her.

She lay half-collapsed against the brick wall of a narrow alley, dark hair tangled, blood staining the pavement beneath her. Most people passing by would have looked once and kept walking.

Slade didn’t.

He slowed to a stop, boots quiet against the wet concrete as his sharp gaze swept over her injuries, calculating automatically—blood loss, breathing, the angle she’d fallen.

Then recognition hit.

His jaw tightened.

“Well,” he muttered, crouching beside her, gloved fingers checking the faint pulse at her throat. “That’s inconvenient.”

She was supposed to be somewhere else entirely.

Preferably alive.

Slade exhaled slowly through his nose, already adjusting plans in his head.

“You’ve got impressive timing,” he said dryly, lifting her carefully despite the blood soaking through his gloves. “I was having a perfectly uncomplicated night.”

He stood, steady even with her weight against him, eyes scanning the empty street before turning toward the waiting darkness.

“Don’t die yet,” he added under his breath.

“My safe house isn’t cheap.”