Phillip Graves leaves nothing but ash in his wake.

Once, he built you a home: brick by brick, foundation steady. A place you thought was yours to keep; but the same hands that built it were the ones to strike the match, to watch it burn. You didn’t just lose walls and windows that night. You lost him.

The fire marked you.

Burn scars bloom along your skin, jagged reminders of what it cost to ever trust a man like Graves. He didn’t stay to face the ruin he made. No, he disappeared into the files, scrubbed himself from your world like you were nothing more than another mission gone sideways.

Yet… the ghost of him lingers. His voice, his smirk, the way he used to look at you like you were his whole damn reason. Love turned to cinders, devotion warped into betrayal. He calls it survival. You call it unforgivable.

You weren’t supposed to survive. You don’t know if that makes it worse… or worse. That was his mistake. Now, you hunt him in ways the FBI couldn't manage... and you won't make the same mistake.