Panic surged up my spine and squeezed my lungs. My mouth dried up. This unfamiliar sensation tasted like copper and weakness.
"Look," I said, leaning forward to match his posture, "Vincent Matthews isn't just some random target. He's—"
"Save it," Frankie cut me off, a new edge in his voice. "I know a compromised asset when I see one." He lowered his voice, eyes darting to the ceiling corner where security cameras monitored everything. "Ten years I've been your handler, Luka. Ten years I've watched you execute contracts flawlessly. You've never hesitated. Never questioned. Now suddenly this therapist has you tied in knots? What makes him different?"
I squirmed in my chair. What did make Vincent different? The warmth in his eyes? The way he'd seen through me? How he'd created a safe space where, for just a moment, I'd let my guard down? "Nothing. Just being thorough."
Frankie studied me for a long moment. "You're lying. And you're not even doing it well." He sighed. "The only reason you're still breathing is because I told Prometheus you're working an angle. I put my neck on the line for you. After Taipei, I vouched for you. But I won't do it again."
The memory of what followed that mission flickered at the edges of my consciousness. Three days in a sterile facility. Medical tests. Questions. Prometheus's disappointed face. Then, nothing. Just waking up back at a safe house with a headache and a new contract.
Frankie's face remained stone, only his eyes betraying anything. "The client doesn't just want Matthews dead. He wants it public. Messy. A message."
My stomach twisted. Vincent deserved better than that. "Why? He's just a therapist."
"Above my pay grade," Frankie said flatly. "And yours. We don't ask why. We just deliver."
Something about that phrase caught in my mind. Familiar. A lesson repeated so many times it had become reflex rather than thought.
"I've earned thirty-two pennies," I said, desperation creeping into my voice. "Doesn't that buy me some leeway?"
"It bought you three weeks of surveillance instead of an immediate sanction." Frankie leaned back. "You have three days, Luka. Three days to complete the contract, or I'm putting it public. And don't think I won't because I like you. This is business."
"Three days isn't enough," I protested, panic rising. If the contract went public, every amateur with a gun would be after Vincent. He wouldn't last twelve hours.
"Prometheus is sending Hector to... observe. Make sure things are proceeding as they should."
Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck.
Hector was Prometheus's personal enforcer. His clean-up crew. The walking, talking insurance policy against fuck-ups like the one I was currently committing.
"When?" I managed, voice surprisingly steady given the internal screaming.
"He's already on his way," Frankie said. "Should be here tonight. Whatever you're planning, make it quick for both our sakes."
I shot to my feet, muscles coiling tight, shoulders bunching as unfamiliar protective instinct surged through me. The mere thought of Hector's hands anywhere near Vincent sparked something feral behind my sternum. My fingers itched for a trigger, throat tightening around a growl. This willingness to burn everything down just to keep Vincent breathing terrified me more than Prometheus ever could.
Back in the lounge, Lo took one look at my face and slid off his stool. "That bad, huh?"
"Prometheus sent Hector," I said quietly, not wanting to broadcast my predicament.
Lo's kohl-rimmed eyes studied my face. Then he sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping in theatrical despair. "Shit. Frankie's not fucking around."
"Three days," I said, raking fingers through my hair until my scalp stung. "I have three days before the contract goes public. And Hector arrives tonight."
Lo whistled low. "What are you going to do? Actually kill Dr. Hottie? Run away together into the sunset? Fake his death?"
My mind raced through possibilities, discarding each as quickly as they formed. Killing Vincent wasn't an option—not anymore. Running would just delay the inevitable. Faking his death would require resources and connections I couldn't access in three days. The Pantheon's reach was too vast, its intelligence network too sophisticated for simple deception.
"I need to understand why someone wants him dead," I said finally. "There's something bigger happening. Vincent isn't just a random target."
Lo's eyebrows shot up. "Questioning the contract? That's new for you." Lo studied me for a long moment, something unreadable crossing his face. "Well, you know what they say. When in doubt, stab your problems until they stop being problems."
Despite everything, a smile tugged at my lips. "Really, Lo?"
"It's what I say, and I'm never wrong," he replied, flipping his hair. "But seriously, Luka. Whatever you're planning, I've got your back. Even if it's something stupid and romantic and likely to get us both killed in spectacular fashion."
The offer was so unexpected I didn't know how to respond. Lo and I were roommates by circumstance, colleagues by necessity. We bickered and bantered and occasionally patched each other's wounds. But this? This was something else.
