"Considered it," I admitted. "But Ares felt right. Besides, the old guard expects me to be bloodthirsty. Might as well lean into it."
Tomorrow would bring challenges. Resistance to my reforms. More surveillance. Perhaps even direct threats from whoever had bugged my office. But for now, I had this—my space, my Vincent, my sister returning to herself, and the freedom to choose my own path for the first time in twenty-six years.
Let them come. I was ready.
Eight Months Later
The Judas Coin feltheavy in my pocket as I watched Lo gather his gear. After eight months of carrying the damn thing, I'd grown accustomed to its weight, but never comfortable with it. Some burdens don't lighten with time.
"So," Lo said, zipping his tactical bag closed, "how's it feel signing off on my contracts now, boss man?"
I snorted, leaning back in my office chair. "Like watching a toddler play with matches near a gas station."
"You love it." He grinned, checking his custom throwing knives one last time before sliding them into their sheaths. "Admit it, you miss fieldwork."
"Sometimes," I admitted, sliding the mission dossier across my desk. "But I'm finding other ways tokeep busy."
Eight months as Director Ares had brought significant changes to the North American branch. No more child recruits. No more conditioning through torture and manipulation. The old methods were giving way to something different: still lethal, still efficient, but less monstrous. Some days the changes felt glacial, other days revolutionary.
"How's Vincent adjusting to domestic bliss?" Lo asked, glancing at the framed photo on my desk: Vincent in the greenhouse, unaware of the camera, smiling as he tended his plants. The sight of it still made my chest tighten.
"Better than me." I smiled despite myself. "Though I'm learning."
We'd broken ground on the house two months after the Tribunal, a modern design perched on the hillside above the Acropolis, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. Vincent's greenhouse stretched along the southern exposure, twice the size I'd originally proposed. He'd filled it with survivors from his old apartment and countless new additions, each with ridiculous names and backstories.
Ana's cottage sat a comfortable distance away on the same property, close enough for family dinners but far enough for privacy. After the initial shock of reclaiming her identity, she'd thrown herself into rebuilding her life with the same determination that apparently ran in our family.
"And Ana?" Lo asked, as if reading my thoughts. "Still dating that barista?"
"Coffee artist," I corrected dryly. "And yes. Though I still don't trust him."
Lo laughed. "You don't trust anyone."
"I trust you," I countered, then narrowed my eyes at his mission file. "Speaking of which, Rio? Personal business?"
Something flickered across Lo's face: eagerness mixed with something darker. "Long overdue justice."
I tapped the file, hesitating. I'd seen something in the details that bothered me. The contract came directly from Dionysus, South American Director and the man who'd raised Lo. Protocol strictly forbade sharing contract origins with field operatives to prevent conflicts of interest, but the parallel to my own situation with Prometheus sent warning signals screaming through my brain.
"You sure about this one?" I asked instead, careful to keep my face neutral.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Lo cocked his head, suddenly alert. "Something wrong with it?"
I shook my head, protocol winning over concern. "Just the usual hazards. Be careful."
Lo's smile softened momentarily. "Worried about me? How sweet."
"Practical concern," I replied dryly. "The paperwork for dead assets is a nightmare."
He laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'll be back before you know it. Try not to get too soft while I'm gone."
As the door closed behind him, unease settled in my stomach. I'd signed off on hundreds of contracts since becoming director, but something about this one felt wrong. Not wrong enough to justify intervention, but enough to leave me restless.
"You're overthinking again," Vincent's voice came from the doorway, pulling me from my thoughts.
I looked up to find him leaning against the frame, casual in jeans and a simple button-down. Eight months together in our new life, and the sight of him still sent heat pooling low in my belly.
"How can you tell?" I asked.
