"NO EXIT WOUNDS".
PROLOGUE
It was raining. Hard enough to wash away blood- but not guilt.
Claire Withmore stood over the body, gun trembling in her hand. Her father-once a hero, now a stranger-lay motionless in a pool of red. The kitchen lights flickered, casting shadows over the life she had just stolen.
He had gone for her mother with a knife. Claire didn't hesitate. One shot to stop him. Another to be sure.
Her mother screamed, collapsing into sobs beside the lifeless body. She tried to hold Claire,to make sense of what just happened. But Claire couldn't stay. She couldn't breathe. The weight of what she'd done...what she'd uncovered...was suffocating.
Because this wasn't just murder. It was exposure.
In his final months, her father had grown paranoid. Violent. And then Claire had found it-evidence buried in their basement: encrypted drives, weapons, coded documents, stacks of dirty money.
Her father had been deep in the underworld. A high-ranking member of one of the most powerful mafia networks in Europe.
She hadn't known. But now, the truth could burn everything.
***
She ran.
To the only place she knew no one would ask questions...a bar at the edge of the city.
It smelled like regret and rot. She stumbled to the counter, soaked in blood and rain. Whiskey burned her throat, dulled the buzz in her head.
But it didn't last.
Men circled. Saw weakness. Touched her. Laughed.
One grabbed her wrist...tight.
She wished death would eat her up that instant. She couldn't bear the guilt. She didn't scream. Didn't flinch.
But someone else did.
CRASH!!!
A man moved through them like a storm. Cold, precise, unforgiving. Dark eyes and sharp features that could intimidate anyone. One by one, they dropped-until silence returned.
He turned to her, a shadow cloaked in leather, a black tattoo snaking up his neck. His voice was low, foreign, unbothered...a man she would have to betray a part of herself for in the future to come.
"You're safe now" he said.
Too weak to mutter a word or even make sense of all that had transpired,she passed out in his arms.
When she woke, everything had changed.
She wasn't in a hospital. Not exactly.
It was a white room-sterile, windowless. Three strangers stood across from her, dressed in suits darker than the night. One of them stepped forward.
Agent Charles.
"You're lucky we got to you first," he said, eyes cool and unreadable. "And luckier your father was who he was."
They knew everything. They had been watching her father for years-but couldn't touch him without a scandal.
Now he was dead. Problem solved. Loose ends… contained.
"We'll clean this up," Charles said. "No headlines. No trials. Your mother will be relocated. You, however..." He paused. "...you belong with us now."
She blinked. "With who?"
He placed a sealed folder in her hands. It bore no titlle.. .a symbol: a snake devouring its own tail.
NOVA 6 ,A secret agency operating in the shadows. Government-sanctioned, but untethered. Specialized in handling the unhandleable.
"You'll train," he said. "You'll forget who you were. And if you're lucky... one day, you'll make peace with it."
That night, Claire Withmore died.
In her place, they created ALYCIA FIRESTONE. Elite field operative. Master of infiltration. Ghost.
But beneath the training, beneath the calm…
Claire still burned.
CHAPTER ONE
UK,LONDON
BERMINGHAM
NOVA 6
THE HEADQUARTERS.
THREE YEARS LATER.
The sound of her boots echoed down the corridor...sharp, steady, and confident. Agent Alycia Stone strode into the room like she owned it, long denim jacket swaying behind her, black boots clicking against the tiled floor. Her high ponytail bounced with each step, and her usual poker face carried the weight of someone who'd seen more than she ever said.
Heads turned. A few of her colleagues nudged one another, murmuring under their breath. No one dared whistle, but the admiration was clear as day. Alycia had a way of commanding attention without asking for it.
"Oi oi, look who's graced us with her presence," Director Charles said with a grin, arms wide open as if greeting royalty.
Alycia gave a small nod, smirking just enough to keep it mysterious. "Morning, Director."
"Morning, indeed. Just in time for the mess we've got on our hands." He motioned to a thick file in his grip. With a grim expression, he slapped it onto her desk. "Kyle Muretto's done a runner. Escaped last night. Left the guards in bits."
Alycia raised a brow as she slipped off her jacket and settled into her seat. She picked up her mug...coffee, black, no nonsense...and took a calm sip.
That's when he walked in.
Agent Reece Morgan
...jaw, arms folded, stance like he was born to guard secrets. He leaned slightly beside Director Charles, not saying a word, but his eyes? Locked on Alycia. Watching her like she was the only one in the room.
He didn't even blink.
She reached for the file lazily, flipping it open with the same indifference she gave most briefings. The pages were thick with reports...prison logs, psychological profiles, intel dumps. All the usual jargon.
"He's no small-time lad," Director Charles began, arms crossed. "Name's Kyle Muretto. Inside for armed robbery, fraud, suspected links to organised crime. Clever sod, too...never left proper evidence behind. This escape? Classic Kyle. No alarms, no noise. Vanished like smoke."
Alycia flipped another page nonchalantly ."He's been locked up how long?"
"Three years. Should've been fifteen, but the appeal dragged it out. You know how it goes." Charles shook his head. "But this? This was planned. He had help, no doubt."
Reece stood nearby, still silent, still watching her. Not in a weird way…just aware. Like he clocked everything she did and admired how she did it. Alycia barely noticed, or at least pretended not to.
Her eyes finally landed on Kyle's mugshot.
She paused.
For a second, the world felt quieter. Her grip on the file stiffened ever so slightly, and she leaned in, eyes narrowing.
That face…
Something about it.
A flicker of memory? A familiar air? She wasn't sure. But whatever it was, it hit her hard enough to make the hairs on her neck rise.
The atmosphere in the office changed.
Charles noticed her shift instantly. "You alright?"
Alycia didn't answer straight away. Her gaze remained fixed on the photo.
Alycia lingered on the photo a moment longer, something about his face tugging at the edge of her memory...faint, like smoke after a fire. But she blinked it away and shut the file with a soft thud.
She leaned back in her chair, deadpan. "Sounds like a job for the police, not us."
Charles let out a dry chuckle, though his tone was anything but amused. "Sure, if he was just another bloke on the run."
He stepped forward, voice tightening. "But this one's different. Kyle's a bloody threat to national security. He's worked with the mafia, had ties to underground gangs, and knows enough about drug trafficking in this country to shake the foundations of every clean-faced politician we've got."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"This isn't just about catching a runaway. We need informatiion... routes, the bastards pulling the strings. And Kyle Muretto? He's got it all."
The room fell quiet for a beat. Even Reece's usual stillness felt heavier.
Charles looked straight at Alycia. "We don't need a hero. We need results. And you're the only one I trust to get em.
Charles gave her one last look before turning on his heel and walking out. The door swung shut behind him with a soft click, leaving a trail of silence in his wake.
Alycia sat still for a moment, then flicked open her laptop. Her Fingers danced across the keys with purpose, eyes scanning screens like she was decoding the universe itself. News reports, surveillance footage, classified file...anything that could give her a lead.
Reece lingered a few feet away, arms still folded. Unable to hold back anymore, he finally spoke.
"If he's out there, chances are he's laying low," he said casually. "First move's probably finding someone to clean up his trail. Might start with his old contacts
...check the docks, maybe the Westhill estates. That's where most of those underground deals go quiet."
Alycia didn't even glance at him. "You assuming he hasn't already changed identity?"
"I'm saying he'll slip up. They always do. Greed or ego...something pulls them out." He shifted closer. "We get access to his visitor logs, prison calls, financial traces. Someone on the outside helped him. Someone he trusts."
"Possibly," she muttered, still tapping away.
Reece let the silence linger a bit longer, then tried again. "So... dinner tonight?"
That finally got a pause...but only a slight one.
Alycia's eyes stayed on her screen. "Thanks for the offer, Reece, but I'll have to decline."
He sighed, half amused, half resigned. "Third time I'm asking you to dinner, Aly. You keep declining. Is it that I'm so unattractive to you?"
This time, she looked up.
Expression unreadable, voice calm. "I have work to do."
Then, without missing a beat, she turned her eyes back to the screen.
"You and I will be heading down to Greywall Penitentiary," she said crisply. "I want every second of surveillance footage before and after that escape. Bring the files."
Reece gave a small smirk, hiding his sting behind it. "Yes, ma'am."