Rowan POV
The photograph hits Rowan like a punch to the chest.
He doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't let his breathing change even though something inside him just cracked wide open. His hands stay flat on the metal table, palms down, fingers relaxed. Perfect control. The way sixteen years of training taught him.
Marcus Reid watches from across the table like he's waiting for something. A reaction. A hesitation. Any sign of the human being underneath the killer.
He won't find one.
Rowan picks up the photograph. The glossy paper feels expensive in his fingers. The face staring back at him is three years old. Daniel Hart at twenty-six, golden-brown skin glowing in some charity event lighting, dark curly hair pushed back from his forehead, that smile that made Rowan forget how to breathe. Rowan remembers that moment. He remembers the exact second that photo was taken because he'd been standing three feet away at that same fundraiser, watching Daniel work the room like he was born to save the world.
He'd been right.
"The target is rising fast," Marcus says. His voice is forgettable in the way that all good handlers are forgettable. Nothing about him sticks in memory. Brown hair. Average face. The kind of man you pass on the street and forget immediately. "Senator Hart will be president in a decade if we don't address the problem now."
Rowan sets the photograph down with the same care you'd use setting down explosives.
"Two weeks," Marcus continues, sliding another file across the table. "You'll have full access to his schedule, his security details, his movements. You know how this works."
Rowan knows exactly how this works.
Kill the target. Disappear like smoke. Collect payment. Move on to the next name, the next face, the next person whose death doesn't mean anything because Rowan stopped letting things mean anything years ago.
Except.
"The payment?" Rowan asks. His voice comes out steady. Professional. Like they're discussing weather instead of the death of the only person who ever made him want to be something other than a weapon.
"Double the usual rate," Marcus says. "Forty million. This one matters."
This one matters.
If Marcus only knew how much.
Rowan has been watching Daniel Hart for three years. Not because his handler ordered him to. Because three years ago, Rowan made a choice that destroyed both of them. He'd walked away from Daniel with nothing but four words on a note. I'm sorry. I can't stay.
The worst thing he'd ever done.
The only thing that might keep Daniel alive.
Except Daniel wasn't alive. Not really. Rowan watched him build a career like it was a shield against pain. Watched him climb through the political ranks like success could replace love. Watched him move through life like he was haunting his own existence.
Rowan had done that. His absence had broken something in Daniel that wasn't supposed to break.
And now his handler was handing him a contract to finish the job.
"You're hesitating," Marcus says. It's not a question. It's an accusation.
Rowan looks up. His gray eyes are empty the way they're supposed to be. Empty of feeling. Empty of memory. Empty of three years of watching the only person he ever loved slowly disappear inside his own life.
"I'm assessing," Rowan says. "Hart has federal protection. Senate security team. His chief of staff is former military. It's not a simple kill."
It's not a simple kill because Rowan will burn the world down before he lets anyone else hurt Daniel Hart.
Marcus nods like this is expected. Like he doesn't realize he just handed a suicide mission to a man whose heart is screaming in places so deep that even the killer trained to feel nothing can hear it.
"That's why you're the best," Marcus says. "Make it look accidental if you can. Random attack. Nobody suspects government involvement. But whether it's clean or messy, the target needs to disappear."
The target.
That's all Daniel is to them. A problem. A loose end. A political threat that needs solving.
Rowan folds the files. Precise movements. Nothing wasted. Nothing revealing. "I'll need a week to observe his patterns."
"You have two."
"Two weeks isn't enough time for a clean job."
Marcus smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. Nothing about Marcus reaches anywhere real. "Then you'll have to work fast. The organization is already positioned for his removal. If you can't do it, someone else will. And they won't be as careful about collateral damage."
Collateral damage.
Rowan's blood goes cold. Not because he cares about the words. He stopped caring about words a long time ago. But because collateral damage means anyone near Daniel. His staff. His friends. The people he loves.
Grace Carter. Daniel's chief of staff and the only person besides Daniel who has ever tried to see past the killer to whatever human thing might exist underneath.
Rowan stands up. The meeting is over.
"Where are you going?" Marcus asks.
"To start the job."
"You're sure about this? Hart matters to you. I can tell. It's written all over your face."
Rowan stops at the door. He doesn't turn around. "I'm a professional. I don't let feelings interfere with contracts."
"Good," Marcus says. "Because if you're thinking about walking away from this, you should know something. Hart isn't the only target. If you refuse, we'll move forward with a different approach. The family route. Take his father. Take his sister. Make it hurt before we make it final."
The room goes very still.
Rowan's hand clenches into a fist so tight his nails draw blood from his palm.
"You have two weeks," Marcus repeats. "After that, if the target is still breathing, we handle this differently."
Rowan leaves without responding. He walks through the building like a man made of ice. Down the stairs. Through the lobby. Into the street where the city is breathing around him and nobody knows that everything just changed.
His phone buzzes.
Unknown number. One word message.
Come.
Sebastian.
Rowan moves through the city like a ghost. Seventeen blocks to the safehouse. His feet know the route without his brain giving permission. His hands know how to move. How to blend. How to disappear into the crowd even when the entire world is suddenly too close.
The safehouse is quiet. Sebastian is waiting in the darkness the way he always waits. Like he'd been expecting this exact moment for three years.
"You got the contract," Sebastian says. Not a question.
Rowan nods.
"It's Hart."
Rowan nods again.
Sebastian stands up slowly. His pale ice-blue eyes see everything. Rowan's rigid shoulders. His clenched jaw. The way his hands are shaking for the first time in his entire career.
"You're in love with him," Sebastian says. A statement of fact. A diagnosis of terminal illness.
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters." Sebastian moves closer. His cold face shows something that might be concern. "It's the first time I've ever seen you afraid. Actual fear. In sixteen years of working together, I've never seen you afraid of anything."
Rowan's phone lights up with another message.
Security breach at Hart's penthouse. Multiple bogeys converging. Seventeen minutes ETA.
Rowan is already moving toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Sebastian asks.
"To save him," Rowan says.
"If you show up, they'll know you're compromised. They'll burn you. They'll kill you both."
Rowan doesn't stop. "Then we'll have to be faster than they are."
He's in the car before Sebastian can respond. Driving through the city with his hands perfectly steady and his heart destroying itself from the inside out. Seventeen minutes to reach Daniel. Seventeen minutes to save the only person who ever mattered.
Seventeen minutes before everything he's ever been burns to ash.
The penthouse lights up in his vision as he drives, and Rowan realizes he's about to make the choice that will either save Daniel or destroy them both.
His phone buzzes one final time.
Last warning. Complete the contract or watch everyone you love die.
Rowan floors the accelerator and doesn't look back.