He Burned Me Alive, So I Chose His Enemy

Nova's POV

I'm opening my eyes.

The pain of burning alive is still sharp in my mind.

The feeling of skin melting away, lungs choking on thick smoke, the explosion tearing through flesh—every detail is crystal clear, like it just happened seconds ago.

But I'm lying on cold concrete now, hands locked in cuffs chained to a rusted pipe.

The warehouse.

Lucian's abandoned warehouse.

Steel beams are twisting in the heat, shrieking like dying animals. Smoke is pouring into my lungs, and each breath feels like swallowing broken glass.

Wasn't I supposed to be dead? Where am I?

"You were always too soft, Nova." Lucian's voice cuts through the roar of flames, terrifyingly calm. "So you had to die."

I lift my head, squinting through the smoke to see his silhouette. The man who taught me how to pull a trigger, how to survive in the dark—he's turning away from me now.

In the dim light, I catch what he's holding in his right hand. That broken crown necklace. He gave it to me when I turned eighteen, said I was his queen. Now it's covered in dark red bloodstains.

This exact scene. This exact dialogue.

I've... come back?

The realization hits me, and a smile pulls at my lips. I rasp out through the smoke, "Lucian! You're going to regret this!"

He stops walking but doesn't turn around.

"The only thing I regret," his voice drifts back, "is not doing this sooner."

The warehouse door slams shut behind him.

I start scanning my surroundings, looking for a way out. Last time, I couldn't believe Lucian would do this to me. I wasted precious minutes crying, screaming, tearing at the cuffs until my wrists were raw meat, and then I died in the flames and explosion.

But this time, I'm getting my revenge.

The ceiling is starting to cave in.

Flames are crawling toward me like living things.

My hands are beginning to blur in the firelight.

I force myself to think.

I shift my position, plant my feet against the wall, and pull with everything I have.

Pain shoots through my wrists. The cuffs dig into flesh, blood running down my arms. The pipe groans.

Crack.

A split forms at the pipe's joint.

I don't stop. Keep pulling. The chain cuts deeper, blood making my wrists slippery, but the slickness helps too.

The explosion is coming any second. I need to move faster.

"Ah!"

The pipe breaks completely. I fall backward, skull cracking against the floor, stars exploding in my vision.

I scramble to my feet, dragging the broken pipe and cuffs toward the window.

Second floor. Concrete below.

I close my eyes.

Run. Jump. Shatter the glass.

The weightless feeling of falling.

Then the brutal impact with the ground.

I feel ribs snap, all air punched from my lungs.

I try to crawl, but my body won't cooperate.

Move. Now.

I make it maybe thirty feet.

The explosion hits.

The shockwave slams into me from behind, lifting me off the ground. Heat, debris, agony—

I crash down hard, the back of my head striking something solid.

My vision blurs. The roar of the explosion and the howl of flames fill my ears.

Then consciousness slips into black.

Pain drags me back.

I jolt awake, blinding white light forcing my eyes shut again. My heart is hammering against my ribs, lungs gasping for air, every breath bringing sharp pain.

"She's awake." An unfamiliar female voice.

"Tell the boss." Another voice, male, rough.

I slowly open my eyes again, adjusting to the brightness. White ceiling, beeping medical equipment, the smell of antiseptic in the air.

A private medical room.

I try to sit up, but every muscle screams in protest. Looking down, I see my body wrapped in bandages, left arm in a cast, chest burning with each breath.

But I'm alive. That's what matters.

Images flash through my mind—Lucian's cold eyes in those final moments, the thirty-seven assassination missions, every name of every person who died by my gun. And at the end, his absolute certainty when he decided I was too dangerous to keep around.

The door opens.

A man walks in.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dark brown hair, gray-blue eyes that look like ice in the dim lighting. The most striking feature is the scar under his right eye, running from the corner all the way to his cheekbone, making him look dangerous and lethal.

Kael Vaughn.

Lucian's sworn enemy.

"You're lucky my guys pulled you out of that rubble," he says, sitting in the chair beside the bed, hands clasped together. "Most people don't survive Lucian Cross."

My throat is too dry to speak.

He hands me a glass of water. I hesitate for a second, then take it and drink. The cold liquid slides down my throat, easing the burn.

"What's your name?" he asks.

That's the question, isn't it?

If I give him my real name, Kael will immediately know who I am—Ghost, Lucian's deadliest assassin. He'd probably kill me on the spot or use me as a hostage.

But if I hide my identity...

I meet his eyes and make my decision.

"Nora," I rasp. "Nora Bennett."

"Nora Bennett," Kael repeats, doubt threading through his tone. "Why did Lucian want you dead?"

"I was his intel officer," I say. "I knew too much. When I wanted out, he decided to... clean house."

Kael stares at me for a long time, those gray-blue eyes trying to see through me. I force myself to stay calm, even though my heart is racing like it's trying to escape my chest.

"Do you hate him?" he asks suddenly.

"I want to kill him," I answer without hesitation.

That makes him smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Good," he says, standing up. "Then we can make a deal. You give me intel on Lucian—base locations, transaction records, anything I can use against him. In return, I give you protection and a shot at revenge."

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms.

Last life, I spent ten years as Lucian's weapon.

This life, I'm going to destroy everything he's built with my own hands.

"Deal," I say.