Chapter 3: Lucian Cross Sends His Regards, Ghost

Nova's POV

"I'm going," I say when Kael announces tonight's plan.

He looks up from the map spread across the table. His guys are gathered around, checking weapons, loading magazines.

"This isn't a simple hit," Kael says. "Lucian's drug warehouse. At least twenty armed guards. You just recovered—"

"I'm fine."

The room goes quiet. Everyone's staring at me now. These past weeks I've been in the safe house doing intel work, nothing physical. They haven't seen what I can do.

"Give her a gun," Kael finally says. "But you stay close to me. Follow my orders."

I nod.

In my past life, I hit this warehouse three times. I know every corner, every blind spot, every exit.

We arrive at eleven PM. The target's a shipping warehouse in the dock district, looks ordinary from the outside. Kael splits his team into three groups, each taking a different entry point. I'm assigned to Kael's group with three other guys.

"Remember," Kael says through the earpiece, "we're here for the product and the records. Get in, get out. Don't get stuck."

The assault starts.

The front door blows open with a crack of explosives. Gunfire erupts immediately. Lucian's men react fast, bullets ripping through the air like a swarm. We're diving behind shipping containers, returning fire, smoke filling the space within seconds.

I'm forcing myself to use my right hand, even though I'm left-handed. Making my movements clumsy on purpose. Can't show too much.

But then I see three shooters flanking Kael from the side.

Time slows down.

Kael's focused on the guys in front of him. He doesn't see the danger. Three guns aimed at his back.

My body moves before my brain catches up.

I'm out of cover.

Both hands reach for weapons—a gun in each hand. I don't think. Just act.

The shots come fast. One. Two. Three. Each bullet finds its mark. Center mass. Clean kills.

Three bodies drop.

The whole thing takes maybe two seconds.

Then I'm moving forward. One of Lucian's guys charges at me from the left. Too close for guns. I drop the weapon in my right hand, pull the knife from my belt in one smooth motion. The blade goes into his throat before he can scream. I twist, yank it out, and he's falling.

Another one rushing me. I sidestep, let him stumble past, and put two rounds in his back.

The warehouse goes quiet for a moment.

Everyone's looking at me.

"Where the fuck did you learn that?" Kael's voice cuts through the silence.

My heart's hammering against my ribs.

What did I just do? That was Ghost's style. Dual-wielding, switching to blade work up close, killing fast and cold. Anyone who's spent time in the underground knows that signature.

"Survival instinct," I say, my voice shaking from adrenaline.

No time to think. The gunfight kicks back up. But I know. I've exposed myself.

We clear the warehouse according to plan. Lucian's men retreat, leaving behind millions worth of heroin and some documents. Kael's crew starts hauling everything out. I'm standing in the corner, trying to slow my heartbeat.

That's when I see it. Security camera in the corner.

Red light blinking.

Shit.

If Lucian sees that footage...

"Move out!" Kael orders.

I'm the last one to leave. When I pass the camera, I raise my gun and shoot it. The lens shatters, sparks flying.

But it's too late.

The drive back to the safe house is tense. Kael keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Not saying anything, but I can feel the questions building.

"Get some rest," he says when we arrive. "We'll talk tomorrow."

I head up to the apartment—third floor of an ordinary building. The kind of place no one notices.

It's three in the morning. My whole body smells like gunpowder and blood. I strip off my jacket, check the damage. Fresh cut on my left arm where a bullet grazed me. Not deep, but it stings like hell.

I walk into the bathroom, reach for the first aid kit.

The door explodes inward.

Wood splinters, the frame cracks. Three men in black burst through, all pointing guns at me.

I'm lunging for the weapon I keep by the bed, but the first guy's faster. His gun presses against my forehead.

"Don't," he says, voice low and rough. "Lucian Cross sends his regards, Ghost."

My blood turns to ice.

The leader is Marco. Lucian's right hand. Mid-forties, Italian, with a scar running from the corner of his mouth to his ear—courtesy of a target who fought back five years ago during a job.

"You died in that fire," Marco says, eyes wide with disbelief. "I saw the warehouse explode. How is this possible—"

"Wrong person," I say, keeping my voice steady even though my heart's about to burst. "My name's Nora Bennett."

"Cut the shit," one of the other guys says. "Boss saw the surveillance footage. The way you fight. Dual guns, knife work, killing like it's breathing. Only one person moves like that."

Marco grabs my left wrist, yanks up the sleeve roughly.

The bullet scar is exposed under the light—irregular tissue, the mark from a job three years ago.

"This scar," Marco says with a cold smile. "Only one person has it. But Ghost burned to death."

Gunfire erupts.

Not from Marco.

From outside the window. A bullet slams into one of the guys' shoulders, spinning him around.

Next second, Kael crashes through the window with his team.