Lady Assassin's Forbidden Desire for Her Target

Amelia POV

The explosion rocked the entire compound.

"Finally." I was already moving, grabbing my weapon as emergency lights bathed everything in red.

"Dancer!" My communications officer's voice crackled through the radio. "Multiple breaches on the north wall. Armed hostiles, at least twenty—"

"Calm down," I snapped, watching the feeds. Black-clad figures poured through the smoke and immediately engaged our trainees in combat. Within seconds, several of my students were on the ground. "It's a drill."

As the compound returned to normal, I settled back into my chair to review the drill footage. Twelve drones had captured every angle of the exercise—our mock urban buildings, the dense woodlands beyond, and the cliffs overlooking the sea. Nocturne Ballet Academy served as the perfect cover for Round Table's Region 2 operations. To the outside world, we were simply an elite Russian dance institution. To those who knew better, we were one of twelve global headquarters training the world's deadliest operatives.

I began rewinding the feeds, analyzing each trainee's performance. Most had reacted predictably—too slow, too panicked, too uncoordinated. But on monitor seven, something caught my attention. One of the black-clad figures moved differently from the others. While my instructors had been executing planned takedowns, this one had been working his way toward the archive building.

"Wait a minute..." I leaned forward, enhancing the image. This wasn't one of my people.

Before I could investigate further, the archive alarm began shrieking.

I was moving before the sound fully registered, barking orders over the din. "Lock down the compound. All personnel on high alert. This is not a drill anymore."

The archive building came into view just as the black-clad figure launched himself from the roof. Even at this distance, I could see he'd taken down several guards. The intruder hit the ground running, using the trees for cover as he made for the cliffs.

One of my security officers raised his weapon, firing several shots that went wide. But the operative was already trapped—the only escape route led to the cliffs, a hundred-foot drop to sea level.

I snatched the sniper rifle from another guard's hands and gave chase. Within minutes, I had a clear line of sight to the cliff edge where the figure had stopped.

I dropped to one knee, bringing the scope to my eye. The crosshairs found their target just as he turned to look back. Through the magnification, I saw his face clearly for the first time.

For a split second, my breath caught. I knew that face—every sharp angle, every defined feature was burned into my memory like a brand.

Could it be... Jay? The owner of those same green eyes had pulled me against his chest, swearing to stay by my side forever. But then came the forced separation, and the last image burned into my mind was his eyes, desperate and determined as we plummeted toward the sea.

But that was impossible. No one could survive what had happened to us. I'd barely made it out myself, and even then, only by pure luck.

The momentary distraction cost me my perfect shot, but I forced myself to focus and squeezed the trigger anyway.

The bullet took him center mass, blood blooming across his chest as the impact spun him around before he toppled over the edge and vanished.

"Bullseye," I murmured with satisfaction, then barked to the arriving security team, "Search the water. Full sweep."

Thirty minutes later, they reported no body found.

My satisfaction evaporated into fury. "What the hell do you mean 'no body found'? I put an M-99 round center mass and watched him fall into the water. How does someone just disappear?"

The security team exchanged uncomfortable glances, unable to provide an answer.

I took a breath, forcing myself to think logically. Anyone capable of infiltrating Nocturne during a live drill and stealing classified files wouldn't come unprepared. Of course he had backup. But the M-99 nanobullets were our latest technology—microscopic robots that would flood his bloodstream, gradually shutting down motor function. Even with extraction support, he'd need medical attention soon.

"What did he take?" I asked as we surveyed the archive.

"File BF1013," came the grim response. "The Black Friday encrypted records."

My jaw tightened. Black Friday had happened two years ago in Everdark City—what the public knew as a "chemical plant explosion" was actually a bioweapons research accident that had killed hundreds and soured relations between Round Table and the U.S. government. The Americans had blamed us for the security breach that led to the disaster, even though we'd been hired to protect the facility. Only federal agencies in that city were still actively investigating the incident, trying to piece together what really happened that night.

If someone had stolen those records, they were either from Everdark City or working for someone there. Which meant the best way to recover them was to go straight to the source. I needed to get that drive back before they could crack our encryption.

"Contact Auditor," I decided. "Tell her to return tomorrow to oversee evaluations. I'm going to Everdark City."

My security chief looked concerned. "Dancer, the Americans still have their prohibition in place. Round Table operations are still banned on U.S. soil after the Black Friday incident."

I pulled out my American passport, the one that identified me as Amelia Colt rather than my operative designation. Born in Everdark City before being recruited by Round Table, I was technically still an American citizen—something that came in handy for situations like this. "I'm entering as a legal citizen. You got a problem with that?"

The next day, as soon as I received confirmation that Auditor had arrived at Nocturne, I was already making my way to the helicopter that would take me to the airport. I couldn't afford to waste time with briefings.

As the helicopter lifted off, I couldn't help but think about the last time I'd returned to Everdark City: all the family drama and unpleasantness of dealing with the Coltmans.

But this time I'm not going back to reunite with them. They shouldn't be my problem.

The flight was mercifully uneventful. I managed to catch a few hours of sleep, waking as the plane began its descent.

My phone rang as I stepped off the plane.

"Dancer?" The voice was cheerful, excited. Alex White—code name Surgeon—one of the few people I genuinely considered a friend.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite back-alley doctor. What delicious news do you have for me, Alex?"

"Oh, you're going to love this," he said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. "You won't believe what just came into my clinic—a man with an M-99 nanobullet wound. You know those are only available to Round Table personnel, right? Please tell me the no-kill order in the U.S. has been lifted?"

My pulse quickened. "Still in the same dingy little hole you call a clinic?" I asked, already heading for the exit.

"Haven't moved an inch. But Dancer—"

"Keep him there. I'm on my way."

I hailed a taxi, my heart racing with anticipation. Completing the mission this quickly seemed almost too easy. But there was another reason for my excitement, one I didn't want to acknowledge. I needed to see this man up close. Because he looked so damn much like him that my brain kept circling back to the same impossible thought: What if it really was Jay?