The underground medical bay in the Vance London estate was a sanctuary of sterile white and cold steel. Outside, the Ghost Unit was sanitizing the private club, but inside, the only sound was the rhythmic hiss of the oxygen concentrator.
Darius sat on the edge of the surgical table, his black tactical vest discarded on the floor. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, tearing through the muscle but missing the bone. Blood trailed down his tanned, muscular arm, staining the white sheets.
I stood between his legs, my hands steady as I cleaned the wound with antiseptic.
"I told you to move, Darius," I whispered, my voice thick with a mixture of professional focus and a hidden, sharp anger. "You could have been killed."
Darius reached up with his uninjured hand, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck. He pulled me closer until my forehead rested against his. His breath smelled of smoke and the expensive scotch he'd used to dull the pain.
"I'd let them riddle me with lead before I let a single red dot touch your heart, Elara," he growled, his dark eyes searching mine. "Don't ask me to be a spectator when your life is on the line."
"Then don't ask me to be a widow," I snapped, my eyes flashing as I picked up the curved suturing needle.
I didn't use anesthesia. For a man like Darius, the sting of the needle was nothing compared to the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. As I began to sew the jagged tear in his flesh, he didn't even flinch. He just watched me, his gaze so intense it felt like he was memorizing the rhythm of my breathing.
"You're angry," he noted, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
"I'm furious," I replied, pulling the silk thread tight. "Furious that you think your life is less valuable than mine."
Darius captured my chin with his hand, forcing me to look at him. "In my world, Elara, you are the only thing with value. Everything else—the money, the power, the empire—is just noise. You are the signal."
The tension between us snapped. I dropped the forceps and leaned in, my mouth crashing against his in a desperate, bruising kiss. It was a collision of relief and raw possession. Darius groaned into my mouth, his hand sliding down my back to pull me flush against his hard chest.
For a moment, the war outside didn't exist. There was only the heat of his skin and the metallic tang of blood.
Finally, I pulled back, my breathing ragged. I finished the final stitch and taped a sterile bandage over the wound.
"Stay here," I commanded, my voice returning to its icy, clinical tone. "I have a patient in the interrogation room who needs my specialized attention."
The interrogation room was soundproof, lightless, and cold. Alistair was strapped to a chair, his hand bandaged where Darius's knife had found its mark.
I walked in alone, carrying a small, leather roll of specialized acupuncture needles. I didn't turn on the lights. I only activated the single, harsh spotlight directed at his face.
"Professor," I said, my voice echoing in the small space. "I learned everything from you. Including where the 'Silent Nerve' is located."
Alistair looked up, his silver glasses gone, his eyes blinking in the light. "Elara. You won't torture me. You're a doctor. You took an oath."
"I took an oath to save lives, Alistair," I said, unrolling the leather kit. The thin, silver needles glinted under the light. "But for the man who tried to kill my husband, I am making a surgical exception."
I stepped into the light, my face a mask of absolute zero indifference.
"I won't leave a mark on your body. But if you don't give me the coordinates of the Shadow Council's High Seat in the next sixty seconds, I will insert this needle into your trigeminal nerve. You will experience the sensation of being burned alive from the inside out, but you won't be able to scream. Your vocal cords will be paralyzed."
I held the needle an inch from his eye.
"Forty seconds, Professor. Do you want to find out if the student has truly surpassed the master?"
Alistair stared at the needle, the cold realization of his own mortality finally breaking through his arrogance. He looked into my eyes and saw no mercy—only the calculated, lethal precision of the Living Yama.
"Wait!" he choked out, his voice trembling. "The High Seat... it's not a place. It's a ship. The Aethelgard. It's currently in international waters, three hundred miles off the coast of Iceland."
I pulled the needle back, a cold smile touching my lips.
"Thank you, Professor," I said, turning toward the door. "Sebastian? Prep the Vance stealth cruiser. We're going to the North Atlantic."
I walked back into the medical bay where Darius was already putting on a fresh tactical shirt. He looked at me, seeing the fire in my eyes.
"We have the coordinates?" he asked.
"We have the target," I replied, my hand finding his. "Let's go sink a Council."