PROLOGUE

DAN ZAKIM

FOUR YEARS AGO

"Dan, we have to fall back! There are too many of them!"

"No," I growled, wiping a streak of warm blood from my eyebrow. "I’m not leaving."

"Are you insane?!" Vince grabbed my tactical vest, pulling me hard toward the mouth of the alley. His eyes were wide with pure panic, reflecting the rain-slicked asphalt beneath our boots. "Look around you! Half our guys are already on the ground! The Iron Vipers called in backup—they’re surrounding the entire block!"

"They killed Marcus," I said. My voice was dangerously quiet, vibrating with a raw, ugly heat that choked out every shred of sense in my head. "They executed him in broad daylight like a dog. None of these bastards leave this alley alive."

"Dan, listen to me!" Vince screamed over the deafening crack of gunfire echoing off the concrete walls. "Marcus is dead! You dying here won’t bring him back! We need to retreat to the compound now!"

"If you want to run, Vince, then run," I barked, shoving him back against the wet brickwork. "Because I'm not turning my back."

"You’re going to get us all slaughtered!"

"Then get out of my way!"

I charged back into the crossfire before he could answer.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped beast. With every heavy thud, a rush of adrenaline flooded my veins, burning away the fatigue in my muscles, burning away my vision until everything felt locked in high definition. Deep inside my eyes, behind the natural dark brown of my pupils, the thin biotechnological layer flared to life. The biotechnological layer activated behind my natural eyes, feeding sharp visual data directly into my brain.

I saw the trajectory of a pipe swinging toward my throat before the rival soldier even fully turned his shoulders. I ducked beneath the arc, drove my elbow into his solar plexus, and slammed his head back into the iron fence with enough force to split the metal.

"Over here!" a voice roared from the shadows. "He’s right here! Kill the kid!"

"Keep shooting!" another yelled. "Don't let him close the distance!"

Shadows swarmed from the mouth of the alleyway. Men carrying heavy iron bars, machetes, and low-caliber pistols. They were a brutal, superstitious bunch—a rival syndicate known for horrific rituals and bloody street executions. But right now, to my adrenaline-flooded brain, they weren't men. They were targets.

"Dan, behind you!" Leo shouted from somewhere to my left.

I spun around just as two attackers lunged. I caught the first one by his wrists, twisting until the bone snapped, and hurled his body directly into the second man. But as they hit the ground, a loud bang echoed through the narrow passage.

Leo crumpled to his knees, clutching his chest.

"Leo!" I yelled.

"Dan..." he gasped, coughing up red onto the wet cobblestones. "There's... there's too many..."

"Stay down!" I screamed, lunging toward the gunman who had shot him. I drove my fist into the man's throat, shutting down his breathing instantly, then snatched his gun and fired three quick rounds into the oncoming crowd.

"Kill him! Cut him down!"

"He's hit! He has to be!"

"He's not human! Shoot him!"

"Dan! Retre—" Vince’s voice was cut short by the brutal thud of a heavy iron pipe making contact with his skull. I watched his body drop limp into the mud.

"Vince!" I screamed, my voice tearing in my throat. "Vince, get up!"

He didn't move.

I looked around through the haze of rain, smoke, and blood. My team—the guys who had backed me up, the guys I was supposed to lead—were all stretched out across the alley floor. Motionless. Gone.

I was the last man standing.

"He's alone!" a voice bellowed from the dark street ahead. "The rest of his crew is dead! Surround him! Don't let him escape!"

Heavy boots thundered against the pavement. Dozens of them. Five men. Ten. Fifteen. More were spilling out from the back of two black vans parked at the end of the street.

The heat in my blood suddenly turned ice cold.

I can't fight all of them, my brain finally registered, overriding the blinding rage. If I stay here, I die. And if I die, nobody pays for what happened today.

"He's over there! Block the alley!"

"I've got the back exit covered!"

"Move, move, move!"

I didn't give them a chance to form a perimeter. I turned on my heel, leaped onto an overturned dumpster, and launched my body upward, catching the bottom rung of a rusted metal fire escape.

"He's climbing! Shoot him!"

Bullets slapped harmlessly against the iron grate beneath my boots as I hauled myself up, swinging over the railing without losing momentum. I took the metal steps three at a time, vaulting over the roof ledge, my lungs burning, my chest heaving.

I sprinted across the gravel roof, jumping the four-foot gap between buildings without looking down. My crimson-ringed vision tracked the dark outlines of vents, pipes, and ledges, steering my feet automatically through the pitch-black night.

I took two more roof jumps, landed heavily on a fire escape two blocks away, and slid down the ladder into a quiet back alley.

I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, my knuckles raw and dripping blood onto my shoes. I ripped off my torn, blood-soaked leather jacket and stuffed it behind a trash compressor. I couldn't walk through the city like this. I looked like a murderer fresh from a slaughterhouse.

Ahead lay the high-end commercial district, where bright storefront lights bled onto the busy pedestrian walkways.

I ducked through a open delivery door at the back of an upscale boutique, stepping quietly into a dimly lit storage room filled with racks of fresh designer clothes.

"Excuse me?" a voice stammered from the doorway leading to the showroom.

A young shop assistant stood there, holding a stack of folded shirts. Her jaw dropped as she looked at my face, my stained white undershirt, and the bruised, bloody skin of my knuckles.

"Who... who are you?" she gasped, stepping back toward a wall phone. "How did you get back here? I'm calling security—"

"Don't," I gritted out, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a thick wad of crumpled, cash-strained bills. I threw the money onto a folding table between us. "I don't want any trouble. I just need a jacket and a plain shirt."

She stared at the money, then up at my eyes. Her expression instantly paled. Under the harsh fluorescent bulbs in the backroom, the crimson ring around my pupils was pulsing dangerously, catching the light like liquid blood.

"Please," she whimpered, her hands trembling. "Don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said, my voice low and dead. "Give me a black hoodie, a clean shirt, and a dark cap. Now. Keep the rest of the money."

"O-okay," she stammered, hurrying over to a rack. She pulled a black oversized hoodie, a plain grey t-shirt, and a dark baseball cap from the hanger, handing them to me with her arms fully extended, terrified to get within an inch of my body. "Here. Take it."

"Where's the washroom?"

"To... to the right. By the employee breakroom."

I didn't say another word. I walked into the tiny restroom, slammed the door, and turned on the faucet. I scooped cold water into my hands and threw it against my face, scrubbing away the sweat, dirt, and dried blood.

I looked up into the mirror.

My reflection looked ragged. Unhinged. My dark hair was plastered to my forehead, and beneath my heavy brows, my eyes looked terrifying. The bio-optical implant was still humming from the intense stress, making the dark red ring around my pupils flare with an unsettling, faint glow.

"Calm down," I muttered to myself, clutching the edges of the porcelain sink until my knuckles turned white. "Slow your heart rate. Bring it down."

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking three long, deliberate breaths. When I opened them again, the faint red glow had faded back into a subtle crimson outline around my dark irises.

I pulled off my ruined undershirt, threw on the fresh t-shirt, pulled the black hoodie over my head, and tugged the dark cap low over my brow.

I stepped back out into the storage area. The shop clerk was standing near the door, staring at the floor, still shaking.

"Which exit leads directly to the pedestrian market?" I asked quietly.

"The... the front doors," she whispered, pointing toward the lit showroom. "They open onto the main boulevard. It's... it's always crowded this time of night."

"Good." I turned toward the front entrance.

"Wait," she called out softly, her voice barely audible.

I stopped, looking over my shoulder. "What?"

"Are... are you going to be okay?"

"Just lock the back door after I leave," I said, stepping through the glass double doors into the brightly lit boulevard.

The transition from the dark, blood-scented alleyways to the bustling night market was jarring. Bright neon signs flashed overhead in shades of pink, yellow, and blue. Music spilled out from open storefronts, mixed with the laughter of teenagers, the chatter of couples, and the smell of fried food and sugar.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, keeping my chin tucked low against my chest as I navigated through the thick stream of pedestrians.

Just get to the train station, I told myself. Get out of the district, lay low, and figure out who sold Marcus out.

Suddenly, two men in dark jackets cut across the boulevard fifty yards ahead of me. They weren't shopping. Their eyes were scanning the faces of everyone in the crowd, their hands resting ominously inside their coat pockets.

Vipers.

They had already spread their watchers into the public square.

I turned my head slightly, trying to cut laterally across the flow of foot traffic toward a row of smaller market stalls. I was moving too fast, focused entirely on tracking the two men near the fountain, when someone stepped straight out from behind a bright candy stand right into my path.

I collided hard with her shoulder.

The collision knocked her backward, sending a small paper bag of colorful sweets flying from her hands and scattering across the pavement.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, you blind idiot!" a sharp, demanding voice barked.

A young girl spun around on her heel, her long brown hair whipping through the air. She couldn't have been more than sixteen years old, dressed in expensive, stylish clothes that practically screamed money and privilege. Her small face was twisted in absolute outrage, her mouth open to scream at me again.

"Are you deaf or just—"

She stopped dead.

Her words dried up instantly in her throat. The anger vanished from her expression, replaced by a sudden, stunned stillness.

She stared right up into my face.

Because I had turned to check on her, my head had lifted, exposing my features under the bright, colorful glare of the neon candy sign directly above us.

"What?" I muttered, my voice cold and harsh, instinctively pulling my cap back down. "Get out of my way."

She didn't move an inch. She just stood there in the middle of the crowded pavement, staring up at me with her lips slightly parted. Her dark eyes were wide, completely dazed, tracking every line of my jaw, my nose, my mouth.

"Hey..." she whispered, her voice soft, airy, and entirely devoid of the anger she had shown a second ago. "Wait..."

"I said move," I gritted out, trying to step past her.

"Your... your eyes," she breathed, taking a small step closer to me instead of backing away like any normal person would when confronted by an angry stranger. She leaned in slightly, looking straight into my pupils. "Are those... are those real?"

Dammit.

The crimson ring was still visible under the bright neon lights of the candy stall.

"Mind your own business," I growled, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets.

Before I could take two steps, a voice shouted over the noise of the crowd from twenty feet behind us:

"Check that row of stalls! Check every guy matching his height!"

My blood went cold. I looked over my shoulder. Three Vipers were pushing their way through the crowd, scanning the stalls, moving quickly toward the candy shop.

There was nowhere to run without drawing immediate attention. The crowd was too dense, the street too open.

Without thinking, I lunged forward, grabbed the girl by her forearm, and yanked her into the dark shadow between the candy stand and a large display pillar. I spun her around, pinning her gently against the glass wall of the stand, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pulling her flush against my chest. I buried my face into the side of her hair, using her body and her long brown locks to shield my profile entirely from the boulevard.

"Hey! What do you think you're—" she started, her voice rising in outrage.

"Don't move," I hissed into her ear, my grip tightening on her waist. "Don't make a single sound if you want to keep breathing."

She went completely stiff in my arms.

I expected her to scream. I expected her to thrash, to claw at my face, to fight back like any spoiled rich girl would when grabbed by a stranger in a dark corner.

She didn't.

Instead, she slowly relaxed against my chest. Her hands came up, resting lightly against the front of my hoodie. I could feel the rapid, shallow rhythm of her breath against my collarbone.

"Are you... hiding from someone?" she whispered softly into my chest. There wasn't a single trace of fear in her voice. Only a strange, intense curiosity.

"I said shut up," I muttered under my breath, keeping my eyes locked on the reflections in the glass window beside us.

"You're holding me really tight," she murmured, her cheek pressing closer to my shoulder.

"Then don't move and I won't have to."

"Who are those men?"

"People who will put a bullet through your head if you don't keep your mouth shut," I whispered harsh and low.

She turned her head slightly, looking up into my face from only inches away. Under the dim, filtered light of the pillar, her eyes locked back onto mine.

"You're not going to let them hurt me," she said. It wasn't a question. It was a calm, almost playful statement of absolute certainty.

"You don't know anything about me," I whispered back, my eyes darting toward the street.

Outside our shadow, the footsteps of the Vipers slowed down right in front of the candy stand.

"Anything over here?" one of the men barked.

"Nah," another replied, his voice barely two feet away from where we stood. "Just some teenagers making out behind the sweets display. Come on, he went toward the station! Hurry up!"

The sound of their heavy boots faded as they sprinted further down the boulevard, disappearing into the sea of pedestrians.

I let out a long, slow breath. The tension in my shoulders finally unspooled.

I immediately let go of her waist and stepped back into the deeper shadows of the awning, putting distance between us.

"They're gone," I said, my voice returning to its flat, emotionless tone.

She stood there against the glass pillar, her cheeks slightly flushed, her hair a little messy from where my arm had wrapped around her head. She looked at her empty hands, then looked back up at me, taking a slow step forward.

"You... you didn't tell me your name," she said, her voice breathy, her dark eyes searching my face with an unsettling intensity that made my skin prickle.

Something about the way she was looking at me confused me. It unsettled me in a way I couldn't process. My exhausted, adrenaline-drained brain had spent years understanding hatred, fear, threat, and violence. But the look in this girl's eyes didn't fit into any of those categories. She wasn't terrified. She wasn't disgusted. She was staring at me like I was the only person in the entire crowded street.

"Thank you," I muttered quietly, pulling my cap down lower over my eyes. "Forget you saw me."

"Wait!" she called out, reaching her hand toward me. "Don't go!"

I turned on my heel and stepped back into the flow of the crowd. I didn't look back. I melted into the sea of moving bodies, letting the noise, the neon lights, and the night air wash over me as I made my way toward the dark alleys near the railway line.

I never learned her name that night.

Four years passed.

I thought I'd forgotten her.

I hadn't.

Because when I saw those same eyes again on my first day of college, I knew immediately who she was.

She didn't recognize me.

And somehow, that was the beginning of my biggest problem.