Camille's gloves struck the heavy bag in rapid succession, each hit landing with controlled precision. The dull thud of leather filled the gym, steady, relentless, and echoing against the concrete walls.
Sweat traced a slow line down her temple, but she ignored it, shifting her weight as she drove another punch forward.
Her body moved on instinct. Even when her thoughts drifted, her muscles stayed on task. That was the problem with training. It didn't care what she felt, only what she could survive.
"Again."
Master Lee's voice cut through the rhythm.
She pivoted, throwing a clean hook. He stepped aside with a fluid grace that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Not bad," he said, his eyes narrow and observant.
Camille smirked, feinting a high kick before snapping a jab forward. Her glove brushed the fabric of his grey sweatshirt.
"Careful," she said, her breath coming in short, controlled bursts. "You're getting slow, old man."
He snorted. "Experience doesn't make me immune to your arrogance, Camille. It just makes me patient."
She laughed under her breath, bouncing back into her stance. "I'll take that as a compliment."
They moved again, falling into the familiar dance of strike and parry, but his focus remained fixed on her eyes rather than her hands.
"You've been gone," he said.
She didn't stop moving. "Busy."
"Distracted," he corrected.
Her next punch hit the bag with a crack that echoed like a gunshot.
"Maybe I needed the break," she replied, her tone aiming for careless but landing somewhere near defensive.
Master Lee parried a phantom blow. "You don't take breaks. You hide."
The words landed with more weight than her punches. Camille's jaw tightened. She exhaled, stepping back and dropping her guard. The silence in the gym felt heavy.
"Maybe I'll switch careers. Become a professional boxer. It pays better than whatever this is." She forced a small, sharp smile. "I feel like I'm evolving."
"Or spiraling. And you know where that leads," he said quietly.
That earned him a look that could have cut glass. "You worry too much, Lee."
"And you treat your life like it belongs to someone else."
Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city outside. Then she rolled her shoulders, shaking off the tension. "Relax. I'm fine."
Master Lee studied her a moment longer before finally nodding toward the locker room. "We're done for today."
By the time she peeled off her wraps, her muscles burned in that familiar, grounded way. She reached for her water bottle, tilting her head back for a long drink, when the air in the room seemed to shift.
"Camille."
She lowered the bottle. Master Lee stood near the entrance, his expression wiped of its usual warmth.
"Someone's here for you."
Her brows lifted slightly. She wasn't on the schedule for a briefing. "Send them in."
She had been expecting a courier or perhaps a junior handler. She was not prepared for the man who stepped through the door.
Immaculate, poised, and radiating a quiet, dangerous authority. Mr. Black.
Camille straightened immediately, setting the bottle on a bench. "Sir."
He didn't look surprised to find her in a sweat-stained tank top in a basement gym. Mr. Black was a man who only arrived exactly when he intended to.
"Camille," he replied, his voice a smooth, characterless baritone. "I trust your time away has been productive."
"Enlightening," she said, matching his neutrality.
His gaze lingered on her, weighing her worth as if she were a piece of hardware.
Then he turned to Master Lee. "We'll need the office."
A brief pause. Then a nod from Lee. "Go ahead."
The office felt cramped the moment Mr. Black stepped inside. Camille remained standing as he closed the door. He took his time lighting a cigar, the faint glow briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face before he exhaled a cloud of grey smoke.
"I won't waste your time," he said. He slid a manila file across the scarred wooden desk. "You have a new assignment."
Camille didn't move immediately. Then, she stepped forward and flipped the cover open.
A photograph stared back at her.
Her breath caught, a tiny, physical hitch she hoped he didn't notice. Recognition dawned, quick, sharp, and entirely unwelcome.
Impossible.
The man from the balcony. The man whose scent she had spent the morning trying to scrub out of her memory. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on her waist.
She knew him. Not from a surveillance log, but from the heat of a dance floor. And that complicated everything.
"Kade Wilder," Mr. Black said, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. "His name has surfaced in connection with a high-level smuggling network operating out of the Baltic."
Kade Wilder.
She read the name in bold ink, studying the photo with a forced, professional detachment.
CEO of Wilder Nexus. A man who bought and sold companies like they were trading cards.
Private and enigmatic.
"What exactly is he suspected of?" she asked, her voice steady.
"We have nothing that would hold up in court," Mr. Black continued. "But we have enough to warrant a deep-cover asset."
"What's the objective?"
"Infiltration." Mr. Black met her eyes. "You'll get close to him. His company, his inner circle, his bed if necessary. You'll find out what he's hiding."
A pause.
"And if the intel is right?" Camille asked.
"Then we dismantle him."
Camille closed the file slowly. "Why me? I'm supposed to be on a cooling-off period after the last op."
Mr. Black leaned back. "That sounds like hesitation, Camille."
"It's a risk assessment."
A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained like flint. "This requires absolute precision, control, and a specific kind of… persuasion. You are the only candidate with the pedigree to move in his circles without looking like an intruder."
A chill went down her spine. The "pedigree" was a coded reference to her family name. To Eleanor.
"Do you believe you're capable?"
For a fraction of a second, the ghosts of her last failed mission flickered in her mind---- the smell of smoke, the sound of a scream. She pushed it down into the dark.
"I am."
"Good." He gestured toward the file. "You'll assume a new identity. Camille Devile is a socialite. Camille De Luca is a professional. Go through the details."
Her pulse ticked faster. Not from fear, but from the sharp, cold edge of a challenge. It was exactly what she needed to drown out the boredom. She was already mapping the entry points into Wilder Nexus.
She wondered what his face would look like when she walked into his office. Would he remember the girl from the balcony, or would he only see a woman looking for a job?
"And Camille…"
She paused at the door.
"Don't let the target's persona distract you. Men like Wilder are built on lies."
A small, almost amused smile curved her lips. "Lies are my native language, sir. That won't be a problem."
Outside, the noise of the gym returned, but it felt distant now. Her world had already shifted.
Kade Wilder.
The name echoed in her mind as she walked toward her car. Fate had a strange sense of humor, putting her back in the path of the only man who had made her lose her focus in years.
She had walked away from him once. This time, she was walking straight into the fire.
He wouldn't see her coming. And if he did?
Even better.