"You had me and Chase fooled with your new look," Sofia teased, interrupting Damian's gaze at the midnight sky above the clouds.

He met her eyes before she continued, "You could rob a bank, and no one would ever suspect it's you." She tossed her leather jacket onto the seat beside her. Instead of wearing her usual tailored pantsuit, she resembled a renegade rocker in ripped charcoal jeans and a loose black T-shirt slipping off one shoulder.

"Just trying to keep it low-key," Damian replied, ruffling his hair as he stretched out on the jet's leather sofa. "You look different too—less like a cop, more an off-duty rock star."

Sofia brushed a loose strand of hair from her scruffy ponytail. "I figured ripped jeans and a T-shirt wouldn't scream federal agent when I work undercover."

"Rings and all," he observed with a raised eyebrow, nodding toward the onyx ring on her thumb. "Didn't know you had that edge."

She twirled a silver ring on one finger. "You don't know a lot of things about me."

He stood, feeling perspiration beneath his hoodie, and peeled it off. His black T-shirt shifted, exposing a fierce dragon tattoo spiraling around his left ribs—a silent emblem of the fire within him. Sofia's eyes widened, lingering on his inked abs before drifting to the low-hanging belt. A rosy flush tinted her cheeks as she tore her attention to her backpack, rummaging in the pockets for something.

Damian pretended not to notice, instead fishing for a few drinks in the mini-fridge. He craned his neck into the cockpit, viewing the back of Chase's wavy chestnut hair. Not in a million years had he imagined someone he once despised and envied—Chloe's former love interest—helping him.

He turned to Sofia and tossed her a Coke can. "Maybe you should enlighten me about yourself."

"Maybe I will," she replied, cracking open the can and taking a long sip. "So, what's it like, looking in the mirror and seeing someone new?"

He guzzled his soda, the fizz tickling his throat. "Strange. But if it keeps the paparazzi off my back and Marino in the dark, I'll take it."

Sofia's grin turned wry. "It's more than just contacts and hair dye—you're less intimidating now. I like this version of you."

He smirked. "Less intimidating? I'll keep that in mind when I face Marino." He softened his tone, the edge easing. "You've also changed."

She flipped a ringed middle finger. "Don't get too sentimental—you might ruin my street cred."

Damian exhaled, settling back on the couch. He watched Sofia take a deep sip of her drink before she leafed through a paperback pulled from her backpack. The cover featured towering evergreen trees and mythical beings.

"Good book?" he asked, nodding at the novel.

"Mmm," Sofia murmured, folding the corner of a page. "Elves, shapeshifters, otherworldly realms—pure escapism. I read them when life gets too heavy."

A half-laugh escaped his lips. "Chloe also liked fantasy novels. I'm more of a wait-til-it's-on-Netflix type."

Sofia shut the book, sliding it into her bag. "So, what movies does the great Damian Scott watch, anyway?"

"Action, thrillers, dark films with a dash of dry humor. Think Tarantino." He gulped more of his Coke. "Ever see Reservoir Dogs?"

"Oh, yeah. Brutal. Dark but riveting." She cocked her head as her eyes danced with his. "Kind of like you."

Damian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Like me, huh? Alright, tell me—when you're not busting scumbags or lost in fantasy novels, what movies do you watch?"

"Lord of the Rings and every Star Wars film," she responded after a thoughtful pause, drumming her ringed thumb on the Coke can. "I'm a sucker for a rogue with a heart of gold—like Han Solo."

"Chloe was into Star Wars, too," Damian said, forcing a casual tone despite the tug of memories. "Not Solo, though. She was all about Anakin before he went dark."

"Ah," Sofia mused. "Blond hair, blue eyes, pretty boy with a tragic edge. I see the resemblance."

"My eyes are green, not blue."

"Hard to tell with those brown lenses."

He scoffed, swirling the Coke can. "And you think I'm a 'pretty boy'?"

Sofia shrugged with a playful smile. "You've got that golden, beach-god vibe. Ask anyone who sees you. You're lucky Chloe isn't the jealous type."

Damian rubbed his temple, the ache of longing unmistakable. "No, she'd laugh and then start chatting with everyone. I preferred watching her in silence."

"You miss her," Sofia said quietly.

"Every damn day."

"Hey, soon enough, you'll have her back."

He nodded, swallowing the knot in his throat. "So, what about you? Got someone waiting for you when this mission is over?"

Sofia snorted. "When would I find the time? I'm either protecting your ass or hunting down bad guys."

Damian barked a short laugh. "Fair enough. I can introduce you to my buddy Nate Spencer if you're into finance guys with custom suits and Lamborghinis."

"Hard pass. I like nice rides, but a stiff in designer suits? Not my scene," she said, rolling her eyes. "Although, I wouldn't mind a Porsche."

He grinned wickedly. "Done."

Her eyes narrowed. "Done, what?"

"I'll get you one when this is over."

"You can't just buy me a car." Sofia fixed him with a pointed stare. "Too close to a bribe. Corporate freebies? Big no-no."

Damian shook his head. "It's a gift from a friend, not a corporate token."

She lifted a shoulder. "Still can't accept. The lines get blurred in my work. But thanks."

"You chose this assignment. Why? You could've let the next agent handle it."

Sofia straightened, taking another sip of her Coke. "Because I know what's at stake. Mike Marino deals in sex trafficking—especially minors. He's a monster. And you—I can handle your moral gray areas. At least you're trying to do something right. Marino? He's pure evil. You're the devil I'd rather deal with."

"Better the devil you know, huh?" Damian replied with a scoff.

Sofia's lips pressed together. "Angelo Lucciano and your father's circle might be shady, but they aren't selling people like merchandise."

Her gaze flickered to the window, where clouds drifted past like ghosts. Damian's eyes also followed their silent procession, each passing wisp stirring memories of Angelo's words of wisdom.

"Chase said you met with his uncle earlier today. What did you two talk about?" she prodded, shifting closer.

He remained tight-lipped. "That's between Angelo and me."

Silence lingered between them for a moment before she asked, "You once saved me with a gun. When did you learn to shoot so well?"

Damian laughed bitterly. "I was just a kid. I was messing around in my mother's study, playing with a real gun, thinking it was a toy. She walked in—then decided it was 'time I learned properly.'"

"Holy shit." Sofia winced.

"We hunted deer, ducks—anything we could."

"Well, you're a damn good shot," she admitted. "Better than some cops I know."

He shrugged. "In my family, you need to be good at it."

Sofia leaned forward as her mouth parted. "When did you first kill someone?"

Damian's throat constricted as he swallowed, and his eyes lowered to the ground. A lurking memory, sinister and unwelcome, intruded, but he pushed it away.

"I'd rather not say. It'd be admitting to murder in front of a fed, right?"

"I've taken lives, too—in the line of duty. Protecting innocents. It never leaves you."

Damian settled back against the sofa, sighing. He closed his eyes, letting the jet's hum lull him. He didn't know where Chloe was, but with Sofia's official connections and Billy Quinn's local ties, he'd sniff out Marino's hiding place soon enough.

He forced a chuckle. "I still don't know what my new name is."

Sofia rummaged through her backpack and produced a red passport. "Here—Kasper Olsen. Norwegian ancestry, visiting for your cousin's wedding. That's your official cover. Once we land, you'll get a new phone and SIM card from my Oslo contact, Astrid Sørland. Your so-called 'relative' Billy Quinn will meet us, too."

Damian opened the passport and laughed at the photo: a burlier, bearded version of himself with digitally darkened hair. "You gotta be joking!"

"Thanks to AI, a reliable printing company, and a little help from Lester Harbor's Norwegian Embassy," she replied, failing to hide a snicker. "Tell border control you shaved off the beard."

Damian blew out a slow breath, snapping the passport shut. "Kasper Olsen," he repeated, testing the name. "I'll be him as long as it takes."

"That's the plan," Sofia said, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders. "But in truth, you'll always be Damian Scott."

He revealed a sardonic grin. "The devil we know, right?"

"Better you than Marino. For Lester Harbor's future."

He studied her, crossing his arms. "It strikes me—you know more about me than I do about you."

Sofia raised her Coke can to her lips. "You never asked."

A snort of amusement escaped Damian. "Okay, I'm asking now. If we're going to trust each other, I want to know who Sofia Hahn is when she's not arresting scumbags or reading about elves."

She twisted the onyx ring around her thumb. "Keep asking because I'm not giving it all away in one go."

***

"Now you know," Sofia declared, stretching her legs and pulling her blanket tighter. "I caught my ex and my ex-bestie in our bed. I chucked his stuff out the window—onto the street. That was two years ago, and I haven't dated since."

Damian's brow lifted. "You really cut off all his pants and ties?"

"Oh yeah," Sofia said with a satisfied grin. "The guy had it coming."

Damian leaned back against his seat's headrest, but Sofia wasn't done.

"Have you ever cheated on Chloe? When you thought she was dead doesn't count. I mean before that."

Damian stared at the Coke can in his hand, his fingers tightening around the cold metal.

"No."

Sofia leaned back, resting her head against a small pillow she'd placed against the cabin wall. "Be prepared—you might have to do the unthinkable. Undercover work can force us into roles we hate. I've seen it with my colleagues. Pretending to be someone else, making choices that haunt them—blurring the line between survival and betrayal. Choices exceeding what you did with Gemma."

Damian turned away, his gaze locked on the window. The black night stretched endlessly, echoing his inner turmoil. A coldness settled over him, a familiar weight pressing his chest like a stone.

"I'd never deliberately hurt Chloe," he murmured.

"But would you, for her?" Sofia challenged. "If it came to that?"

His jaw tightened. He didn't answer. He couldn't.

Instead, he reclined his seat, the smooth leather shifting flat into a bed as he pulled the blanket over himself and switched off the cabin light. "I'm going to sleep. Night."

"Goodnight," Sofia whispered, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders.

Damian turned onto his side, eyes shut tight, willing himself to sleep. But instead of rest, memories clawed their way back to him, dragging him into the past when he was only six.

He watched his mother trembling in the laundry room like a dethroned queen. The cleaning staff scattered away, leaving her alone when she handed Damian his father's work shirts.

"Want to know how much your father loves us? Check the collars for stains," she instructed, her voice emotionless.

He searched, his small fingers brushing against the fabric, until he found it.

A smear of lipstick. Crimson. Like blood.

He handed her the shirt, unsure what to say. He watched as her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold tile floor, clutching the cloth like it was a dagger buried in her chest. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gasped for breath.

"That bastard," she whispered between sobs. "He did it again."

Damian's hands hovered, unsure whether to comfort her or stay frozen. His heart twisted at the sight of her crumbling. She had still loved Alistair then—desperately, hopelessly—and seeing his betrayal spelled out in smudged lipstick and cheap perfume broke her.

The betrayal had scarred Damian, too. It had planted a vow deep inside him:

I'll never do this to someone I love. Never.

But the memory shifted.

Chloe's face appeared, tears slipping down her cheeks as she stood in the hotel room, watching him kiss and grope Gemma. The pain in her eyes gutted him that day. He had hurt her—because he needed to. Because becoming a monster was the only way to save her from a more significant threat.

He had told himself it was necessary. That he'd do anything to protect her.

Would he do it again?

He swallowed hard, the question's weight pressing against his beating heart. Even half-asleep, he knew the answer.

He'd do whatever it took.

He would become that monster again if it meant keeping her alive.

***

A/N: Your thoughts?