I watched Warren Mitchell pour amber liquid into three crystal sses, his movements measured and precise. The yacht’s fourth–floor interior cabin was tastefully decorated with mahogany panels and soft lighting that reflected off the Hudson River through the windows. The gentle rocking of the vessel against the dock created an almost soothing rhythm.


    “I’ve always considered you both my children, you know,” Warren said<b>, </b>his voice carrying the warmth of a benevolent father as he handed sses to Umbra and Silhouette. “From the day you entered training, I saw something special in


    you.”


    I nearlyughed at the performance. Warren had always been good at ying the caring mentor when it suited him.


    I lingered outside the doorway, container of gasoline in hand, listening.


    Umbra, a lean man with close–cropped red hair and watchful eyes, epted the ss with a slight nod. “Whether you leave the Organization or not, you will always be our mentor, sir. The skills you’ve taught us have saved our


    lives countless times.”


    I’d recognize that reverent tone anywhere. Organization loyalty at its finest—or its most pathetic, depending on how you looked at it.


    Warren smiled, settling into a plush leather chair. “I appreciate your loyalty. It’s rare these days.” He swirled his drink, watching the liquid catch the light. “Have you thought about my proposal?”


    Silhouette leaned forward, her porcin features betraying nothing. The scar along her jawline–a souvenir from a mission in Prague, if I remembered correctly–tightened as she spoke. “You’re asking us to leave the Organization. That’s not a small request. There would be… consequences.”


    *The Organization isn’t what it once was,” Warren said, his voice hardening. “They treat me like a puppet–unwilling to let me leave yet refusing to give me real authority.” He took a small sip of his drink. “Do you know what happened to the others in our special unit? Shadow and Dusk are both dead. Failed missions, they said.”


    My fingers tightened around the handle of the container.


    “The Organization is changing, bing more… experimental. Less about the art of our work and more about control.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “The Haxton family in New York is already under my influence. Soon, they’ll bepletely under my control.”


    “And what would that mean for us?” Silhouette asked, her nail tapping against her ss in a rhythm that betrayed


    her interest.


    Warren’s smile widened. “The Haxton fortune wouldn’t just be mine. It would be ours. Together, we could build something even greater than what the Organization ever offered us.”


    I’d heard enough. I pushed the door open with enough force to rattle the hinges and stepped in, carrying my stic container of gasoline. The acrid smell of fuel immediately permeated the luxurious space, cutting through the refined scents of polished wood and expensive liquor.


    “Isn’t that touching?” I said, kicking the door closed behind me. “I had no idea Warren Mitchell was so good at charity work. Your brainwashing technique is equally impressive.”


    Umbra immediately tensed, his hand moving toward his concealed weapon. Something in my smile made him hesitate–a flicker of recognition crossing his face. Good. Let him wonder.


    Warren’s face showed only mild surprise, a testament to decades of control. “Miss Morgan?”


    91


    “Don’t be nervous,” I said, addressing all three of them as I scanned the room. “I’m just here to catch up with an old friend.” I set the container down with deliberate care, enjoying the hollow sound it made against the polished floor.


    Warren gestured to an empty chair, his si ring catching the light. “Please, join us then.”


    I took the seat, keeping my movements fluid and controlled. Warren’s eyes narrowed as he assessed me. I could practically feel the killing intent radiating from him–poorly concealed.


    “I couldn’t help overhearing your little recruitment speech,” I said, nodding toward the sses. “How’s the drink? Tasty enough for you?” I smiled, savoring the moment just before my n unfolded.


    Umbra suddenly clutched his stomach, his face contorting in pain. The ss slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor. Beside him, Silhouette began to cough violently, her hand going to her throat as she doubled over. Red splotches appeared on her pale neck, spreading rapidly.


    “What… what is this?” Umbra gasped, looking at his ss in horror as sweat beaded on his forehead.


    I leaned back, crossing my legs, feeling a cold satisfaction as I watched the poison take effect. “Just a little something I formted. Derived from ‘Arctic Blue.’ Familiar with it, Warren?”


    Warren’s face paled, hisposure cracking for the first time. The ss in his hand trembled slightly. “How do you know about Arctic Blue?”


    I didn’t answer. Instead, I watched as Umbra lunged at me, his movements hampered by the growing pain in his chest. I sidestepped with ease, grabbing his arm and smashing his head against the wall with enough force to crack the wood paneling. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the cabin.


    Leave the Organization,” I said calmly, holding Umbra against the wall, my grip unbreakable despite his struggles. “And I might consider letting you live.” I felt blood from his temple wet my fingers.


    Silhouette, despite the burning sensation spreading through her chest, drew a knife from a hidden sheath at her thigh. I recognized the movement before she’d evenpleted it. In one fluid motion, I released Umbra and pulled a knife from my waistband, slicing through the tendons in Silhouette’s wrist. Her knife ttered to the floor.


    Warren stared at the de in my hand, recognition dawning in his eyes. “That’s Danny’s knife.”


    <b>I </b>smiled coldly. “Was. Danny won’t be needing it anymore. Neither will most of your crew upstairs.” I’d made sure of that beforeing down here.


    Silhouette, clutching her injured wrist, blood seeping between her fingers and dripping onto the polished floor, looked between me and Warren. “Who are you? What’s your connection to Shadow?”


    <b>91 </b>


    I raised an eyebrow, amused by the question. “Shadow? You mean the assassin who was captured by the Organization and died in that explosion on their private ind in the Caribbean? The one they were experimenting on?” The words tasted bitter in my mouth, memories of pain and betrayal rising to the surface.


    Umbra and Silhouette exchanged shocked nces. “What experiments?” Umbra demanded, blood trickling from his


    temple.


    “Does it matter?” I replied, twirling the knife between my fingers. “You’ll be dead soon anyway. Unless…” I let the word hang in the air, watching hope and fear war in their eyes.


    “Give us the antidote,” Silhouette said, her voice strained as she fought against the burning pain spreading through her body.


    I shrugged. “Maybe. After I kill this old man, if you’re still alive, we can discuss it.” I turned my attention back to Warren, who remained unnaturally still, his eyes never leaving me.


    “You’ve managed to live longer than I expected. It’s annoying.” I adjusted my position slightly, ready to move at the slightest provocation.


    “Who sent you?” Warren asked, his hand inching toward his walking stick.


    Iughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “No one sent me, Warren. I came to kill you. That’s why I’m here.”


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