The First Move

Killian stood in the dimly lit bar, his fingers wrapped loosely around a tumbler of whiskey. The air was thick with the scent of cigars and money, the quiet murmur of conversations mixing with the clink of glasses.

Across from him, his right-hand man, Damien Hale, leaned back in his seat. "She's making her move," Damien said, watching him carefully.

Killian took a slow sip of his drink. "Of course she is."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no hint of concern.

Evangeline Sinclair had always been relentless.

"You could stop her now," Damien continued. "Cut off her funding, pull a few strings—make sure she never gets close enough to challenge you."

Killian chuckled, shaking his head. "Where's the fun in that?"

Damien sighed. "You enjoy this way too much."

Killian's gaze flickered toward the TV screen behind the bar. A news anchor was discussing Evangeline's return, her name flashing across the bottom in bold letters.

She was back in his city, in his game.

And she was coming for him.

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

Let her try.

Because when the dust settled, Evangeline Sinclair would learn one thing.

No one ever beat Killian Thorne.