Chapter 7: The Tattoo on His Chest

Colson. Five years earlier.

The flames roared like a beast behind him, lighting up the night sky. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. He didn't look back.

He didn't dare.

Colson Blake—if he could still call himself that—gripped the steering wheel of the stolen car tighter, blood dripping from a gash on his arm. Every second put more space between him and the life he'd just obliterated.

And her.

Sienna.

He'd seen the terror in her eyes. Seen the trust shatter like glass. But he had no choice. Not after what he'd uncovered.

The people he worked for—the ones who trained him, used him—they'd found out about her. About what she knew.

They marked her as a threat.

He marked her as his.

He chose fire over bullets.

He chose the only escape plan he had left—death.

Or the illusion of it.

The safehouse in Wyoming was cold and dark, miles from anywhere. No tech. No trace.

And no Sienna.

For a year, he watched her from afar. She moved like a ghost. Opened the café. Wore his ring on a chain.

He wanted to run to her. To explain everything.

But anyone who touched him died.

So he stayed away. Until now.

Because someone else had found her.

And he'd seen the message: EMBER.

He stepped out of the shower, steam fogging the mirror. He wiped it clean and stared at his reflection.

Longer hair. A beard. A scar above his eyebrow.

But the tattoo was still there, inked across his chest.

A phoenix rising from fire.

And beneath it, one word:

Sienna.