The private jet lifted into the night sky above Zurich, a sleek predator cutting through the clouds.
Camille sat by the window, her gaze steady on the dark expanse beyond. Beneath the calm surface of her expression, her pulse thrummed—sharp, alive.
The pieces were moving faster now.
Marius Thorne's name had changed everything.
This was no longer Renault's war alone. Thorne's presence meant old alliances—ones that stretched into places even Damien's network had not yet reached.
And Istanbul was the next battleground.
Beside her, Damien reviewed the latest intel—eyes narrowed, jaw tight.
"We'll land in four hours," he said quietly. "Our contact there has secured a location. But Thorne will expect us."
Camille nodded.
"Let him."
Damien's gaze flicked to her—approval, but also something deeper. Protective. Unspoken.
"You took a risk in Zurich."
"So did you."
His mouth curved faintly.
"Touché."
A pause.
Then softer:
"I meant what I said."
Camille turned to him.
"I know."
Their eyes held—more spoken in that look than words could convey.
Then Damien's voice, calm again:
"Rest if you can. The next move will be harder."
Camille smiled faintly.
"I'm ready."
And she was.
For the fight.
For the truth.
For him.
---
Istanbul shimmered beneath them—an ancient city veiled in modern shadows.
From the air, its sprawl of lights seemed endless. But Camille knew: beneath the beauty lay the same war—old powers, old betrayals.
Their car swept through narrow streets, Calvet's team in silent formation.
Their destination: an old stone compound near the Bosphorus—secure, discreet, the kind of place only players like Damien could access.
Inside, Camille moved through the cool halls, her senses sharp. The air smelled faintly of incense and cold steel.
Damien briefed the team.
"Thorne's man is here. Code name Jovan. High-level intermediary. If we can turn him—or take him—we move closer to the core."
Camille's voice was cool.
"And if he runs?"
Damien's eyes gleamed.
"Then we hunt."
---
That night, the meeting was set.
A private club near the Grand Bazaar—opulent, veiled in shadows. The perfect ground for predators.
Camille prepared carefully—elegant but sharp, every line of her posture controlled.
She would play her role as needed.
But beneath it—she would be ready to fight.
Damien moved beside her as they entered the club, his presence a silent shield.
Inside, soft music drifted. The clientele was discreet—power in silk and steel.
Jovan waited in a curtained alcove—tall, cold-eyed, his smile a blade.
"Laurent," he said smoothly. "And the lady."
Camille inclined her head, voice cool.
"You know why we're here."
Jovan's eyes flicked between them.
"Perhaps. But some answers are dangerous."
Camille smiled faintly.
"So are lies."
A tense beat.
Then Damien placed a slim envelope on the table.
"Proof. Vesper is compromised."
Jovan's gaze sharpened.
"You want Thorne."
Damien's voice was pure ice.
"We want the truth."
For a moment, silence coiled between them.
Then Jovan's smile thinned.
"You're too late. Thorne is moving now. By the time you strike, the ground will be gone beneath you."
Camille's heart tightened.
"What is he planning?"
But Jovan only rose.
"Choose your side carefully."
And he was gone—too fast, too smooth.
Damien's jaw clenched.
"Follow."
But before they could move—an explosion rocked the club.
Fire. Chaos. Smoke.
---
Camille hit the floor as debris rained down.
Damien's arms closed around her—shielding, strong.
"Move!" he ordered.
Through the smoke, Calvet's men cleared a path.
Gunfire cracked—short, controlled bursts.
Camille rose, moving with fierce precision. Her breath was steady, her body alive with adrenaline.
They burst into the street—sirens wailing in the distance.
Jovan was gone.
But the message was clear.
Thorne had made his move.
---
Later, in the safehouse, Camille paced the high room, every nerve alight.
"He's escalating," she said quietly.
Damien nodded.
"He knows we're close."
He moved to her side—closer now, the barriers between them thinner than ever.
"You saved me tonight," Camille said softly.
Damien's gaze burned into hers.
"You were never alone."
A pause.
Then, with rare softness:
"I would burn the world before I let them touch you."
Her breath caught.
"Damien—"
But the words dissolved as he pulled her into his arms—his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was raw, fierce, claiming.
There was no pretense now.
Only fire.
Only need.
When they parted, breathless, Camille whispered:
"We fight together."
Damien's voice was rough.
"Always."
---
As dawn touched Istanbul's skyline, Camille knew:
The war had entered a new phase.
And whatever lay ahead—she and Damien would face it as one.