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I stuff the ancient manuscripts into my leather messenger bag, the weight of centuries-old knowledge settling against my hip. The old text burns like a brand against my consciousness—The Vessel. Whatever that means, it connects directly to the Order's obsession with Crowe bloodline magic.

My boots echo against marble as I navigate the mansion's corridors toward my temporary room. The workers have cleared most of the debris, but scorch marks blacken the walls where my power detonated. Each mark serves as a reminder of how close I came to losing complete control.

Stepping through the guest room door, I grab my duffel bag from the closet and rigidly pack my personal items. My hands move on autopilot while my mind churns through implications. If the Order needs a Vessel, and they're specifically targeting Crowe magic, then every member of my bloodline faces danger.

Voices drift up from the floor below—Darius and Kellan, their conversation bearing the sharp edge of disagreement. I freeze, one hand gripping a folded shirt.

"—getting too close, Morvane. This isn't like the other jobs."

Kellan's voice sounds concerned and pointed.

"My feelings are my own to manage," Darius's response is clipped and professional. "I'm doing what we're being paid to do."

"Bullshit. I've seen how you look at her."

A pause expands long enough for me to abandon all pretense of packing. Creeping toward the door, I glue my ear to the wood.

"She's reckless and dangerously unpredictable," Darius continues. "Protecting her is a tactical nightmare."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it," Kellan grates, the sudden drop in his pitch serving as a clear warning.

Darius responds with measured control. "Then what exactly are you talking about?"

Kellan's laugh holds zero mirth. "You nearly shifted last night when she collapsed. Your wolf was ready to tear apart anyone who got within ten feet of her."

"It’s protective instincts, nothing more."

"Keep telling yourself that. But when this job goes sideways—and it will—don't say I didn't warn you about getting emotionally compromised."

Footsteps echo across marble as they grow fainter. A door slams hard, ringing out to end the conversation.

Grabbing the messenger bag containing the texts, a searing, frantic rage builds inside me until my chest feels ready to shatter. They think I’m emotionally compromised and getting too close, as if I'm some helpless damsel disrupting their pristine professional operations.

The main floor widens before me as I storm down, both bags slung over my shoulders. Darius stands alone in what remains of the breakfast room, studying architectural blueprints spread across the damaged table.

I stomp into the room with heavy thuds. "Ready to discuss my tactical nightmare status?"

He looks up from the blueprints, his eyes assessing my defensive posture. "You were eavesdropping."

"Guilty as charged." I slam both bags down, the resounding crash echoing through the damaged room. "Hard not to overhear when you're discussing my status as fragile cargo that disrupts your precious operations."

His eyes narrow. "I never said fragile."

"No, you called me reckless and dangerously unpredictable. That’s so much better." I lift my chin to match his intimidating posture with resolve. "Tell me, Morvane, do all your clients get the benefit of your sparkling personality, or am I special?"

"You're definitely something." He straightens to his full height, his massive frame looming over me, blocking out the light. "Most clients cooperate fully with their security protocol by remaining safely behind the line of defense."

"Most protectors treat their clients like capable adults who are fully qualified to handle their own weapons."

"When you stop acting like one, I'll consider adjusting my approach."

Heat flares in my chest, detached from magic and fueled by a feral yellow catching the light in his stare. "Acting like what? Someone who actually knows how to do her job? I've been hunting supernatural criminals since before you decided witches were worth protecting."

"Your job nearly got you killed twice in twenty-four hours."

"Your job involves babysitting adults who don't need babysitting."

He steps closer, close enough that I feel the heat radiating from his massive frame. "My job involves keeping you alive despite your commitment to self-destruction."