"Look at the glass."

Kael’s voice cut through the lingering numbness in my jaw.

I gripped the edges of the bathroom sink and stared at the mirror.

A stranger stared back.

The night had dissolved into local anesthetics, targeted laser procedures, and dermal fillers that felt like liquid fire under my skin. Now, my soft blonde hair was gone, replaced by a sharp, asymmetrical cut dyed a deep, glossy raven. The slope of my nose was straighter. My cheekbones sat higher, casting harsh shadows that entirely altered the geometry of my face. Even my eyes looked different behind the pale green contact lenses.

"It hurts," I noted, my voice rasping from the swelling.

"Pain is the price of a new pulse," Kael replied, leaning against the sterile tile wall. "Do you recognize her?"

I tilted my head. The woman in the glass mirrored the movement. She looked cold. Untouchable.

I let out a short, hollow laugh. "Rhys won't even give her a second glance. She isn't his type."

"Exactly." Kael pushed off the wall. "He likes them malleable. You are going to be titanium. Vesper, give her the details."

The platinum-haired woman stepped into the harsh bathroom light, holding a sleek black tablet.

"Your name is Sloane Mercer," Vesper stated, handing me the device. "Thirty-two. Born in London, educated at Oxford. You spent the last five years running a boutique venture capital firm in Zurich."

I scrolled through the fake bank statements on the screen. "This is a lot of money."

"Thorne Industries doesn't back poor players," Kael said. "We seeded the accounts yesterday. Your digital footprint is flawless. Anyone who digs will find a ruthless, highly successful investor."

"What about Elara?" I asked, setting the tablet down.

"Elara is ash," Vesper answered flatly. "We wiped your old medical records, corrupted your dental files, and scrubbed your personal cloud servers. If Rhys ever tries to verify the body they eventually pull from the ocean, he’ll find nothing but dead ends."

I touched my bruised cheek. The skin felt tight. I smiled, ignoring the sharp sting of the stitches.

"Good."

"Get dressed," Kael ordered. "We are moving you to the safehouse."

The drive through the city was a blur of tinted windows and rain-slicked streets. We pulled into an underground garage beneath a towering glass skyscraper.

Kael led me into a private elevator. The doors slid open to reveal a sprawling, minimalist penthouse overlooking the skyline.

"This is yours," Kael announced, tossing a heavy ring of keys onto the marble kitchen island. "Bulletproof glass. Biometric locks. My security team occupies the floor below."

I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city sprawled out in the morning light, completely ignorant of my resurrection.

"Am I under house arrest?" I asked.

"You are under my protection," Kael corrected, stepping up beside me. "Rhys isn't just a corporate thief. He is a murderer who thinks he got away with it. If he spots a ghost walking the streets before we are ready, he will panic. Panicked men make dangerous moves."

"I want him to panic."

"On our schedule, not his." Kael turned to face me. "You stay here. You study the Mercer dossier until you dream in her memories. You learn her investment strategies. You learn how to walk in her shoes."

I crossed my arms. "And when do I get to use them to step on Rhys?"

"Soon." Kael pulled a thick, embossed envelope from his suit pocket and dropped it on the island. "He is aggressively seeking new capital for the harbor project. The banks consider him a risk after the tragedy of your death. He needs private investors."

I picked up the envelope. The paper was heavy, expensive. "He's throwing a gala."

"A memorial gala," Kael clarified, a dark amusement dancing in his eyes. "In honor of his late, beloved wife. He plans to use the sympathy to court new backers."

My stomach violently turned. The sheer audacity of it. He was going to use my murder to fund his empire.

Instead of screaming, I laughed. A dry, terrifying sound that tore at my throat.

Kael watched my reaction, his jaw tightening slightly. "You find that funny?"

"I find it perfect," I whispered, tapping the invitation against the marble. "I get to attend my own memorial."

"You are going as the representative for Thorne Industries," Kael said, pacing toward the door. "He sent the invitation to my office, hoping to poach my allies. He doesn't know I'm sending his worst nightmare."

"When is it?"

"Friday night." Kael paused with his hand on the doorknob. "You have four days to become Sloane Mercer. Do not disappoint me."

"I won't."

"We'll see." The heavy door clicked shut behind him.

I stood alone in the massive, quiet apartment.

I opened the envelope and pulled out the card. Rhys’s elegant handwriting looped across the top.

*In loving memory of Elara.*

My thumb traced the gold foil lettering. I imagined crushing his throat with my bare hands.

Suddenly, the encrypted burner phone Vesper had given me buzzed against the marble counter.

I snatched it up. The screen displayed an unknown number.

"Hello?" I answered, forcing my pitch down, speaking from my chest just as Kael had instructed.

"Sloane Mercer?" a woman asked.

The voice was soft, sweet, and instantly recognizable.

It was Serena.

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles ached. The room seemed to spin.

"This is she," I replied, maintaining a cool, detached drawl.

"Hi, Ms. Mercer. I'm Serena, Rhys's fiancée," she chirped happily. "We saw you RSVP'd to the gala. Rhys was hoping we could arrange a private dinner with you beforehand. Just the three of us."