"What did you say to me?" Kyoline’s voice was like ice, thin and sharp enough to draw blood.

Her hands stopped mid-polish over the martini glass, the squeak of the rag echoing in the sudden hollow silence of the bar. The ambient noise of the neon-soaked room faltered, dropping away as if the world had lost its soundtrack.

Cat M’Noo didn’t so much as blink. She stepped into the light of the bar, her heels clicking a rhythmic, arrogant tattoo against the sticky floorboards. Her perfume was a cloying, expensive floral that didn't belong in a place like this. "I said the whole district knows what your mother is," Cat drawled, her red lips curving into a smug, venomous line. "She’s at that dive on the south strip. And she isn’t just answering phones, sweetheart. She’s the one entertaining the high-rollers while you play bartender."

A man at the end of the bar coughed into his drink, looking away. Lydia, holding a tray of bottles, froze. A single glass slipped from her hand, shattering against the floor in a spray of crystal shards. The silence that followed was suffocating.

"Cat, shut your mouth," Lydia snapped, her voice like a whip-crack.

"No," Cat said, her eyes locked on Kyoline with predatory glee. "She should hear it. Everyone knows her father ran jobs for the wrong crews until he got himself buried. We know her mother sells herself to pay the debts he left behind. And we all know you’re following right in their footsteps."

Kyoline’s nails dug into her palms until she felt the skin break. She used the sting of the pain to keep herself rooted. If she moved, she would vault over the counter and smash Cat’s painted face into the mahogany.

"My mother had a heart attack," Kyoline said, her voice flat, devoid of the rage screaming in her head. "She works the front desk. She takes calls. That’s all she does."

Cat’s laugh was high and jarring. "The front desk doesn’t cover private ward bills, darling. Not in this city. Speaking of bills, rumor says you’ve been running packages for Tenz Jersey. Dangerous ones. The kind that get girls found floating face-down in the harbor."

The name Tenz sucked the oxygen out of the room. He wasn't a man spoken of in public. He was the shadow that owned the district.

"I work here. That’s it," Kyoline lied, her heart hammering against her ribs.

From the shadows at the end of the bar, a slow, rhythmic clap broke the tension. Marco pushed away from his stool, his black leather jacket creaking as he sauntered closer. His eyes glittered with a mean, hungry light. "That’s a sweet story, Kyoline. But here’s the problem." He reached into his pocket and tossed something onto the bar top.

It landed with a dull, sickening clink. Kyoline’s breath hitched.

It was her keychain—a chipped blue rabbit’s foot her little sister had made for her. She had lost it during the frantic scramble over the back fence during the courier run. The rabbit’s foot felt like a smoking gun in front of her.

"I believe this is yours," Marco said, leaning in until Kyoline could smell the sour tang of whiskey on his breath. "I picked it up right after you ducked into that alley with the gear. Funny place for a bartender to be at midnight."

"You’ve been following me?" Kyoline whispered.

"I follow opportunity," Marco countered, his smirk widening. "And right now, you’re a big one. You’re sloppy, you’re scared, and scared people make mistakes I can profit from."

A stool scraped back hard. Lydia stepped between them, her jaw set. "Back off, Marco. You’re barred. Get out."

Marco smirked at Lydia but kept his predatory gaze on Kyoline. "You hear Tenz cut her loose yet? Word on the street is she’s burned. No more jobs. No more protection. She’s a free target now."

Kyoline felt the blood drain from her face. Ice water seemed to replace the marrow in her bones. Before she could respond, the phone behind the counter began to ring—a shrill, jarring sound that made her flinch. Lydia reached for it, but Kyoline snatched the receiver first, desperate to stop the noise.

"Kyoline?" Her mother’s voice was thin, trembling so hard it was barely a whisper.

"Mom? What’s wrong?"

"I got a call," her mother whispered, sounding as though someone was standing right over her. "A man... he said you’ve been causing trouble. He said you embarrassed Mr. Jersey. And then he told me to remember what happened to your father."

Kyoline gripped the phone so hard the plastic groaned. "Who was he? Did he give a name?"

"I don't know. He hung up." Her mother let out a jagged breath. "Kyoline, are you in danger?"

Kyoline’s throat closed up. The lie died in her mouth. "I’ll fix it, Mom. Just stay inside. I’ll handle it."

"No," her mother said, her voice suddenly fierce with terror. "You come home. Now. If they know where I work, they know our door. If they—"

A sharp click. The line went dead.

"Mom? Mom!" Kyoline shouted into the receiver. Nothing but dial tone. She set the phone down, her pulse thudding in her ears like a drum.

"You okay?" Lydia asked, her voice low and worried.

"No," Kyoline said, her voice raw. "I think... I think they just put a target on my family."

"Then you’re done for the night. Go. I’ll cover the floor," Lydia said.

Kyoline shook her head, her eyes flicking to the door. "If I leave, they’ll follow. They’re already waiting." Marco was leaning against the doorframe, grinning. Cat was lounging at a table, sipping her drink like she was watching a play.

Lydia glanced between the two vultures and then back at Kyoline. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Back room. Now. Use the alley exit."

Kyoline didn't wait. She ducked under the counter and moved fast, her heart a frantic bird in her chest. She slipped through the narrow hallway toward the supply room, but the sudden creak of the front door stopped her cold.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and metallic. Not Marco’s boots.

"Lydia," a deep voice rumbled from the front. It was smooth, like oil over gravel, and carried a lethality that froze the air. "Tell Kyoline I need a word."

Kyoline stopped halfway to the exit. Her breath caught in her throat.

Lydia’s voice was steady, but Kyoline could hear the underlying tremor. "She’s not here. Shift ended ten minutes ago."

"That’s funny," the man said. "Because I can smell her fear from here."

A second voice, colder and higher than the first, chimed in. "Tenz says she’s done. But I say she still owes him for the lost time. And I always collect what's owed."

Kyoline’s pulse kicked into overdrive. The hallway suddenly felt like a coffin, the air too thick to breathe. She inched toward the back exit, but a shadow stretched across the floorboards ahead of her. Someone was already outside the back door.

She turned, eyes darting for a hiding spot, but the supply room was locked. Footsteps closed in from both ends of the hall.

"Kyoline," the first voice called, sounding almost playful. "Be smart. We only need a minute of your time. And then, maybe, we let your mother keep breathing."

Her stomach dropped. She heard Lydia’s sharp intake of breath from the front, followed by the sound of a glass breaking.

Kyoline pressed herself against the wall, her mind racing through the limited possibilities. She had two choices. She could step out and face them here, in front of Marco and Cat, and hope for a miracle... or she could make a run for the narrow storage window in the nook, the one that opened onto the lower alley.

From the front, the deep voice called out again. "Tick-tock, little runner. We’re losing patience."

Kyoline took one last look toward the front bar, thinking of Lydia, thinking of the cash in the register, and then she looked at the window.

She bolted.

She lunged for the storage nook, her boots skidding on the linoleum. She scrambled up a stack of crates, her fingers clawing at the latch of the small, grime-streaked window. It groaned, resisting her, but she threw her entire weight against it.

"She’s in the nook!" a voice shouted from the hall.

The window gave way with a screech of rusted hinges. Kyoline didn't look back. She dove through the opening, her shoulders scraping against the frame, and tumbled into the damp, trash-strewn alley below.

She hit the ground hard, the air leaving her lungs in a pained wheeze, but the sound of the back door slamming open above her forced her upright.

"There she is!"

Kyoline scrambled to her feet, her legs shaking, and sprinted into the darkness of the city. Behind her, the heavy thud of boots followed, relentless and gaining. She didn't have a plan, she didn't have a weapon, and now, she didn't even have a home. All she had was the name of the man who wanted her dead and the desperate hope that she could reach her mother before the shadows did.

As she rounded the corner into the main thoroughfare, the rain began to fall, slicking the pavement and blurring the neon lights of the South Strip into a hazy, blood-red smear.

"Don't run, Kyoline. It only makes the inevitable more exhausting," a voice said, cutting through the low hum of the SUV’s engine.

The vehicle had turned with her, a dark, suffocating weight that seemed to vibrate in the very pit of her stomach. Kyoline froze. Her breath hitched, her lungs suddenly feeling two sizes too small. This wasn't a random passerby, and it certainly wasn't the police. The engine revved once, a predatory growl, and the SUV pulled alongside her. The passenger window, a sheet of obsidian glass, glided down with a mechanical whisper.

Luthor Michaels sat in the back seat, his cold, calculating eyes fixing on her with the precision of a hawk. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal-gray tailored suit, his face a chiseled mask of authority that made the late afternoon sun feel cold. He wasn't Tenz, and he lacked the harried edge of a cop. He looked like the man who owned the city, or at least the parts of it worth having.

"Who are you?" Kyoline asked, her voice a shaky whisper. She clutched her backpack tighter, her knuckles white.

Luthor gave a slight, humorless smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Someone who knows exactly what you’re carrying in that bag, Kyoline. I know you're Tenz Jersey’s girlfriend. I know you’re his favorite runner. And I know you're wearing a stolen designer dress with the security tag currently chafing your thigh." His eyes flickered down briefly, and Kyoline felt a hot wave of shame flood her cheeks. "Most importantly, I know you’re in a lot of trouble."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to summon the defiance that usually served as her armor. "I’m just a cocktail waitress at the casino. I'm late for my shift."

"Don't lie to me," Luthor said, his voice hardening like cooling iron. "I saw the drop. I saw you with MIA in the alley. You’re a pawn in a game you don't even know you're playing, and the board is about to be cleared. You’re losing, Kyoline. Badly."

Panic, cold and sharp, gripped her chest. "What do you want?"

"I want Tenz," Luthor stated. The words weren't a request; they were a chilling pronouncement. "I want to dismantle his operation piece by piece. And you are going to be my eyes and ears inside his house."

Kyoline felt a flicker of the old loyalty she’d built her life around. "Why would I ever do that? He’s my boyfriend. He’s the only person who looked out for me when the rest of this city turned its back." The words felt hollow as they left her lips. She thought of the "gifted" dress, the security tag he’d told her not to worry about, and the way he’d sent her into a police-heavy zone without a second thought.

Luthor laughed, a short, bitter sound that echoed in the quiet street. "He isn't looking out for you, Kyoline. He’s a manipulator. He’s using you as a human shield because he knows the cops are less likely to shoot a pretty girl in a gold dress. The flowers? A distraction. This run? A way to test if you'd take a bullet for him. He’s been setting you up for months, using your father’s reputation to keep you quiet. He’s about to throw you to the wolves to save his own skin."

"You're lying," she whispered, though her heart was already beginning to accept the truth.

"Am I?" Luthor asked, leaning forward into the light. "Let's test the theory. You're on your way to a meeting at Manchester Led, aren't you? Tenz told you to serve drinks for a 'private business talk' in the back room. What do you think that meeting is really about?"

Kyoline hesitated, her mind racing. "A casino deal. To expand the floor."

"Wrong," Luthor said, a triumphant, predatory gleam appearing in his blue eyes. "It's a meeting with the heads of the most violent drug syndicate on the coast. Tenz is cutting a deal to move weight through the casino’s supply lines. He’s using you as a lookout—a beautiful, invisible cocktail waitress who can report back if the atmosphere shifts. He’s putting you on the front line of a narcotics war, Kyoline. Is that what a boyfriend does? Is that what a best friend does?"

Her stomach churned. The gun run, the suspicious cruisers, the way Cat M’Noo talked about her mother—it all converged into a single point of betrayal. Tenz hadn't been protecting her; he had been dressing her up for her own funeral. The Balenciaga boots and the champagne mist dress were just the costume for a tragedy he’d written.

"He wouldn't," she said, but the conviction was gone, replaced by a dull, aching void.

"He would, and he has," Luthor said, his voice firm and unwavering. "He’s a snake, Kyoline. And you’re just the next meal he hasn't finished swallowing yet."

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the chiseled lines of the man in the SUV. The humiliation was total. Every cruel word from the bar, her mother’s drunken slurs, her father’s shadow—it was all culminating here, on a side street, in a stolen dress. She was just like her father. She had trusted the wrong man and stepped right into the trap.

"So what do you want from me?" she asked, a new, cold resolve settling into her bones. "What's the price for my life?"

Luthor smiled. This time, it looked almost genuine, though no less dangerous. "I want you to go to that meeting. I want you to be the best damn waitress they've ever seen. Pour the drinks, smile at the monsters, and then tell me everything. Every name, every transaction, every whisper. I want the details of the distribution channel."

"And if I refuse to play spy?" she asked, a tremor of fear finally breaking through her resolve.

"Then you go down with him," Luthor said, the smile vanishing instantly. "You're an accomplice to several felonies already. You'll be arrested. You'll go to a state facility for a very long time. And while you’re there, your younger brothers and sisters will be taken by Child Protective Services. They'll be split up, Kyoline. Gone."

Her heart shattered. Her family was the only card she had left, the only thing she had ever truly fought for. Luthor knew it. He had diagnosed her weakness with surgical precision.

"No," she said, her voice barely audible. "Don't touch them."

"Then we have a deal," Luthor said. "I’ll be in touch. Do not speak of this to anyone. Not your friend Lydia, not your mother, and certainly not Tenz. If you breathe a word, I will know. And the consequences for your family will be absolute."

He didn't wait for a reply. The window glided up, and the SUV sped away, leaving her alone in the fading light. The scent of Luthor's expensive cologne and the bitter tang of betrayal hung in the air like a shroud. Kyoline looked down at her gold dress. It felt like a shroud of a different kind—a glittering lie. The plastic security tag against her skin felt like a shackle, a reminder of her status as property.

She wasn't a player in this game. She wasn't even a pawn. She was a puppet whose strings were being yanked by a new master, one far more efficient than Tenz Jersey.

She took a deep breath, the taste of ozone and fear on her tongue. She had a choice: play the spy and potentially tear down the man she thought she loved, or go to prison and lose her family. The choice was easy, but the cost was her soul.

Kyoline turned and began walking toward the station, her Balenciaga boots striking the pavement with a steady, rhythmic thud. The girl who dreamed of gold and sunshine was dead. In her place was a woman with a mission, a woman with a secret, and a woman who was about to become the most dangerous person in Tenz Jersey’s life.

She would play their game. She would pour their drinks. And she would win. Because in a world where everyone was using her, it was finally time to see what happened when the puppet bit back.

Luthor watched the girl through the rear-view mirror as she walked away, her shoulders set in a line of grim determination.

"She's a live wire," Savon remarked from the front seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "You sure she won't flip back to Tenz the second he gives her a diamond?"

"She won't," Luthor said, leaning back into the shadows of the cabin. "She's seen the tag on the dress now. Once a woman realizes she's being sold, she stops being a product and starts being a problem."

"And if Tenz catches on?"

Luthor's eyes remained cold. "Then we lose an asset. But she knows the stakes. She’ll deliver."

The SUV merged into the heavy traffic of the South Strip, the neon lights of the casinos reflecting off the black paint like fire. Luthor pulled out a file, looking at a grainy photo of Tenz Jersey. He had been chasing this lead for two years, and Kyoline Diego was the key that was finally going to turn the lock.

According to recent statistics from the City Oversight Bureau, organized crime involvement in the hospitality sector had risen by 14% in the last fiscal year, with drug-related arrests in the South Strip specifically increasing among low-level employees by nearly 22%. The numbers told a story of exploitation, one that Luthor intended to end by any means necessary.

"Let's get to the office," Luthor commanded. "I want a full sweep of her mother's employment records. I want to know every debt that family owes. If we're going to own her, I want to know exactly what her price is."

"Yes, sir," Savon replied, accelerating.

Luthor looked out the window. The city was a beautiful, rotting thing, and he was the surgeon. Kyoline was his scalpel. He didn't care if she bled, as long as the cut was deep enough to kill the infection.

"Kyoline Diego," the voice snarled, cutting through the low hum of the SUV that had just whipped around the corner to block her path.

The passenger window glided down with a silky, electric whine. Kyoline froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She stared at the driver, a man with piercing eyes and a jawline that looked like it had been carved from granite.

"Get in the car," he commanded. He leaned across the console, his dark head ducked low to scowl at her through the opening.

Kyoline blinked, her mind racing. She scanned the street to her left and right, looking for an escape or a witness. "Me?" she squeaked, pointing a finger at her own chest.

"You're Kyoline Diego, aren't you?"

She hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of a blatant lie. She settled for a weak, fluttering smile. "Um, who’s asking? Do you usually pick up women by shouting their full names in the street?"

"I don't have time for this," the man said, his patience clearly snapping. "Get in the car, princess."

Kyoline’s nose scrunched up. "Princess? Do I look like a Pomeranian to you? Do I need to sit and stay on command, too?"

His black gaze burned into her, unrelenting and hot. "Get. In."

"I thought not," Kyoline muttered, her internal panic reaching a fever pitch. She wondered if he was one of the cops Tenz was always complaining about. Was Tenz busted? Was that why this man was here? She tried to remember if "turning down a ride" counted as obstruction of justice. If she was going to keep dating a made man like Tenz, she really needed to start paying attention to legal dramas.

She shifted her weight, eyeing the gap between the SUV and a nearby brick wall.

"Think again. Don't even try it," he warned, reading her mind. "Get in the damn car, Kyoline."

The way he said her name sent a cold shiver down her spine. "Ask polite," she shot back, her bravado masking a trembling heart. "Or you’ll have to make me, if that’s your plan."

"You really don't want me to do that," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Scared a girl is going to outrun you?" she challenged. Her brain had clearly lost contact with her mouth.

The man rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek, a gesture of sheer irritation. "Get into the car. You're only making things more difficult for yourself."

The threat was the final straw. Forgetting the height of her designer heels, Kyoline spun on her heel and bolted down the pavement. She wasn't going to be the "snitch" that ruined her family’s already battered reputation. She heard the heavy creak of the SUV door and the thunderous sound of footfalls pounding the concrete behind her.

"Kyoline!" he roared.

She flailed her arms, nearly tripping over her own feet as she glanced back. Strangers on the sidewalk turned their heads but did nothing. "He's a serial killer!" she screamed at a man walking a poodle. The man just pulled his dog closer and kept walking.

"Great," she wheezed. "No one cares about mortal danger in New York."

A rush of wind, a blur of motion, and then frosty steel fingers gripped her upper arm. She was yanked backward with enough force to make her teeth rattle. She collided with a wall of solid muscle. His grasp was unyielding.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked, struggling against him.

He whirled her around roughly to face him, his handsome face creased with anger. He leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous caress against her ear. "Come with me. Now."

"I didn't do anything!" she gritted out as he hauled her back toward the vehicle.

"Oh, yeah?" He dragged her past a couple of rubberneckers. "Innocent people don't sprint like Olympic athletes just because someone calls their name."

"You try being a woman alone when a random man confronts you in a dark SUV!" she yelled. "Let me go!"

He ignored her, opening the back passenger door and shoving her struggling body into the leather interior. The door slammed shut. A soft, electronic click echoed in the cabin. Kyoline jerked the handle hard, but it was dead. Locked.

"Crap," she whispered, sinking into the seat.

As the man climbed into the driver's seat, the air in the SUV became thick with the scent of expensive leather and something else—a clean, masculine spice that made her pulse trip over itself. He didn't look like a beat cop. He wore dark wash jeans that hugged thick, powerful thighs, a black shirt, and a high-end leather jacket. Everything about him screamed "expensive" and "deliberate."

He was easily six-foot-three. But it wasn't just his height; it was the sheer aura of menace that radiated off him. It was more than any run-of-the-mill detective should be allowed to have.

Panic ricochets through her head. Would Tenz send a lawyer? Was she under arrest? A bead of sweat ran down her back. Did they find out about the gun smuggling? Or was this about the Kash Manchester mafia? Tenz had warned her that the police would eventually try to find a weak link to get to the organization.

"I'm not a weak link," she whispered to herself.

She looked at the driver again. His dark hair was perfectly mussed, and she could see the edge of a tattoo creeping up from his collar along the side of his neck. He had surprisingly good taste for a cop.

"Um, excuse me?" she said, trying to sound like an angel. "I know I get a phone call at the station, but can we just get to the point? I'm in a rush. I have to get to work. You can just hand over your cell, I’ll make the call, and we can be done. Please?"

The man’s dark eyes swiveled to meet hers in the rear-view mirror. Her breath hitched. The stare was intense, burning through her until she was the first to break eye contact, a hot flush creeping up her neck.

He didn’t say a word.

"Why are you stalking me?" she finally snapped, unable to bear the silence.

He let out a short, gentle snort. "You must think very highly of yourself to think I'm stalking you, princess."

Kyoline turned to gaze out the window as the city whizzed by. She started worrying about her bills. Her mother’s "career" as a high-class escort—or "hooker," if they were being honest—didn't pay the rent, especially when she was too wasted to see clients. Every minute in this car was a minute Kyoline wasn't earning a paycheck at the casino.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice smaller now. "This isn't the way to the local precinct."

"We aren't going to a precinct," he replied calmly, weaving through traffic with practiced ease.

"Then where? Are you kidnapping me? Is this a black site? Oh my god, you are a serial killer."

"I'm Luthor Michaels," he said, as if that explained everything. "And you’re going to sit back and be quiet while I decide what to do with you."

"Decide what to do with me? I'm a person, not a lost umbrella!" Kyoline shifted in her seat, her mind darting back to Tenz. Tenz was a member of the Kash Manchester clan—they controlled the city’s underbelly with an iron fist. If this Luthor guy was an enemy of theirs, she was in even more trouble than she thought.

"You're an associate of Tenz Jersey," Luthor said, his eyes back on the mirror. "That makes you a person of interest. Highly interesting, actually."

"I’m his girlfriend. That's not a crime."

"In his world, everything is a crime, Kyoline. Even love. Especially love."

Kyoline bit her lip. She thought of the Wason Crock scholarship she’d worked so hard for. It was her ticket out, her chance to be someone other than the daughter of a disgraced job-runner and a drunk. But meeting Tenz had changed the trajectory. He made her feel safe. He made her feel like she had a shadow big enough to hide in.

"I have rights," she said, though she felt less sure by the second.

"You have the right to listen," Luthor countered. "Because the path you're on leads to a very small cell or a very deep hole in the ground. I’m offering you a third option."

"Which is?"

"Survival."

Luthor pulled the SUV into a private parking garage beneath a gleaming glass skyscraper. The gate hissed shut behind them, sealing out the noise of New York. He turned the engine off, and the silence that followed was deafening.

He turned in his seat, his massive frame dominating the space. He looked at her—not with the anger he'd shown on the street, but with a clinical, detached curiosity.

"Tenz is going to get you killed, Kyoline. He’s already started the process. That backpack you were carrying yesterday? The one with the 'cleaning supplies'? It was tracked by three different agencies. He used you as a decoy."

Kyoline felt the blood drain from her face. "No. He wouldn't. He loves me."

Luthor leaned closer, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses. "He loves your utility. He loves that you’re 'innocent' enough to bypass a checkpoint. But that innocence is gone now. You're on the radar."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek, black smartphone, sliding it through the gap in the seats. "Call him. Go ahead. Tell him you’ve been picked up by Luthor Michaels. See how long it takes for him to stop answering your calls."

Kyoline stared at the phone. Her hand hovered over it, trembling.

"Go on," Luthor prompted, his voice a low, smooth rasp. "Find out who your friends really are."

Kyoline grabbed the phone. Her fingers flew over the screen, dialing the number she knew by heart. It rang once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, it went to voicemail. She tried again. And again.

"He's busy," she whispered, her eyes stinging. "He's probably in a meeting."

"He's scrubbing his hard drives, Kyoline," Luthor said, his voice almost pitying. "He saw us pick you up. He’s already replaced you."

The reality of the situation crashed down on her. The high heels, the casino job, the "favors" for Tenz—it was all a house of cards, and Luthor Michaels had just blown it down with a single breath. She looked up at him, her defiance finally crumbling into raw, naked fear.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek.

Luthor reached out, his thumb catching the tear before it could reach her jaw. His touch was surprisingly gentle, yet his eyes remained as cold as a winter sea.

"I want the same thing Tenz wants," he murmured. "I want your loyalty. But unlike him, I’ll actually pay for it. And I'll make sure you stay alive to spend the money."

Kyoline looked at the man who had stalked her, caught her, and shattered her world in the span of thirty minutes. He was dangerous. He was a predator. But as she looked at the silent phone in her hand, she realized he was the only thing standing between her and the wolves Tenz had left her to.

"I need to help my family," she said, her voice strengthening.

"I know," Luthor replied. "That’s why I picked you."