The doctors gave up on my legs. The people I trusted buried the truth about my family. Then a fearless little girl crashed into my private garden, laughed at the men protecting me, made my paralyzed foot move for the first time in eight years—and wore the necklace that had disappeared with the baby everyone swore had died.

The snowstorm over the Swiss Alps was brutal, blinding the night sky with swirling white powder.

Three armored SUVs cut through the narrow mountain pass, their heavy tires gripping the icy asphalt as they approached the iron gates of Sanatorium Mont-Blanc.

Inside the lead vehicle, I checked the magazine of my rifle, my boots planted firmly on the floorboards. The feeling in my legs had returned completely—not as a miracle, but as a burning, furious surge of adrenaline that refused to let my body fail again.

"Thirty seconds to the perimeter," Marcus announced over the tactical comms. "Thermal scopes confirm fourteen armed guards outside, six inside the main medical floor."

"No survivors among the Fenris crew," I ordered coldly into my microphone. "They knew who they were guarding. They knew they were keeping a woman locked away from her family."

BOOM!

The lead SUV slammed directly through the heavy iron gates at sixty miles an hour, shattering the locks and sending snow and iron shrapnel flying into the dark courtyard.

Panic erupted across the compound. Red emergency lights began to flash against the white stone buildings, alarm sirens blaring against the howl of the mountain wind.

Mercenaries rushed out of the guard barracks, raising their rifles, but my men were already moving.

Viktor kicked his door open and fired heavy suppressor rounds with terrifying precision, dropping three guards before they could even find cover. Marcus led the tactical squad around the west wing, cutting off the escape routes.

I stepped out into the freezing snow, my trench coat whipping around my legs. I didn't hide behind cover. I walked straight up the marble steps of the main entrance, my rifle raised, firing three precise shots that took down two guards charging down the grand staircase.

The main foyer was lined with expensive marble and gold accents, smelling faintly of antiseptic and expensive cigars.

A tall man in a tactical vest—the commander of the Fenris unit at the compound—stepped out of the central elevator, holding a grenade launcher.

Before he could raise the heavy tube, I closed the distance between us in three long, powerful strides, grabbed the barrel of the launcher, yanked it upward, and drove my knee hard into his chest.

The commander gasped as his ribs cracked, dropping to his knees. I grabbed him by his hair and slammed his head violently against the brass elevator button.

"Which room?!" I yelled, my voice echoing through the grand hall. "WHICH ROOM?!"

"F-Fourth floor..." the commander choked out, blood pouring from his nose. "Room 402! The private ICU!"

I dragged him into the elevator, hit the button for the fourth floor, and watched the digital floor numbers climb.

3... 2... 1...

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

The fourth floor was silent. The air was sterile, cold, and smelled of heavy sedatives.

At the end of a long glass hallway stood Room 402.

I walked down the hall, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I thought my ribs would break. My hands—hands that had never trembled during gunfights or gang wars—were shaking uncontrollably as I reached out and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, surrounded by softly humming heart monitors and IV drip stands, lay a hospital bed.

Bathed in the faint silver moonlight coming through the window was a woman.

Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her pale shoulders. Her skin was faint, her body thin and fragile, but her features were entirely unchanged by the eight years that had passed.

Audrey.

My wife.

I dropped my rifle to the floor. It clattered against the tiles with a sharp sound, but I didn't care.

I stumbled toward the bed, dropping to my knees beside her, taking her frail, cold hand into my massive palms. I brought her fingers to my lips, tears streaming down my face without restraint, weeping like a child in the dark.

"Audrey..." I choked out, my chest heaving with raw, unbearable agony. "Audrey, please... please wake up. I'm here. Caleb is here."

Her long dark eyelashes fluttered slightly.

The heart monitor beside the bed began to chime at a slightly faster tempo.

Slowly, agonizingly, her pale fingers twitched within my grip. Her golden hazel eyes—the exact same eyes as Lily's—opened slowly, squinting against the dim light.

She looked at my face, her eyes wandering over my scars, my graying temples, and the tears soaking my cheeks.

A faint, trembling whisper escaped her dry lips.

"Caleb...?" she breathed, her voice raspy from years of disuse. "My... my baby... where is my baby...?"