Chapter One It was a simple job. Steal the file. Don't get caught. Don't flirt with the man trying to arrest you. Oops. JINX Some people collect stamps. I collect classified data and emotional damage. The hallway was dark. Dusty. Reeked of copper and ozone. Somewhere below, traffic buzzed and sirens wailed like the city was screaming at itself. I crouched by the keypad, twisting the tiny tool between my gloved fingers until the green light flicked on and the heavy vault door clicked. Amateurs built security systems. I built better ways in. "You have sixty seconds," Sera whispered in my ear, her voice sharp through the comm. "Relax," I murmured. "I'm already in." "You cocky little gremlin." I grinned. The vault opened with a low hiss, revealing rows of locked drawers, steel cabinets, and a single folder placed dead center on a pedestal like some kind of dramatic prize. No digital backups. No server access. Just old-fashioned paper. Paranoid much? I made my way to the pedestal, heart thumping with adrenaline. This was supposed to be easy-get in, grab the file, ghost out. But something about the setup felt... wrong. Like someone wanted me to take it. "Sera, this is too clean." "Because you're too good. Ten seconds, Jinx." I grabbed the file. The second my fingers touched the folder, a soft ping echoed through the room. Shit. "Motion sensor just spiked," Sera said. "You've got company." I spun, shoved the folder into my jacket, and sprinted for the door. Heavy boots pounded down the hall outside-too heavy, too fast. Not security. Military. I dove through the door, rolled across the hallway tiles, and popped up behind a support beam just as a figure rounded the corner. And then I saw him. Tall. Broad shoulders. Tactical gear like it was tailored to him. Jaw so sharp it could slice glass. He held his weapon low but ready, sweeping the hall with precise, measured movement. He looked like a nightmare. He looked like a challenge. And then he saw me. Our eyes locked. His narrowed. I winked. He raised his gun. I bolted. "Sera, exit route?" "Left, then up three levels. Roof access is open." "Buy me thirty seconds." "You better be hot-wiring a jetpack." I darted left, heard him curse and follow. He was fast. Damn fast. But I'd been running from people longer than he'd probably been shaving. Up the stairs. Through a crumbling maintenance corridor. My boots hit the rooftop gravel just as the door slammed open behind me. "Stop!" he shouted. I turned, walking backward toward the edge. "You gonna shoot me, handsome? That'll make paperwork awkward." He didn't answer. Just stared. So I smiled, gave him a lazy salute, and jumped off the roof. Sera's drone caught me mid-fall, magnets locking to my jacket as I dangled and swung over the alley like a gleeful, lawbreaking piñata. "You are out of your damn mind," she muttered. "But did you see his face?" I asked, breathless with laughter. "He looked like he wanted to strangle you." "Right? God, he's hot." Some girls want flowers. I want the man trying to arrest me to look that pissed when I get away.

Chapter Two She winked at me. Jumped off a roof. And smiled like she'd won. Who the hell does that? ADRIAN I don't lose people. It's not ego. It's training. Precision. Control. The rules are simple: follow the objective, secure the target, contain the situation. I've done it a hundred times. Until her. The footage from the rooftop flickered on my tablet. I watched it again. Slowed it down. Zoomed in. There she was-smirking, mocking, wild. Dangling from a drone like she'd planned the whole damn thing. "You gonna shoot me, handsome? That'll make paperwork awkward." And then she jumped. No fear. Just flight. "Run it again," I told the tech beside me. He gave me a look. "Sir, you've seen it eight times." "Then I'll see it nine." He hit play. I clenched my jaw and tried to ignore the twist in my gut. Not frustration. Not even failure. Curiosity. She'd looked right at me. Not past me. Not through me. At me. Like she knew who I was and still didn't give a damn. That should've pissed me off more. Instead, I wanted to know how she'd done it. How she'd slipped past a perimeter team, bypassed five layers of security, and left me standing on a rooftop like an idiot. Agent Sterling approached, folder in hand. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" "Would you?" She hesitated. "No. But I'd try harder not to look personally offended." "She stole a federal file." "And your pride." I didn't answer. She handed me the folder. "We ran facial recognition. No official match. But..." I opened the file. Alias: JINX Age: Unknown. Background: redacted. Affiliations: unconfirmed. Skills: classified. Of course. "You think she's working alone?" I asked. Sterling shook her head. "I think she works for herself. That's worse." "Why?" "Because it means she's unpredictable." I closed the file. "Put a trace on the drone she used. I want specs, fuel burn, every movement it's made in the last 72 hours." "Sir, we have actual suspects to track-" "Then add her to the list." Sterling didn't argue. She just walked off, muttering something under her breath that sounded a lot like, He's already obsessed. She wasn't wrong. I looked at the screen again. Froze it on the moment Jinx smiled before she jumped. Who the hell smiles in a moment like that? I didn't know who she was. But I was going to find out.

Chapter Three Home sweet illegal loft. Hidden cameras, blackout curtains, and a wine fridge full of peach soda and bad decisions. JINX I don't live in a rooftop greenhouse anymore. That was old me. Young, scrappy, barely scraping together enough credits to buy a half-decent EMP grenade. Now? I live in a converted penthouse suite above an abandoned jazz club in the old quarter-because apparently, the universe rewards criminal brilliance with mood lighting and city views. The elevator to my place doesn't exist on any building schematics. I had it rerouted six months ago. The only way to access it is by swiping a very specific access card (mine), pressing the buttons in a certain order (secret), and not dying in the shaft (optional). The door whooshed open into my space and I kicked off my boots with a satisfied grunt. The scent of ozone, citrus, and fresh leather greeted me like a home-cooked meal. Hardwood floors. Industrial windows with blackout shades. Neon signs from a stolen arcade machine buzzing softly in the corner. A giant wall of servers blinked at me from behind a glass divider. My couch was leather, deep brown, stupid expensive, and covered in mismatched pillows that screamed, I own a flamethrower but still want to be cozy. A punch of adrenaline still pulsed through me from the break-in. I shrugged off my jacket, peeled off my gloves, and tossed the stolen folder onto the kitchen island beside a half-eaten croissant and a designer perfume bottle I definitely didn't pay for. My goggles hung around my neck, smudged with soot. Charcoal still streaked my cheek, and my braid was half undone. I looked like a disaster. A hot, victorious disaster. "Lights to low," I called. The neon glowed softer. Ambient jazz started playing-something I coded in as a joke, but now it was tradition. I crossed to the kitchen, popped open a bottle of peach soda, and leaned back against the counter to look at the file. The folder wasn't thick, but it felt heavy. I flipped it open and scanned the contents. Names. Financial transactions. Black market shipments. Surveillance photos. And right in the center- A single image of a man in tactical gear. My man in tactical gear. I didn't know his name yet, but I'd burned his face into memory. That sharp jaw. That "I'm too serious for my own good" glower. The way his voice sounded like he'd been smoking gravel and chasing ghosts. He was in the file. Not just a cop. A target. I let out a low whistle. "Well, aren't you a sexy little complication." I moved to the living room, curled up sideways on the couch, and dragged my laptop over from the coffee table. It booted up instantly, flooding the room with cool white light. Ten minutes later, I had facial recognition running through six underground databases, a burner contact checking into his agency credentials, and a drone warming up in the private launch pad I'd built into the terrace wall. If he was in the system, I'd find him. If he wasn't-well. I love a challenge. But here's the thing that surprised even me: it wasn't about the file anymore. It was about him. There was something in the way he'd looked at me. Not hate. Not even confusion. He looked at me like he wanted to figure me out. And that-God help me-was hot. I liked people chasing me. I didn't usually want them to catch me. But now I wasn't sure. My alarm pinged. Motion sensor. Two streets away. A man matching his build, moving fast, muttering into a comm. I flicked the monitor to follow. There he was. Agent Glowerpants in full post-chase rage, storming back to a blacked-out van and probably planning my demise. I laughed. "Baby, you're going to have to work harder than that." I closed the laptop, picked up the file, and wandered into my bedroom. Black silk sheets. A bed you could drown in. A weapons rack on one wall, three framed paintings I definitely didn't buy legally on the other. I stuffed the file into a floor safe hidden under my nightstand and threw myself back onto the bed. Let the agency panic. Let Agent Glower track me. Let the city play its game. I was Jinx. And I was just getting started.