The elevator doors closed with a soft mechanical sigh, sealing Aria inside the gilded metal box. She pressed her back against the cold wall, exhaling shakily. Damian had insisted she wait for him, but she needed a moment alone — just one breath without his shadow swallowing her.
The lights flickered.
Once. Twice. Aria frowned and reached for the control panel. The lights died.
The elevator lurched, metal groaning as it slammed to a violent halt between floors. Aria staggered, grabbing the rail. A thin, unnatural silence swallowed the air.
“Hello?” she whispered.
No response.
Then — a sound. Scrape. From above.
Aria looked up slowly… just as the ceiling panel shifted.
A gloved hand slid through the crack.
Her breath froze.
The panel crashed open, and a masked man dropped into the elevator like a spider descending from its web. His knife gleamed in the emergency light.
Aria screamed.
He lunged.
Aria threw herself to the side, falling hard against the wall. Pain shot through her ribs. The knife slashed where her throat had been a second earlier, sparks spraying as the blade hit metal.
“Pretty little Navarro,” the assassin hissed through the mask. “You’re worth a fortune.”
Aria scrambled, slamming her palm against the emergency button again and again. Red lights flashed, a shrill alarm echoing.
The elevator plunged.
Aria shrieked as her stomach surged into her throat. The assassin braced himself, still stalking toward her even as the floor dropped beneath them. The elevator screeched to another violent stop three floors down, throwing them both off-balance.
Aria crawled toward the corner.
The assassin grabbed her ankle, yanking her backward.
She kicked wildly, her heel smashing into his jaw. He snarled, tightening his grip. Fear strangled her breath. Images of her father’s cages flickered behind her eyes, shadows and screams and locked doors.
“No—no, let me go—!”
The blade grazed her shoulder, slicing fabric.
Aria fought blindly, slamming her elbow into his throat. He choked, grip slipping.
She scrambled, reaching for anything — anything — to defend herself.
The assassin lunged again.
And then—metal shrieked.
The doors were ripped apart with inhuman force.
Damian Wolfe stood in the jagged opening, drenched in sweat and fury, blood already smeared along his knuckles from breaking through the floor above.
His eyes locked on Aria.
Then on the man holding the knife to her throat.
Something inside Damian broke.
“Touch her again,” his voice dropped to a deadly, primal growl, “and I’ll carve your soul out of your body.”
The assassin panicked and dragged Aria closer, pressing the blade against her skin. Damian’s expression didn’t change. It only grew darker. More dangerous. Something feral took over, something no Syndicate rule could contain.
“Wolfe—!” Aria gasped.
But Damian was already inside.
He tackled the assassin so violently Aria was thrown against the wall from the force. The man’s scream tore through the elevator, cut short when Damian’s fist cracked across his jaw.
Again. Again. Again.
Blood splattered across Damian’s shirt as he straddled the assassin, fists slamming into bone. The metal floor rang with every hit. Aria watched in horror and relief and something deeper, something she couldn’t name, as Damian lost control completely.
“Damian—stop—!”
He didn’t hear her.
The assassin’s mask broke. Teeth shattered. Damian’s fists were a blur of rage, his breath ragged, animalistic.
“NO ONE touches her,” Damian roared. “NO ONE.”
Blood pooled beneath them.
Aria stumbled forward, hand shaking as she reached for him.
“Damian—please—”
He didn’t look up.
“Damian,” she whispered again, softer this time, her trembling hand landing on his shoulder.
His entire body went still.
The elevator was silent except for Damian’s harsh breathing. Slowly — painfully — he turned to face her. His eyes were wild, blazing with something more than rage.
Something closer to terror.
The assassin lay unconscious beneath him, barely recognizable.
Damian stood, chest heaving. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the floor. Aria pressed herself against the wall, breath shaking.
He crossed the elevator in two steps.
He grabbed her — not violently, but desperately — pulling her into his chest with a force that nearly lifted her off her feet.
Aria gasped, hands splayed against his blood-soaked shirt.
Damian buried his face into her neck, breathing her in like a man who had just crawled out of hell. His entire body trembled against hers.
“You’re safe,” he rasped. “You’re safe now.”
Aria’s knees buckled.
Damian held tighter.
“I thought—” He choked on the words, voice cracking in a way she’d never heard. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Aria closed her eyes, leaning into him despite the blood, despite the terror. His grip was crushing, but for the first time it didn’t feel like a cage.
It felt like a lifeline.
“Damian,” she whispered, fingers curling into his shirt, “I was so scared.”
He pulled back, just enough to cup her face between his shaking hands. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, her jaw, her throat — checking for injuries with frantic tenderness.
“You’re mine,” Damian breathed, forehead pressing to hers. “No one takes you from me. Not ever.”
Aria’s heart pounded so hard she thought he could feel it.
And Damian whispered one final sentence — broken, raw, unfiltered:
“If that elevator had taken you from me… I would have slaughtered the entire Syndicate.”