Ava Reed thrived on secrets. At twenty-seven, she chased stories through Neon City’s gritty underbelly, her laptop her weapon. Her latest lead—a whistleblower claiming a secret society controlled the city—had her staking out a warehouse at midnight, camera ready. The air smelled of rain and metal, and Ava’s pulse raced. This story could be her break.

She crouched behind a crate, her black leather jacket blending with the shadows. The warehouse hummed, and a figure in a hooded coat slipped inside, clutching a vial of glowing liquid. Ava snapped photos, her heart pounding. But a cold click froze her—a gun at her neck.

“Curious, aren’t you?” a low voice growled. The man stepped into the light—tall, broad-shouldered, with stormy gray eyes and stubble framing a sharp jaw. His black coat was scarred, and a faint scar traced his cheek.

Ava’s breath hitched, but she smirked. “You gonna shoot me, or just flirt?”

His lips twitched. “Jace Kane. Drop the camera, or you’re done.”

Before she could retort, gunfire erupted. Hooded figures stormed the warehouse, their eyes glowing unnaturally. Jace yanked Ava down, his body shielding hers, and she felt his heat, his pulse against her. “Stay low,” he hissed, drawing a sleek pistol. His arm brushed her side, sending a spark through her.

“Who are they?” Ava whispered, her voice steady despite the chaos.

“The Order,” Jace said, firing at a hooded assassin. “And you just stepped in their game.”

Ava’s camera dangled, but her instincts screamed. She grabbed a metal pipe, swinging at an assassin lunging for Jace. The man crumpled, and Jace’s eyes flicked to her, impressed. “Not bad, journalist.”

They fought back-to-back, his movements fluid, hers scrappy but fierce. An assassin pinned Ava, a syringe of glowing liquid aimed at her neck. Jace tackled him, his hands swift, and the syringe grazed Ava’s skin. A burning sensation spread, and her senses sharpened—sounds louder, Jace’s scent intoxicating.

The assassins retreated, and Jace pulled Ava to her feet, his hands lingering on her arms. “You’re hit,” he said, his voice rough. He checked her neck, his fingers brushing her skin, and Ava’s pulse surged, desire flaring despite the danger.

“I’m fine,” she said, but her body hummed, hyper-aware of his touch. The mark on her neck glowed faintly—a neural implant, alive and pulsing.

“That’s no scratch,” Jace said, his eyes darkening. “You’re marked now. The Order’s tech—it amplifies instincts. And they’ll hunt you.”

Ava’s mind raced. “Then help me. I need answers.”

Jace hesitated, then nodded. “Stick with me, Ava. But don’t expect safe.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment, the air crackled, their bodies inches apart. A distant siren snapped them back, and Jace pulled her toward an alley. But a shadow moved—a hooded figure watching, holding a device that pulsed like Ava’s mark. Who was it, and what did the implant want with her?

Cliffhanger: Who is the hooded figure, and what does Ava’s pulsing implant mean for her survival?

Chapter 1: The Spark Ignites

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