The ride to Sterling Tower was a blur of neon city lights slicing through the tinted windows of the SUV. I didn't try to memorize the route. When you are strapped into the backseat with two armed ghosts who don't breathe loudly enough to register on a decibel meter, playing the observant captive is pointless.
The private elevator didn't stop at the sixty-fifth floor gym I knew so well. It bypassed it entirely, soaring up to the penthouse level. The doors slid open with a soft chime that sounded entirely too polite for an execution.
I stepped out into a masterpiece of cold, modern architecture. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls offered a dizzying, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the city. It felt like standing on the edge of the world. Or the edge of a blade.
Standing by the glass, gazing out at the sprawling metropolis just as he had done on my monitors an hour ago, was Julian Sterling.
In person, the pixelated perfection I had studied was overwhelmingly, suffocatingly real. He wore a tailored charcoal suit that clung to his broad shoulders, no tie, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. The scent of him—something expensive, woody, and sharp—hit my senses before he even turned around.
"Welcome to the abyss, Anya," he said. His voice didn't need the amplification of high-end speakers to vibrate through my bones.
He finally turned to face me. The amusement in his dark, piercing eyes was gone, replaced by an analytical coldness that pinned me to the marble floor. He held a sleek, black tablet in his left hand.
I forced my chin up, refusing to shrink into my oversized hoodie, even though my hands were trembling inside the pockets. "If you were going to kill me, you would have let your tactical team do it in the alley."
Julian's lips curved into a fraction of a smile. He took slow, measured steps toward me. The physical distance closing between us was a masterclass in intimidation. He stopped merely inches away, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
"Kill you?" he murmured, the bass of his voice wrapping around me. "Why would I destroy the only set of eyes capable of infiltrating my network?"
He tapped the tablet and casually tossed it onto a nearby glass coffee table. It lit up, displaying the decrypted file I had tried to download earlier.
"You spent thirty days looking for my monsters, little eye," Julian said, his gaze dropping momentarily to my lips before locking back onto my eyes. "But you missed the snakes in the grass. The ones standing right beside me."
I frowned, the hacker's instinct temporarily overriding my fear. "Your client... the one who hired me through the dead Israeli shell company..."
"Is a member of my own board of directors," Julian finished for me, his tone devoid of emotion, but his eyes burning with a controlled, terrifying rage. "Someone who wants the Sterling empire for themselves. Someone who thought hiring a legend from the deep web was the way to find the knife to slide between my ribs."
My mind raced. He had let me hack him. He had let the client think they were winning, all to trace the source back through me. I was the bait, and I hadn't even known it.
"You set me up," I whispered.
"I utilized an available asset," Julian corrected smoothly. He reached out, his long fingers lightly tracing the edge of my jawline. The touch was electric, burning cold against my skin. I flinched, but I didn't step back. I couldn't.
"Here is your new reality, Anya," he continued, his thumb resting dangerously close to the pulse pounding in my neck. "Your servers are ashes. Your safe houses are compromised. The people who hired you think you have my secrets, which means you are a loose end they will inevitably tie up."
He leaned in closer, his breath dusting my cheek. "You have two choices. You walk out that elevator, and I give them your real name and coordinates. You won't survive the night."
"Or?" I breathed, hating how breathless I sounded.
"Or," Julian whispered, his eyes dark and absolute, "you stay in this cage. You become my eye. You find the traitor who paid you, you dismantle their network piece by piece, and you hand them to me on a silver platter."
He dropped his hand from my neck, stepping back and slipping his hands into his pockets, a picture of relaxed, lethal power.
"Work for me, Anya, and you live. Refuse, and the abyss takes you. Choose."
I looked at the glass walls surrounding us. There were no doors. No escape routes. Just the sprawling city below, and the devil standing in front of me.
I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. The goddess of the deep web might be dead, but the survivor remained.
"I'll need better equipment," I said, my voice steady. "And a lot more coffee."
Julian Sterling's smile, this time, was genuine, sharp, and utterly terrifying.
"Good girl."