The car pulled to a stop right in front of the Nexus, the black market agency where dozens of hitmen were connected. Jace Cross stepped into the headquarters, the off-book operation where any government pretended didn’t exist. The place smelled of gun oil and burnt coffee. He dropped his duffel bag on the steel table—his latest mission in San Diego wrapped and buried. The bag thudded heavy with weapons and silence.

Jasper Kline stood waiting, blazer wrinkled like he’d slept in it. His silver hair was combed back, each strand separated. His hazel eyes stayed tired, however, as if they were wired with many secrets. His hands were pressed against his back.

“You’re back.” Jasper said, his deep, monotone voice echoing against the grey walls. It was like he was surprised that Jace made it out alive.

“Clean sweep.” Jace replied, almost matching his boss’s tone. There was no need for elaboration.

Jasper nodded, revealling a new folder behind his back. He slid it toward Jace. “Just one more mission, Cross.” Jace stared at it skeptically. “Your last one, I swear.”

Jace opened the folder, which was filled with numerous papers and photos on Leonardo Lombardi—Italian mafia royalty in Las Vegas. He was a charmer, a butcher, and nothing but a plain liar.

Jace didn’t ask questions. He never did. “It’s tonight.” He pointed out, more of a statement rather than a question. Jasper nodded, confirming Jace’s comment.

Lombardi’s golden-lit penthouse sat above the Strip like a throne, carved in glass and steel. Jace moved like a ghost—past the kitchen, and through the the marble corridor. It was a simple operation. He silenced two goons, bullets kissing bone.

The sound reached Lombardi’s ears, where he was fondling with another mistress of his. He practically threw her off the bed and ran for it. He was fast, but not fast enough. The final bullet tore through his skull. His body lay flat in the master bathroom, blood staining the white, porcelain tub.

The mistress screamed. Jace silenced her with yet another bullet, her blood spread across the satin bedsheets. The penthouse was quiet now, only the faint distant hum of the Strip pulsed through the high windows.

He stood in the center of it all—his shadow cast long over Lombardi’s sprawled corpse. His silencer was still warm. The air was filled with the scent of blood and citrus cologne. Jace figured rich people died smelling better.

Then, something caught his eye. Tucked beneath the dresser half covered in blood, was a white stuffed bunny. Its fur matted, one ear nearly torn off. Button eyes. The left one was almost out. Jace crouched and picked it up. Blood covered its side, as if there were prints on it—someone had clutched it recently.

He stuffed it in his pockets, which were deep enough to hold a laptop. He checked the suite. The closets, bedrooms, nothing. But there—near the balcony—was a trail. Small, bare footprints covered in blood. A smear on the glass door. He followed it.

The trail led to a fire escape. Jace climbed down three stories, gripping the rails like old bones. The Las Vegas night screamed with neon and life, but down here, it was different—quiet, watching, waiting. He found more prints leading to an alley, a dumpster behind the building. A small handprint was placed on the dumpster, another swipe of blood on a discarded soda can. Whoever the bunny belonged to, they were scared, bleeding and fast.

He followed the trail four blocks until it stopped at the edge of a storm drain. There was a smear on the concrete edge, as if someone had slipped climbing in. Jace knelt, peered down. The darkness was deafening. He wasn’t sure why, but he climbed in.

The tunnel reeked of iron and mold. The flashlight on his phone caught pieces of the world no one should have seen—shoes too small, candy wrappers torn open in desperation, and a kid’s pink backpack with one strap charred.

He looked around. Then, he heard it. A cough. Sharp and small. Jace moved fast, stepping through the sludge until he saw her—half curled under a rusted pipe, shaking. Her hair was matted with dirt. Her clothes clung to her like wet tissue. She was so young.

She snapped her head toward to the sound of Jace’s foot stepping in a deep puddle. He cussed under his breath. So much for 800 dollar boots.

“Buttons.” She tried to speak, but it came out as a whisper.

Jace stepped closer, keeping his voice even. “You lost him?”

The girl nodded, lips pale and chapped. She didn’t move when he held out the bunny. Her small fingers just trembled.

“I found him. Is that his name?” Jace said. His voice was soft, which was surprising for him.

She nodded again. That’s when her eyes rolled back. She collasped. He caught her before she hit the water. She weighed nothing, like a feather.

Jace couldn’t take her to a hospital. They’d ask too many questions. He couldn’t take her to the cops, either—Nexus operatives didn’t have records, but they had flags. His face on a camera would set off a cascade of scrutiny. She’d vanish into the system, or worse.

He brought her back to a safehouse in Henderson. It was one of Nexus’s less-used spots—windowless, cold, with one cot and a half stocked fridge. Jace laid her down and checked her pulse. It was faint. She was bleeding from her leg and shoulder. Probably from broken glass during the escape.

He cleaned her wounds with a medkit stolen from a paramedic van. She stirred only once, murmuring something under her breath. He didn’t catch it. He sat on the floor, staring at the bunny.

It didn’t made sense. Lombardi wasn’t known for having a family. No niece, daughter, nothing. The girl wasn’t a hostage—there’d been no ransom threats. No reports of a missing child either. It was like she came out of nowhere, bled through the cracks of his world. Jace hated mysteries, but he couldn’t ignore this one.

So, he called Elena.

“What the hell do you want? It’s three in the morning…” Her voice was scratchy with sleep and resentment.

“I need help.” He said bluntly. It was quiet for a bit.

“Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Then I’m hanging up, Cross.”

“Elena. It’s a kid. She was found in Lombardi’s penthouse. She’s hurt. Bad.” The silence grew louder.

“You serious?” She murmured, her voice still sleepy.

“I wouldn’t call if I wasn’t.”

She sighed, “Where?”

“Old safehouse in Henderson. Bring what you can.”

Elena Rosetti used to be a field agent like him, before she grew tired of blood and betrayal and broke things off—both with him and Nexus. She showed up with a medic bag and a dozen questions she didn’t ask. She went straight to the girl and began working.

Jace watched her work. He always admired that about Elena. When everything else went to hell, she focused. Bandages, stitches and hydration. It took hours.

When she was done, Elena sat back on her heels, “She’ll live. Barely. But she’s stable. What’s her name?”

“She hasn’t said.”

“Christ.” Elena muttered, “She looks like… a Meredith.”

Jace looked over. “What? Why?”

“Just does.” She shrugged.

Meredith. It felt real enough.

“She stayin’ here?”

“For now.”

“And then what? You gonna raise her? Teach her how to snipe?” Elena scoffed.

Jace didn’t answer. He just stared at Meredith. She was breathing slowly, her arm curled around the broken Buttons like it was the only thing left in her world.

Elena leaned against the wall. “You’re in over your head.”

“Yeah, well. That’s starting to become a theme.”

Days passed, and Meredith woke up. She was cautious, quiet. She didn’t cry. But she always kept Buttons near her. And she watched Jace—like she was measuring him. He made her food, mac n’ cheese, toast, frozen waffles. He tried to talk to her.

“How long were you in that penthouse?”

Just a shrug.

“Do you know Lombardi?”

She shook her head.

“Did someone take you there?”

No answer.

He showed her photos, surveillance stills, goons, associates. One face made her flinch.

“Who’s this?” He asked gently. Meredith turned her face away. It was enough.

Meanwhile, Elena was digging through the Nexus files. She was right. Her name was Meredith Delgado. Yet, there was nothing about her. No birth certificate, no school records. It was like she was a ghost.

But there was chatter—small, encrypted threads across the black web. Rumors that Lombardi was experimenting with kids. Clean ones. Trafficked, trained and held until they disappeared.

One name kept appearing: Project Red Bird.

“That’s what she is.” Elena said, “A ghost built in a lab.”

“No.” Jace refused. “She’s a kid. That’s what she is.”

“You’ve killed people for less, Jay. Don’t start pretending you’re someone else.”

He already had.

They moved her to a better safehouse. One morning, Jace had burned the toast. Meredith gave a quiet laugh.

“I wasn’t always bad at cooking.” Jace mentioned.

“You still are.” She whispered. It was the first time she smiled. Jace made a silent promise—no one would _ever _take her again.

Two days later, he broke that promise.

Elena had stepped out for groceries. When she came back, the door was nearly broken off its hinges. Jace was slumped on the floor, blood streaking his temple. Meredith was gone.

“Lombardi’s men.” He wheezed.

“He’s dead.” She reminded.

“He wasn’t the king. Just the knight.”

Jace had stitched a GPS into Buttons. That paranoid instinct led him and Elena to a remote ranch outside Pahrump. The place was swarming with guards, but they cut through the guards with precision.

Jace found her in a barn, tied to a chair. She was pale. Barely breathing. A man stood over her in a tailored suit—older, colder.

Leonardo’s brother, Lorenzo.

“You killed him.” He said, wearing a sickening grin. “Now I inherit everything.”

“You won’t hold for long.”

“She’s just a girl. You’d burn the world for her?” Lorenzo mocked.

Jace fired, the sound echoing off the empty barn walls. The man crumpled, dead before he hit the ground. Jace rushed to Meredith. She was barely conscious. She was marked with bruises and bloodied skin. He cut her loose, holding her close.

“Am I dying?” Meredith wheezed.

“No.” Jace whispered.

“I’m tired…”

“I know. Just hold on.”

Her hand slipped into his. Her eyes closed.

“I held her hand tight,” he breathed, carrying her out of the barn, “and I wasn’t ever letting go.”