The construction site of the new Silver Star was chaos shaped into purpose.
Raw iron beams clawed toward the sky, skeletal and unfinished. Dust hung thick in the air, clinging to skin and lungs alike. The constant rhythm of jackhammers pounded through the ground, vibrating up through my boots as if the earth itself was restless beneath us.
This wasn't a diner anymore.
It was a battlefield.
And right in the center of it—
Stood Julianne Vane.
She wasn't dressed in white silk today.
No softness. No illusion.
She wore a sharply tailored black suit that fit her like armor, every line precise, every edge intentional. Her blonde hair was pulled back so tightly it looked like it might hurt—but Julianne didn't look like someone who felt pain.
She looked like someone who inflicted it.
She stood too close to Reid.
Too comfortable.
Too familiar.
