Three authors. Two morally grey characters. One deadly world.
In the silence of the morgue, she fixes what violence ruins. Bullet wounds disappear beneath careful stitching. Evidence vanishes. Secrets are buried with the dead.
Every crew in the city relies on her. All except one. The largest. The most powerful. The one even other criminals fear. She has spent years avoiding them.
Until the night their leader walks through her doors.
He does not shout. He does not threaten. He simply watches her work, calm, immaculate, disturbingly intrigued.
When he tells her she will be working for him from now on, it sounds less like a request and more like fate closing in.
She refuses. He returns.
Again. And again. And again.
The more she resists, the more fascinated he becomes. He calls her extraordinary. Says her talent is wasted on small men with smaller ambitions. Says beautiful things belong in powerful hands.
He thinks she will bend.
He has no idea she has been surrounded by monsters her entire life and survived them all.
