Garrison Vance

I stood beside the hospital bed, the sharp, sterile scent of the downtown clinic cutting through the lingering haze of the harbor docks.

My fingers remained beneath Roxie’s jaw, the warmth of her skin grounding me. Beneath my tailored charcoal jacket, my muscles were still tense, but the protective fury that had almost driven me to break Cole Miller’s arm on a live global feed had settled into a cold, absolute resolve.

Her mother, Mrs. Sterling, stared up at me from a pile of white pillows. The initial panic in her eyes had slowly given way to a deep, searching look that hinted at the sharp intelligence of...