POV: Ares Voss

Roman Blake.

Five years old. Too sharp for his age. And a walking, breathing Voss secret.

He sat in Lucian’s penthouse office like he belonged there, one leg swinging off the edge of the couch while his fingers gently scratched behind the ears of the white cat he’d somehow lured into the building. He was small but sure. Polite but observant. Everything in his presence screamed innocence—but I’d been raised by wolves. I knew when something smelled off. And this? This was something much bigger than an innocent kid wandering the wrong floor.

This was blood.

This was legacy.

And if I was right—and I was—then someone...