Falcon could hardly believe his eyes. Never in his life did he imagine he’d feel this exhilarated at the sight of someone’s capture. Yet here she was—Lucy—collared like a beast, linked to a chain clutched tightly in her brother’s hands.

She was pale, hollow, a shadow of herself. Her eyes refused to meet his, fixed somewhere far away, as though she had already surrendered to despair. Defeated. Broken. To Falcon, her ruin was nothing less than a triumph worth savoring. He had almost resigned himself to the thought that Larson would fail him, that he’d need to devise some other trap. But fate was merciful, Lucy was delivered to him,...