Page 2 of Ruthless

“And where is Ana now?”

His small face hardened, skin pulling tight across cheekbones too prominent for a child. "Gone.”

"You did what you could." The platitude tasted false on my tongue.

"I failed. She was my twin. I was supposed to protect her." For the first time, emotion cracked his voice.

"And you've been surviving since?"

"Yes." The word held no pride, no fear. Just fact.

I nodded toward a fresh cut on his forearm, red against pale skin. "Someone else try something?"

His grip tightened on the blade. "He tried."

"Where is he now?"

Something cold flashed in those eyes, a glacial depth no child should possess. "Dead."

Fucking perfect. A kindergartener with confirmed kills who didn't lose sleep over it. My pulse quickened, a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

I crouched to his level, my knee sinking into the cold muck. He remained motionless, only his gaze following my descent. "I've got a proposition. I work for important people. We find special children. Smart ones, survivors. Give them a new life."

"Doing what?" All business. No childish questions about toys or candy.

"Training. Education. A way out of this hellhole." The scent of ash and decay hung between us.

"To become what?"

"Whatever we need you to be. Maybe a soldier, but not like the animals who did this. Something more... refined." I held his gaze, watching comprehension bloom. Such intelligence behind those eyes.

He scanned the ruins around us, charred wood and shattered glass glittering in the weak sun. "And if I say no?"

"Then you stay here."

He weighed his options with adult gravity, his breath making small clouds in the cold air. "What do I have to do?"

"Come with me now. Leave everything behind. You’ll get new clothes, a new name, new—"

"I don't want a new name," he said sharply. "My name is Luka."

Backbone. I liked that. Heat spread through my chest. "Luka it is."

I held out my hand. After consideration, he took it. His calloused palm pressed against mine, a strong grip despite his size. His skin was cold, but alive with potential.

"One more question," he said as we walked toward the SUV, his small boots leaving tracks alongside my larger ones.

"Ask."

"Will you take me to America?"

I looked at this perfect package of trauma and potential and saw possibilities unfold like a map. Saw the next fifteen years of molding him into exactly what The Pantheon needed. What I needed.

"I'll take you all over the world."

For the first time, something like a smile ghosted across his lips. Just a flicker, gone quickly, but it transformed his face.

I pulled out a special penny from my pocket. The image stamped on it wasn’t Lincoln or any president, but a hooded figure in a boat. The metal drank in the surrounding light, warm against my fingers despite the cold.

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