The ruthless captain of the Elyndorian team—who could launch a two-hundred-pound man across a room and dismiss a Special Forces veteran without a second thought.
She was worlds apart from the sweet, fragile, and obedient sister his family always talked about, the one who needed constant protection after growing up in the backcountry.
He had briefly wondered if they were the same person, just because they shared the same last name.
That Serena was actually his sister.
The stress of the mission must have been frying his brain.
Moments later, the members of the Dragon-Thorn squad arrived like ghosts.
Taking in the scene of unconscious mercenaries groaning on the floor, and then looking at their captain clutching a pink pastry box.
The team exchanged highly amused glances.
"Captain, what exactly..."
Jerrick casually hid the cake behind his back, his expression deadpan. "Don't ask."
"Bag them, strip their weapons, and wipe the security footage."
"They're evidence against the Prescotts. We'll need them later."
Knowing better than to press the issue, his men nodded. "Yes, sir!"
The squad worked with terrifying efficiency.
But by the time they scrubbed the equipment room and emerged into the hallway, the Elyndor delegation had already departed in the luxury vehicles provided by Frederick Moore.
Standing by the backstage exit, Jerrick stared down at the cake, an uncharacteristic silence settling over him.
He still hadn't managed to see his sister.
Getting an audience with her was proving to be a logistical nightmare.
Just then, his personal phone buzzed in his pocket.
Checking the caller ID, he answered.


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