The flight to Prague was discreet, booked under aliases that couldn't be traced. Aurora Sage used a forged passport—one of many—and Logan Mason flew beside her under the name Declan Rowe, a name his fans would never guess, a version of himself that had never existed before her.
In the quiet hum of the private jet, Aurora didn't sleep.
Instead, she sharpened her blades.
One by one.
The sound was rhythmic, hypnotic.
Metal against stone.
Purpose over fear.
Logan watched her, half-awed, half-uneasy.
He didn't belong in this world—not really.
But he wasn't leaving it either.
Not when she sat across from him with that look in her eyes. Not when another innocent girl had died just for being associated with him. Not when he'd already fallen too far to turn back.
"What's the plan when we land?" he asked finally.
Aurora didn't look up.
