The narrow alleys of Marrakesh came alive under moonlight—warm winds pushing spices, cigarette smoke, and whispers through the air. Beneath the ancient roofs of the medina, danger slept with one eye open.
Cassia Vale knew this city better than her own reflection. She moved through it like vapor, invisible when she wanted to be, unforgettable when she struck.
She'd spent six years in hiding, trading blades for books, poison for perfume. The world thought she was dead. She let them believe it.
But tonight, shadows returned to her doorstep.
She felt it in her bones—the shift in the air, the subtle sound of feet too light for a vendor, too quiet for a thief. Someone was watching.
Cassia, once known as Ghost Widow, didn't hesitate.
She slipped out of her apartment window barefoot, down the fire escape and into the crowd below. Her mind sharpened with every step. Every market turn. Every unseen pair of eyes.
Then she saw it.
A flash of silver steel from behind a fruit cart.
The assassin lunged.
Cassia dropped low, sweeping the figure's legs from under them and flipping them into the dirt. She pulled a blade from her waistband and pressed it to their throat—
Then stopped.
The woman looked exactly like Sierra.
Hair. Eyes. Even the way she held tension in her shoulders.
"VX," Cassia whispered. "Damn clones."
The clone struck upward, fast, mechanical, emotionless. Cassia rolled, using the momentum to slam the assassin's head into the wall.
Blood.
But no scream.
They didn't feel pain.
Cassia backed away, breath sharp, blade ready.
That's when a second figure stepped out of the shadows.
Not a clone.
Real.
"Sierra?" Cassia blinked. "Is that actually you?"
Sierra lowered her pistol. "Alive and hunting. Just like you."
Cassia kicked the clone's limp body. "Let me guess. You brought trouble."
"Trouble brought me first," Sierra said. "But we need to talk."
Annabel emerged behind her, scanning the street. "She's fast."
Cassia tilted her head. "Who's the kid?"
"My daughter," Sierra said simply. "Long story."
Cassia gave a low whistle. "You've changed."
Sierra nodded. "So have you."
---
Inside Cassia's loft, the three women sat in a circle of flickering candles and old Moroccan lanterns. The air smelled of sandalwood, steel, and secrets.
"So you're really building a team again?" Cassia asked, folding her arms.
Sierra pulled out the encrypted drive. "Rafael's already in. The rest—we don't know. Crestwell's sending clones after the originals. Picking us off. One by one."
Cassia's smile faded. "I always knew he'd come back. People like him don't die quietly."
Sierra looked her dead in the eye. "Then help me end him loudly."
Cassia considered this, her eyes falling briefly on Annabel.
"She's got your fire," she said.
"She's got more," Sierra said quietly. "She remembers the name I gave her before they took her."
Cassia blinked. "She's your—"
"Yes," Sierra said. "Crestwell raised her in a lab. Programmed her. Tried to erase her humanity."
Annabel met Cassia's gaze. "But he failed."
Cassia smiled faintly. "Good. Because I'm tired of running from ghosts."
She stood and walked to a hidden panel in her kitchen wall. Behind it were two twin daggers—black steel, etched in blood and scripture.
Cassia took them down like sacred tools.
"Alright, Viper," she said, sliding the blades into her belt. "Count me in."
Sierra's jaw set with purpose. "Then let's move. Niko's the next closest."
Cassia arched a brow. "The sharpshooter in Cairo? You think he's still alive?"
Annabel answered. "Crestwell has a bounty on him. Which means he's a threat."
Cassia whistled again. "Damn. I miss the days when our biggest problem was breaking into vaults."
Sierra stood. "Now we're breaking into war."
---
In a dark control chamber somewhere beneath London, Arlo Crestwell reviewed the footage of Cassia's survival.
Another failure. Another clone dead.
He sipped his tea, unbothered by the loss.
Let them gather.
Let them believe they had a chance.
He tapped a screen.
On it blinked the names:
Sierra Voss
Annabel Voss
Rafael Dorne
Cassia Vale
Next target:
Niko Ren.
Crestwell smiled.
"They'll come for him," he murmured. "And when they do… I'll be waiting."
Behind him, a new clone chamber hissed open.
And from it stepped a male figure.
Same steel eyes.
Same trained silence.
But this time… it wasn't Sierra's face.
It was Xavier Lancaster's.