The red dot was already nailed to the center of Chloe Sinclair's brows.
The sniper's finger rested steadily on the trigger, just waiting for an order, and then she would vanish from this world for good.
From the helicopter came a clear sentence in German: "Fire."
The voice was calm, devoid of emotion, yet carried an unquestionable authority.
It was an order from Dravania's Special Operations Unit—precise and lethal.
In the instant the bullet howled toward them, Vivian Sinclair's pupils abruptly contracted.
She heard the sharp sound tearing through the air and felt the breath of death rushing straight at her.
Her body instinctively tried to dodge, but it was already too late.
The next second, a warm hand covered her eyes.
The palm was broad and familiar, carrying a reassuring warmth.
That familiar body heat, that familiar scent—it was Tristan Sterling.
