Chapter 1

Alex Carter was supposed to be my protector. That was his job, the role assigned to him by the shadowy organization he worked for. He was also my ex-boyfriend. The two things were a messy, tangled knot I couldn't seem to cut.

He was supposed to protect me, but his heart, his attention, his entire world orbited around Chloe Davis. She was his childhood sweetheart, a girl who built a career on smiling for her phone, a rising social media influencer.

I was just the job he had to do before he could go home to the life he really wanted.

And I had the scars to prove it. Scars from eight different lives, eight different deaths. Each time I died, Alex would call in a "favor," a precious chit he had earned within his organization. They would rewind time, pull my soul from the brink, and stuff it back into my body. But with each revival, the price got higher. Alex's resources were almost gone.

I knew this because I overheard the call. He was in the next room, his voice tight and low.

"What do you mean, 'one left'?"

The voice on the other end was tinny, emotionless. "The language is plain, Carter. You've cashed in eight markers to resurrect the asset. The council is losing its patience. You have one favor remaining. After that, the mission is terminated. She dies, she stays dead."

I heard Alex take a sharp breath. He was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, with a confidence that chilled me, "It won't come to that. I have everything under control."

He was a fool. A fool in love with a girl who wasn't me.

The end came, as I knew it would, on a luxury yacht slicing through the dark water. It was a party for Chloe's fiancé, Mark Thompson, a tech mogul with cold eyes and too much money. We were all there: me, Alex, Chloe, and Mark. Then the engines cut. Masked men with guns stormed the deck.

They knew who to take. Me and Chloe. We were dragged below, tied to chairs in a cramped cabin.

The satellite phone rang. One of the kidnappers put it on speaker. Alex' s voice, frantic and raw, filled the small space.

"What do you want?"

"A choice, Mr. Carter," the kidnapper said, his voice a gravelly monotone. "We only have room for one return passenger. Your call. The influencer or the other one."

There was no hesitation. Not a single, agonizing second of it.

"Let Chloe go. Take the money, just let her go."

The words hit me harder than any bullet ever had. In eight lifetimes of dying, I had never felt a pain so complete. It was the sound of my own worthlessness, confirmed and broadcast for everyone to hear. The kidnappers untied Chloe, who was sobbing, and dragged her out of the cabin. One of them turned back to me, a pitiless look in his eyes. He pulled me to my feet and shoved me toward the deck.

The night air was cold. The sea was a black, churning void. He pushed me to the edge. I didn't struggle. What was the point? This was the end of the line. Alex had made his final choice.

As I fell backward into the icy water, the shock stealing my breath, a single, furious thought screamed through my mind. It wasn't a plea for Alex to save me. It wasn't a prayer to some forgotten god.

I don't need him. I don't want him. I want to save myself!

The cold enveloped me, pulling me down. My lungs burned. Darkness crowded my vision.

And then, a new light appeared. Not the light of heaven, but the cold, sterile glow of a computer interface, blooming behind my eyelids.

`...DESPERATE PLEA FOR SELF-RELIANCE DETECTED...`

`...OVERRIDING OPERATIVE CARTER'S AUTHORITY...`

`...ACTIVATING HIDDEN PROTOCOL...`

`[SELF-RESCUE PROTOCOL: ENGAGED]`