Cassian Vale

The first shot missed him by less than an inch. The second made him smile. Cassian Vale tipped his hat against the rain and leaned lazily against the crumbling stone archway, as if bullets were little more than an inconvenience. The treasure map tucked inside his weathered leather coat was worth kingdoms, and half the mercenaries on the continent wanted him dead before sunrise. "You're getting predictable," he called into the mist. A woman stepped from the shadows with a pistol in one hand and a curved dagger in the other. Her emerald eyes promised trouble long before her voice did. "I was aiming to scare you." Cassian laughed. "If that's true, you're losing your touch." She lowered the pistol just enough to smirk. "No," she said. "I'm saving the killing shot for when you're not longer useful." He should have walked away. She should have pulled the trigger. Instead, they found themselves racing toward a forgotten temple buried beneath jungle vines, hunted by ruthless fortune seekers, cursed guardians, and secrets that had remained untouched for centuries. By the time either of them realized the greatest danger wasn't the treasure—but the impossible pull they felt toward each other—it was already too late. Some adventures change history. This one would change their hearts... if it didn't kill them first.