The next evening.

Shane Prescott was cataloging newly unearthed bronze artifacts in the storage room, his fingers tracing the patina as if touching the passage of a thousand years.

"Professor Prescott, you should head home and rest," a young female intern offered him a steaming cup of tea. "We can handle the rest."

Shane accepted the cup, his soil-stained hands still bearing traces of earth. Stepping outside, he lit a cigarette, the pale smoke curling into the twilight.

Familiar footsteps approached from the distance.

Shane turned sharply. Under the streetlight, the lean, poised figure made his heart skip a beat.

Luna Valentine strode toward him in a black leather jacket, her short hair tousled by the night breeze, revealing a glint of silver on her earlobe. She flashed him a smirk, radiating the sharp elegance of an unsheathed blade.

"Mission over?" Shane stubbed out his cigarette and closed the distance in three quick strides.

Luna brushed dust from his shoulder. "Came straight to you after landing in the city."

The warmth of her fingertips seeped through his shirt, making his throat tighten as last night's forbidden dream resurfaced. He averted his face abruptly. "Let me change first."

Ten minutes later, their black SUV pulled away from the cultural relics bureau.

"Hungry?" Shane's grip on the steering wheel tensed slightly.

Luna waved her phone. "Got a seafood buffet deal at the mall up ahead."

The mall's first floor glittered with opulence. Shane paused at a jewelry counter, where diamond rings sparkled under spotlights.

"Try these." He pointed to a pair of minimalist bands.

Luna stopped his reaching hand. "No jewelry during missions."

Undeterred, Shane insisted on purchasing an intricately carved phoenix bracelet. The weight of gold encircled Luna's slender wrist, accentuating her fair skin.

"Like a concubine from the Republic era?" Luna teased, shaking her wrist.

Shane studied her seriously. "More like a warrior's trophy."

Their laughter faded as they nearly collided with Vincent Valentine reeking of alcohol.

"Luna!" Vincent's face darkened. "You're still with him?"

Shane instinctively shielded Luna. Vincent sneered, "A penniless ex-con like you—"

"His worth isn't yours to judge."

A commanding voice cut through. Victor Sullivan approached with his assistant, slamming a car key into Shane's palm.

Vincent's pupils contracted at the sight of the Rolls-Royce emblem.

"Dad, go home," Luna interjected.

Victor eyed Vincent coldly. "My son could have any woman. As for your daughter—"

"Your son?" Vincent's voice cracked.

Shane clenched the key, its edges biting into his flesh. Meeting Vincent's stunned gaze, he enunciated clearly, "I'm the eldest son of the Sullivans."