I'd been doing fine on my own for the last flibbertyfloppin' thirty-ish years. Okay, maybe fine was a smidgen of an exaggeration, but I was hiding, goshdangdiddlygorse.

Mercenary and operative work wasn't for me anymore, and as far as the Divine Triad was concerned, they could get someone else to be their Watchdog for all the Supernaturals in the world. I'd been doing it for at least a millenia and a half. This most recent half had nearly broken my brain, and definitely busted my heart.

So that was it.

This Nephilim was deuceddingleberrieddoggone done.

Or so I'd thought.

Half-Human and half-Celestial, Nemo Dade gets reborn into new personas: same soul, same body (mostly), new problems. Her last persona worked as an agent for MI-6. She'd buried a lot of friends and colleagues, so no more.

Then an international team of operatives captures Nemo. They leverage her past, forcing her to help them stop an arms dealer who's broken into human trafficking. This criminal has someone more than human on the payroll, which means they need her to even the odds.

Everything in her screams for Nemo to walk away. It isn't her fight. That had been the plan until a love she'd thought dead demands for her to do what she'd been doing for centuries-her job. Why does doing the right thing have to be such a hard choice?