Lamont was born into a life where truth was a liability and lies were a survival skill.

No one really knew where he came from—not even him, not entirely. His earliest memories were a blur of changing names, different places, and whispered instructions from a mother who never stayed in one city for long. She was running from something, or someone, and by the time Lamont was old enough to ask, she was gone.

Disappeared. Vanished like a ghost.

Lamont learned two things from her absence: trust nothing, and become anything.

He spent his youth slipping through the cracks, learning how to blend, manipulate, disappear. A con artist by necessity, a thief by convenience. By the time he was twenty, he was fluent in deception, fluent in being whoever someone wanted him to be.

That was when they found him.

A shadow organization—one with too many names and none at all. They saw his talent, refined it, and honed him into something far more dangerous than a common trickster. A spy. A ghost in the system. A double agent.

Lamont took to the life with ease, slipping between factions, wearing different faces, living a dozen different lives. But the deeper he went, the harder it became to remember where the lies ended and where he began.

Then came the mission that changed everything.

A mission that ended with betrayal, a gun in his hand, and blood on his skin.

Someone he trusted—maybe the only person he trusted—sold him out. He barely survived, forced to turn the tables and betray them first. And in that moment, something in him snapped.

Now, Lamont is more dangerous than ever. A man without a real identity, working both sides but loyal to neither. A weapon with no leash, a liar who barely remembers the truth.

So why the hell was he currently pinned against a grimy alley wall, a gun to his ribs, by an officer who wouldn’t let go?