(Morning)
The night dissolved without my permission.
When I woke, my limbs felt heavy — like I'd been fighting in my dreams instead of sleeping through them. I rolled slightly, squinting against the late morning light leaking through the curtains.
Then I felt warmth beside me.
My eyes snapped open.
"K–K–Kenzie?!" I choked.
She shifted under the blanket, brows knitting as she surfaced from sleep. "Morning already?" she murmured, voice soft and unfocused. "Why are you shouting like the house is on fire?"
She stretched lazily, then quickly gathered the loose hem of her oversized shirt when she noticed how far it had ridden up. A faint blush touched her cheeks — more reflex than embarrassment.
I sat up halfway, still processing. "What are you doing in my bed?"
She blinked at me like the answer was obvious. "Your couch is basically a block of ice," she said. Then, quieter: "And you said you wouldn't leave."
That landed deeper than she knew.
I reached for my phone on the charger.
10:30 a.m.
"10:30," I muttered.
Her sleepiness vanished instantly. "10:30?!" She bolted upright. "I'm dead. I'm actually dead."
She sprang into motion — folding the blanket, straightening cushions, fixing anything she might have disturbed with surprising speed. Watching her panic-clean was strangely adorable.
We moved downstairs together. The morning felt fragile — like something that would crack if spoken too loudly.
At the door, she reached for the handle.
"Kenzie — wait."
She turned back.
"There's something I need to tell you."
My voice didn't sound as steady as I wanted it to.
"I'm moving into a school apartment today. Code Legacy High." I exhaled. "We probably won't see each other much for a while."
Her expression changed — not dramatically — but enough. A quiet dimming.
"I was hoping," I continued, "I could get your number. So we don't just… disappear."
A small pause. Then she nodded and opened her contacts, bringing up a QR code. I scanned it and saved her info.
"What about after school?" she asked. "We can still meet, right?"
"I just took a new job," I said carefully. "It's going to drain most of my time. Maybe weekends."
Her gaze dropped. She nodded once, absorbing it instead of arguing.
"I understand."
She didn't — not fully — but she accepted it anyway.
Silence stretched between us — not awkward — heavy.
Then suddenly she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my neck.
The force of it caught me off guard. I hesitated — then held her back, more gently. She was warm. Real. Trembling just slightly.
A faint sniffle brushed my shoulder.
I thought — maybe — I heard her whisper:
"Liar."
Before I could ask, the door opened sharply.
The bodyguard stood there — posture rigid, eyes cutting straight to me. Not angry. Not surprised. Just measuring.
Kenzie loosened her grip slowly, like letting go of something she wanted to keep holding. She didn't look at him — only at me.
"Bye, Marx," she said softly.
Then she was guided out, the door closing with a final, quiet click.
The house felt colder immediately.
And for the first time since accepting the deal —
I wondered which lie would cost me more:
Becoming Specter again.
Or letting her believe I wouldn't.
A few minutes later, my phone vibrated.
TRAD.
Of course.
Another mission already.
I stepped into the city crowd as the sun burned high overhead, pouring gold across glass towers and crowded sidewalks. Vendors shouted over one another, engines growled, brakes squealed, conversations overlapped into a constant urban hum. Life moved loudly — carelessly — like danger didn't exist.
My screen still displayed the message:
[Follow a man rumored to be involved in the previous mission. City center. Transaction pending. More details soon.]
"Rumored," I muttered. "That's reassuring."
Across the street stood my target — if he even was one. Plain clothes. Neutral posture. Average face. The kind you forget before you finish looking at it.
Not a threat. Not a mastermind. Not anything.
They said suspect — not confirmed.
I turned to leave.
Then a figure drifted past him and slipped a folded document into his hand without stopping. No eye contact. No words. Smooth. Practiced.
My instincts tightened.
"…Fine," I sighed. "Five more minutes."
I crossed with the crowd and shadowed him through the flow of pedestrians. He moved comfortably — not cautious — which somehow made him more suspicious. He entered a small corner store, bell chiming overhead.
Cold air hit my face inside. Refrigerators hummed. Old floorboards creaked.
Milk. He grabbed milk.
Really.
At the counter he leaned in and murmured something to the cashier. Too low to hear. The cashier nodded once — too serious for small talk.
They both smiled afterward.
That was worse.
He left laughing.
I stepped out seconds later —
—and lost him.
"Seriously?"
I scanned reflections, windows, cross streets. Gone.
Then — motion in the alley to my right.
I slipped between dumpsters and shadow, slowing my breathing. There he was.
Kneeling.
Feeding stray cats.
Milk poured gently into a plastic lid. Three cats circled him, purring. His smile was warm — soft — real.
Guilt pricked my chest.
"Great," I whispered. "I'm stalking a cat volunteer."
I started to withdraw —
—and saw the second shadow behind him.
Moving wrong. Low. Silent. Coiled.
Not a bystander.
A hunter.
I moved before thinking.
We slammed into garbage bags in a burst of plastic and rot. The attacker hit hard and fast — trained. Not random.
"Look what you did!" she snapped, eyes blazing honey-gold beneath dark lashes. "I had him lined up!"
Recognition hit. The woman from before.
"He's not your target," I shot back. "He's feeding cats!"
Behind us, the man stood slowly.
"Oh my," he said — too calm.
Metal flashed.
Gun.
"You almost had me," he smiled. Cold now. Empty. "Appreciate the interference. Saves me the trouble of choosing who dies first."
A tabby brushed his ankle.
He kicked it away like trash.
Something hot detonated in my chest.
She moved first — a blur of kicks and angles — precise and lethal. He blocked with mechanical efficiency, caught her leg mid-strike, and threw her straight at me.
I caught her by reflex. She shoved off immediately.
"Don't touch me," she snapped.
"Likewise."
We drew at the same time.
My stun mag locked in with a click — green core charged. I rolled as he fired — shot cracked past my shoulder — and I returned fire.
Pulse hit his leg.
Muscles seized. He staggered.
She capitalized — drove a brutal kick into the same limb. He dropped to one knee — then caught her follow-up strike and crushed a sphere on the pavement.
Smoke exploded upward.
Thick. Bitter. Chemical.
I coughed hard, lungs burning. Vision drowned in gray.
By the time the air thinned —
He was gone.
No footsteps. No trail. Nothing.
She hissed through her teeth. "Unbelievable."
I wiped my eyes. "You're welcome for saving your life."
"My life?" She spun on me. "You wrecked my capture!"
"He was about to shoot you."
"I had a counter!"
"You were upside down."
She pointed at the ground. "And now he's vanished — because you hesitated!"
I gestured at the blood smear. "He's injured."
She laughed sharply. "You really are new to this tier of enemy."
My jaw tightened. "Then enlighten me."
"We track him," she said. "Unless your fancy toy ammo was just for decoration."
Something near the smoke debris glowed faint green.
I knelt, collected residue into a vial. It reacted instantly — pulsing.
"Not decoration."
She leaned close over my shoulder — close enough that I caught a trace of citrus and gunpowder.
"Good," she said quietly. "Because if this fails…"
Her eyes lifted to mine — sharp, dangerous.
"I'm blaming you publicly and creatively."
I capped the vial. "Add it to your list."
She smirked — just slightly.
"Try not to slow me down again, hero."
"Try not to get thrown at me again, assassin."
The cats crept back from hiding.
The alley felt smaller now.
And the mission — bigger.