I sat up in bed slowly, dragging a hand over my face and rubbing the grit from my eyes. Morning light spilled through the blinds in long, pale bars, cutting across my desk — and catching on the small silver case waiting there.
Even half-awake, I knew what was inside.
I reached for it.
The lid clicked open with a soft metallic snap. Nestled in the velvet lining were my contact lenses — thin, translucent, and far more dangerous than they looked.
The ones that turned my eyes into something else entirely.
I slid them in.
Blink.
For half a second, the world doubled.
Then the HUD flickered to life.
Color deepened. Edges sharpened. The room snapped into hyper-clarity as faint lines of data ghosted across the lower edge of my vision. A familiar digital pulse hummed quietly at the base of my skull.
Connected.
Then—
Incoming brief.
The overlay unfolded smoothly across my sight.
Message from TRAD."Multiple explosive devices have been planted in and around the Sunfire Festival perimeter.Civilian casualties projected at 82% if undetected.Operatives Cartez and Lopez assigned for immediate neutralization.Estimated detonation window: 17:00."
Grainy overhead images bloomed into view — festival streets already crowded, vendor stalls packed tight, lantern rigs overhead.
And somewhere inside that chaos…
Small, ordinary boxes.
The kind no one looks at twice.
The kind that kill quietly.
I exhaled slowly, the sound loud in the still room.
So much for disappearing into the crowd.
The mission data hovered in my vision like pressure behind my eyes. I blinked the display away, but the weight of it stayed lodged in my chest.
All I'd wanted this morning was sleep.
Maybe wander the festival like a normal person. Eat something deep-fried. Get lost in the noise and color and not think about blast radiuses or casualty projections.
But The Guide had never once cared what I wanted.
A soft chime pinged in my right lens.
Sky flashed into view.
"Yo, you ready for Sunfire? Streets are already insane.I'll swing by and we can head over."
My thumb hovered over the reply field longer than it should have.
Then I typed.
"Can't. Got specific plans."
Typing dots appeared.
Vanished.
Reappeared.
"Lame. You're missing the best part.Does it involve you-know-who?"
I stared at the message.
Didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Because explaining meant explaining too much — and Sky didn't deserve to get pulled into this mess.
I pushed off the bed and ran a hand through my hair as I stepped into the hallway—
—and stopped dead.
Bella was sitting on my couch.
For a second, my brain just… stalled.
She was already dressed in dark jeans and a light fitted jacket, hair tied back in a loose knot that somehow still looked deliberate. Calm. Focused.
Like she'd been here a while.
The smell hit me next.
Eggs.
Toast.
Coffee.
On the table sat two steaming plates and a coffee pot still breathing thin curls of heat into the air.
Bella glanced up from her phone, completely unbothered.
"You're up," she said. "Good."
I blinked. "How did you—"
"The door was unlocked," she said casually, like that explained everything.
It did not.
"And before you ask—" she nodded toward the table, "—this is because I didn't cook dinner yesterday. Making up for it."
I stared at the food.
Then at her.
"That's… not really necessary."
Her eyes lifted to mine — steady, sharp, impossible to read.
"Maybe not," she said quietly. "But we both need to eat before we work."
Work.
Yeah.
She'd gotten the same briefing.
Which meant the clock was already ticking.
I sat across from her, wrapping my hands around the coffee mug. Heat seeped into my palms, grounding me.
We ate in silence.
Not awkward.
Not comfortable.
Just… charged.
Halfway through her toast, Bella spoke without looking up.
"You know… we don't have to make this all business."
I raised an eyebrow. "Bombs around the festival kind of make that hard."
A faint smirk tugged at her mouth.
"Not if we go undercover."
Now she had my attention.
She finally looked up, eyes sharp with that familiar tactical focus.
"We blend in. Act like we're just enjoying Sunfire. Eat street food. Watch performances…" Her voice dropped slightly. "…and quietly remove the threats while no one notices."
I leaned back slowly.
"So," I said, "have fun and defuse bombs."
"Exactly."
Then — just a fraction softer —
"No one will suspect us if we're just another couple of festival-goers."
My throat went dry.
Couple.
I covered it by taking a long sip of coffee.
Still…
She wasn't wrong.
Less noticeable.
More mobile.
And maybe — just maybe — I'd still get a piece of the festival I'd been looking forward to.
I set the cup down.
"Fine," I said. "Undercover it is. But you're buying the first snack."
Her lips curved — small but real.
"Deal."
We moved quickly after that.
The air in the apartment shifted — quiet morning replaced by that low, electric readiness that came before a mission.
Before masks went on.
Bella disappeared to change.
When she stepped back into the living room—
I forgot, briefly, that we were supposed to be dismantling bombs.
She'd traded tactical black for something softer.
A flowing skirt in warm sunset colors brushed her legs. A light blouse moved with the air. A thin scarf rested loosely at her neck, and delicate earrings caught the light when she turned.
Her hair was tied back with a ribbon.
Effortless.
Dangerously normal.
Only the sandals gave her away — new leather, flexible, chosen by someone who expected to run if necessary.
"Do I pass for 'completely harmless civilian'?" she asked, giving a slow twirl.
I adjusted the collar of my light coat, forcing my voice to stay even.
"You look like you're about to spend all day eating candied fruit."
Her eyebrow lifted.
"Which," I added, "is perfect."
The streets were already alive.
Lanterns swayed overhead in long glowing lines. Music drifted through the air — drums somewhere in the distance, laughter spilling from packed vendor rows, the sweet-burn smell of festival food thick enough to taste.
It was chaos.
Beautiful, loud chaos.
Exactly the kind that could hide a bomb.
We walked side by side into the current of people.
And every time I glanced at Bella—
She was already looking at me.
Sometimes with that small, knowing smirk.
Other times with something quieter.
Softer.
Unreadable.
And for the first time since the briefing…
I understood exactly how dangerous this mission was going to be.