-Corridor-
Aaron strode ahead, flipping through the thick case file with an air of casual indifference. The faint rustle of papers accompanied his steps as he skimmed the contents.
"Alright," he said after a few moments, snapping the folder shut with a decisive motion. "We start tomorrow. This case is far simpler than any of the others we've handled."
Behind him, Ethan, Soren, and Dylan marched in perfect synchronization, their footsteps echoing rhythmically through the dimly lit corridor. A few paces back, Theon walked at a more relaxed pace, his emerald-green eyes scanning the surroundings with quiet vigilance. At the rear of the group were Cillian and Kryll, their movements slower, deliberate.
"Yeah... seems like it," Ethan muttered, his teal eyes flicking toward the folder as Soren and Dylan leaned in to catch a glimpse of its contents.
Kryll nudged Cillian lightly with his elbow, his vibrant purple eyes glinting with a seriousness that hinted at doubt—was leaving this case in Aaron's hands truly the right call?
Cillian turned to meet Kryll's gaze.
"No."
The single word was barely audible, yet it carried an undeniable weight. It was not a suggestion but an assertion—a quiet declaration that Aaron's leadership on this mission would not go unquestioned.
Without hesitation, Cillian moved.
His strides were swift, fluid—silent. Before the trio even registered his approach, he was in front of them. His left hand lashed out, snatching the file from their grasp in one seamless motion.
Then—he overtook Aaron.
Cillian pivoted sharply on his heel, spinning to face the group. The sudden movement brought them to a halt, their synchronized steps faltering in the dim corridor.
Under the flickering lights, Cillian's spinel-red eyes gleamed with an intensity that silenced any objection. He held up the file, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"We're moving now."
His tone was cold, decisive—final. The authority in his words left no room for debate.
"Our victory rate for this mission is lower than any we've tackled before."
The corridor fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of his statement sinking in. Cillian flipped open the file, scanning its contents with practiced efficiency before issuing orders with precision.
"Dylan, Theon, Kryll—investigate the three locations listed for the Circus performances. I want every single detail, no matter how insignificant. Bring backup if you need it."
Without another second to waste, Cillian's gaze shifted.
"Soren, you're with me," he commanded, his tone calm yet absolute.
Then, his attention turned to Aaron. With a flick of his wrist, Cillian tossed the file in an effortless arc. Aaron barely caught it, fumbling slightly as the weight of the folder landed in his hands.
"Go get some sleep," Cillian added, his voice colder than before.
A stunned silence followed, the group frozen in disbelief.
Then—
"WHAT?!"
Aaron's roar of outrage echoed down the corridor, reverberating off the walls. His reaction was immediate and visceral, a stark contrast to Cillian's composed demeanor. Yet Cillian didn't flinch. His spinel-red eyes remained steady, unbothered by the outburst, as if Aaron's protest was nothing more than background noise to him.
Aaron's grip on the file tightened, his jaw clenched. Cillian's constant assertion of control had always grated on him—always making the decisions, always taking charge, as if it were his birthright.
His role.
Aaron's position.
His hands twitched. In a moment of unbridled frustration, he hurled the file to the floor. Papers scattered, drifting through the dimly lit corridor.
Cillian barely spared a glance at the mess before turning away.
"You bastard."
Aaron's voice was low, a menacing growl, but it halted Cillian in his tracks.
The rest of the group froze, tension crackling in the air like an impending storm.
Cillian remained motionless, not even turning back. His lack of reaction only fueled Aaron's rage.
In a blur of movement, Aaron lunged.
His fist hurtled towards Cillian's head, but with preternatural reflexes, Cillian tilted his body at the last second. The strike missed him by a hair's breadth.
Then—Cillian struck.
His movement was fluid, precise—a stark contrast to Aaron's raw aggression. In that moment, the difference in their skill levels became painfully apparent. Cillian's counterattack was not just a response, but a demonstration of why he held his position of authority within the group.
A sharp, precise kick to Aaron's ribs sent him staggering backward, but Aaron recovered quickly. His balance restored, he charged forward, unleashing a rapid flurry of punches aimed at Cillian.
Cillian moved with effortless precision, twisting and weaving through the onslaught. His spinel-red eyes remained unreadable, his composure unshaken.
"What's wrong, Aaron?" Cillian's voice cut through the chaos, calm—too calm. "Jealous?"
Aaron's rage ignited further. His blood boiled as he feinted left, then launched a powerful right hook. This time, his fist connected.
Cillian's head snapped to the side, a thin trail of blood trickling from the corner of his lips. Yet he didn't flinch. Slowly, he turned back to Aaron, tilting his head slightly—a gesture of quiet disdain, as though unimpressed by the strike.
Aaron stood panting, fists clenched tightly. "You stole my position," he spat, his voice thick with anger.
Cillian wiped the blood from his lips with his thumb and replied evenly, "I didn't steal anything."
"Bullshit!" Aaron roared, his voice echoing down the corridor. "That position was mine! It was supposed to be mine!"
Cillian stared at him for a long moment, silent and unmoving.
Then—without warning—he moved.
Fast.
Cillian's counterattack was swift and calculated, a blur of motion that showcased his mastery of combat.
In a heartbeat, Cillian moved behind Aaron with lightning speed. He delivered a devastating knee strike to Aaron's gut, followed by a precise blow to the back of his neck.
Aaron gasped, stumbling forward but refusing to yield. His determination was palpable, even as pain coursed through his body.
Cillian sighed, his voice tinged with cold indifference. "If it was yours, you wouldn't have lost it."
Aaron's vision blurred, his pride and body burning with equal intensity. With a roar of defiance, he forced himself upright, but Cillian was already moving.
In one fluid motion, Cillian's hand shot out, gripping Aaron's throat. With brutal efficiency, he slammed Aaron against the corridor wall.
The impact reverberated through the hallway, a stark demonstration of Cillian's superior combat skills.
The other assassins watched, tense and silent. None dared to interfere, recognizing the unspoken hierarchy at play.
Cillian leaned in slightly, his spinel-red gaze piercing into Aaron's eyes. His voice was low, laced with deadly intent. "Stay out of my way."
A chilling silence filled the space, broken only by Aaron's labored breathing. Then, without ceremony, Cillian released his grip. Aaron slid to the floor, panting and seething with rage and humiliation.
Without sparing another glance, Cillian turned away, his point made clear through action rather than words.
Soren exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Seriously, you two need to get a room or something."
Dylan muttered under his breath, "Damn, that was brutal."
Ethan just crossed his arms. "You done?"
Cillian didn't answer. He simply strode forward, his spinel-red eyes focused on the mission ahead, ignoring the aftermath of the confrontation.
Aaron remained slumped against the wall, his breath ragged, his body aching from the fight. But his pride bore the deepest wounds. His nails dug into his palms as he glared at Cillian's retreating figure, rage boiling within him. The question of how Cillian always managed to come out on top, walking ahead unbothered and untouchable, gnawed at him.
His lips twisted into a sneer. If he couldn't beat Cillian with strength, he'd strike where it hurt most.
"I wonder..." Aaron rasped, his voice carrying just far enough for all to hear, "...how she feels about this."
The loaded statement hung in the air, a subtle jab at an unspoken aspect of Cillian's life. The tension in the corridor thickened, as the other assassins exchanged wary glances, sensing the potential for this verbal attack to cut deeper than any physical blow.
The atmosphere in the corridor shifted dramatically, tension crackling like electricity. Cillian's sudden stillness was more telling than any reaction could have been. The other assassins tensed, sensing the dangerous shift in the air.
Aaron's grin was cruel, his voice a venomous whisper. "Your wife, Cillian."
The silence that followed was deafening. Soren's expression darkened, while Dylan muttered in disbelief, "The hell did you just say?"
Aaron's revelation struck at the heart of Cillian's carefully guarded privacy. Among the elite assassins, Cillian's personal life was an impenetrable mystery. No one knew of his family, his origins, or his existence beyond his lethal reputation. Only Kryll seemed to possess any insight into Cillian's private world.
Yet somehow, Aaron had stumbled upon this closely guarded secret. His words hung in the air, a dangerous gambit that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facade Cillian had maintained for years.
The other assassins watched, frozen, as the implications of Aaron's statement sank in. They knew that crossing this line could have severe consequences, not just for Aaron, but for all of them. The mention of Cillian's wife had shattered the professional boundary they all respected, opening a Pandora's box of potential complications.
The air turned razor-sharp, the weight of Aaron's words slicing through the corridor like a blade.
Cillian froze mid-stride, his spinel-red eyes burning with an intensity that made the others stiffen. The shift in his stance was subtle but deadly, a stillness that promised violence.
Aaron grinned through the pain, emboldened by the reaction. His voice was a cruel whisper, deliberate and cutting. "Your wife, Cillian. Luxana."
The silence that followed was immediate and absolute.
Dylan inhaled sharply. "Wait—what?"
Ethan blinked, confusion etched across his face. "Cillian has a—"
Soren cursed under his breath. "Oh, fuck."
Because none of them knew.
Not a single person in the guild had ever known anything about Cillian's personal life. He was an enigma, a shadow among shadows, his existence defined solely by his ruthless efficiency and bloodstained reputation. Family, origins, relationships—these were mysteries no one dared to question.
No one except Kryll.
And yet, somehow—Aaron did.
The revelation hung in the air like a live wire, crackling with tension. Cillian's expression remained unreadable, but his aura shifted into something far more dangerous. The deadly calm that radiated from him was suffocating, a quiet storm brewing just beneath the surface.
The other assassins exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to intervene or brace for what was about to unfold. Aaron's gamble had crossed an unspoken line—one that no one had dared approach before now.
The tension in the corridor became suffocating, pressing down on everyone present.
Aaron's smirk wavered slightly, but he pressed on, his voice dripping with venom and a hint of triumph. "Didn't think I'd find out, huh?"
For the first time, he'd struck a nerve in Cillian's impenetrable facade.
In a blur of motion, Cillian vanished.
Aaron's eyes widened for a split second before—
CRACK.
Cillian's fist slammed into Aaron's gut with brutal force, knocking the wind out of him. Before Aaron could react, another vicious strike sent him crashing back against the wall.
But Cillian wasn't done.
He seized Aaron by the collar, yanking him up until their faces were mere inches apart. Cillian's spinel-red eyes burned with an intensity that could melt steel.
"You talk too much," Cillian growled, his voice low and deadly.
Aaron coughed, a dry chuckle escaping despite the pain wracking his body. "Touched a nerve, didn't I?"
Cillian's grip on Aaron's collar tightened, his knuckles turning white with the force of his anger.
Soren took a hesitant step forward. "Cillian—"
But Cillian's focus remained locked on Aaron, his gaze drilling into him like sharpened steel. "Where did you hear that name?" His voice dropped, quieter and more menacing.
Aaron exhaled sharply, wincing as he smirked. "I have my ways."
Cillian didn't blink. "If you were smart, you'd forget what you just said."
Aaron chuckled, ignoring the warning. "And if I don't?"
Cillian leaned in close. "Then I'll make sure your corpse forgets it for you."
Silence fell, thick and heavy. Aaron's breath hitched for a moment, doubt flickering across his face as he questioned the wisdom of pushing Cillian this far.
The other assassins watched, frozen in indecision.
Suddenly, Cillian released his grip. Aaron collapsed to the floor, coughing as he steadied himself.
Cillian took a slow step back, his face blank but his eyes still burning with barely contained rage. Without another word, he turned and walked away. This time, no one dared to stop him.
Aaron wiped blood from his lips, watching Cillian disappear down the corridor. A grin spread across his face despite the pain.
So.
Cillian had a wife.
And more than that—he had secrets.
Aaron grinned to himself, despite the pain.
Interesting.
To be Continued...