The briefing room buzzed with tension. A large map of the city was projected on the screen, marked with red lines and black circles over several hotspots. Senior agents sat in silence, their faces grim, while others typed furiously on laptops or flipped through thick case files.
Kaeliano leaned back in his chair with his usual laid-back posture—until the next slide appeared. His eyes narrowed instantly.
Name: Zarek Kaelthorne
Korean–African-American. Dreadlocked. Fierce reputation. Recently risen as one of the local gangster leaders. Suspected involvement in arms trafficking.
For a fraction of a second, Kaeliano froze. His fists tightened under the table, but his face stayed unreadable. No shock, no panic—just a fleeting tension in his eyes before they returned to their usual calm.
One of the senior agents stood and pointed at the screen.
"Our primary target is the multinational mafia network. Several local names have surfaced as pawns. One of them—Kaelthorne. Remember the name. He's a newcomer, but ruthless. Intel suggests he isn't acting alone. Someone much bigger is pulling the strings. Identity: unknown. Hidden. Dangerous."
Whispers rippled through the room. Younger agents looked half-awed, half-frightened at the mention of the gangster's name.
Seraphine turned her gaze to Kaeliano, expecting insight. She knew him—usually, he could read criminal patterns faster than anyone.
"Draxmore. Your analysis?"
For a moment, Kaeliano remained silent, eyes fixed on the screen. A long breath steadied him, hiding the storm in his chest. Zarek… what have you gotten yourself into?
When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, controlled.
"Kaelthorne… from these patterns, he's not the mastermind. It's too clean for a rookie boss. He's a pawn—at best, a right hand. His moves are violent, but not fully structured. Which means someone else is directing the orchestra. Someone far more dangerous."
The room grew still. Pens stopped scratching. All eyes were on him.
Kaeliano folded his arms, tone calm but cutting.
"Our biggest mistake would be to waste time chasing pawns while the real player hides in the shadows. Kaelthorne is a threat, yes. But he's not the core problem. The real question is: who has enough power to control the mafia, corrupt officials, and dirty cops—without ever showing his face?"
A young agent nodded quickly, scribbling down notes. Seraphine studied Kaeliano closely. Something in his voice betrayed a personal weight, though his face was a mask of indifference.
Kaeliano leaned back again, as if he had said enough. His expression returned to its usual relaxed neutrality, almost too calm. Inside, though, his chest felt heavier than ever.
"So…" he added flatly, "our focus shouldn't just be Kaelthorne. If we make the wrong move, we'll only be wasting time."
Seraphine glanced at her notes, but her eyes flicked back to him. In her gut, she knew—Kaeliano was rarely wrong. Yet the look in his eyes when Zarek's name was spoken… it wasn't professional detachment. It was something else.
The briefing ended. Agents filed out of the conference room, their steps quick and voices sharp, clutching folders and tablets. The FBI headquarters was a hive of activity—buzzing radios, hurried footsteps, clipped orders echoing through the halls.
A senior officer stopped in front of Kaeliano, handing him a sealed folder.
"Draxmore. You're assigned to an undercover operation two nights from now. Your partner will be Teddy Marquez."
Kaeliano's eyes narrowed slightly as he accepted the file without a word. But inside, annoyance flickered.
Of course… Teddy.
The photo clipped to the documents showed a broad-shouldered man with sun-bronzed skin, sharp jaw, and a half-smirk that screamed defiance. Teddy Marquez—one of the bureau's most relentless agents. Strong, cunning… and insufferably arrogant.
Kaeliano closed the file calmly, though a memory burned fresh in his mind.
Two Days Earlier – FBI Training Hall
The two of them had nearly come to blows during sparring practice.
"Genius, huh? The agency's 'golden boy'?" Teddy had taunted, spinning a practice baton lazily in his hands. "Funny. I can read every move you make."
Kaeliano smirked as he blocked the strike with ease. "Strange. Because I could put you on the floor in three steps… if I wasn't too bored to bother."
The match escalated, sparks flying with every clash. Neither wanted to back down. The instructor had to separate them, but the room already knew: Teddy and Kaeliano were oil and fire. Kittens with claws—always one second away from tearing each other apart.
Back to the Present
Kaeliano snapped the folder shut, his face unreadable. "Understood," he said flatly, before walking out.
It wasn't the mission that worried him. It was the company he had to keep.
Meanwhile – At the Hospital
In another part of the city, a gentler scene unfolded.
Kaeliano's uncle—his guardian since childhood—had arrived for a routine check-up. A nurse welcomed him into the examination room.
The door opened, and a young man in a crisp white coat greeted him with a warm smile. His eyes were sharp, steady, but kind.
"Good afternoon. I'm Dr. Eryndal Veynor," he said, offering his hand.
The uncle froze for a moment. That name… it rang deep. Eryndal—the boy who once ran through the streets with Kaeliano, his loyal friend. Now standing tall, a man of medicine.
The check-up went smoothly. Eryndal was meticulous, attentive, even pausing to ask personal questions with gentle concern.
"If you feel anything unusual, don't hesitate. Health is the foundation," Eryndal said firmly. Then, with a softer tone: "And Kaeliano still needs an uncle strong enough to keep him in line."
The older man chuckled faintly, though his chest tightened with pride. Still the same Eryndal. Still the boy who cared for everyone around him.
That Night
The city lights glimmered under the velvet sky, neon signs buzzing against the cold wind that swept between the high-rises. Kaeliano stepped out of the FBI headquarters, his expression unreadable—the meeting still echoing in his mind.
"Operation with Teddy?" he muttered under his breath as he unlocked his car. "Nothing worse than that."
He twisted the key. The engine coughed once, sputtered, and died.
Again. Still dead.
"Damn it…" Kaeliano growled, giving the tire a frustrated kick. With no other choice, he slammed the door shut and started walking toward the bus stop, his black shirt fluttering in the night breeze.
Shops were already closing down, their shutters half-drawn, while the neon glow of nightclubs painted the sidewalks in shifting colors. Music thumped faintly from somewhere down the block.
A sleek car slowed beside him, the window rolling down. Behind the wheel, a woman with golden wavy hair and sharp, elegant features—Seraphine. A longtime friend from college, now a trusted FBI agent.
"Kael, need a ride home? The streets aren't safe at this hour," she said, worry lacing her voice.
Kaeliano barely glanced at her, smirking faintly.
"No need. I've got business. Don't follow me, Sera. Trust me, you don't want to be anywhere near where I'm going."
Her lips parted as if to argue, but his cold stare silenced her. With a frustrated sigh, she pressed on the gas, her car disappearing into the distance.
Kaeliano shoved his hands into his pockets, watching the taillights fade.
Zarek's headquarters. I need to knock some sense into him, even if it means throwing a punch.His stride halted when a young woman burst out of a nightclub. Her beauty was striking, her figure delicate yet alluring in a crimson dress that caught too much attention under the streetlights. Her breath came fast, eyes wild with panic as if running from a nightmare.
Kaeliano's gaze lingered for only a second before he kept walking.
Then—tires screeched.
A black car shot forward from the corner, headlights glaring, chasing directly after her.
The woman stumbled, nearly falling as she tried to escape. Her voice carried a desperate cry into the night.
Kaeliano stopped, jaw tightening. His instincts screamed at him.
Still, he exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath,
"Not my problem."
He turned away, his long shadow stretching under the dim glow of a streetlamp, while the chaos echoed behind him. The sound of the woman's heels pounding against the pavement, the car horn blaring, her scream fading into the distance.
Yet deep down, a knot twisted in his chest—an itch his training, his instincts, wouldn't let him ignore for long.