The rain fell like whispers that night, soft and steady against the tinted windows of the black sedan parked on the hill overlooking the city. Inside, Ava Moretti sat perfectly still, her gloved fingers resting on her lap as she listened to the hum of the engine. The streetlights below shimmered through the rain like broken glass — a beautiful, dangerous city that never slept.
She didn't blink when the car door opened.
Marcus Gray slid in beside her, carrying the scent of cold air and cigarette smoke. He looked the same as always — dark coat, dark eyes, and that calm, unhurried menace that made everyone around him nervous.
"You're quiet," he said, lighting a cigarette. The flame's reflection danced across the side of her face. "That's never a good sign."
Ava didn't turn to look at him. "You said it was urgent."
Marcus exhaled, a slow curl of smoke drifting toward her. "It is. Director Hale has a new assignment for you."
The name alone made her spine straighten. Hale wasn't someone you questioned. He was a shadow that ruled the Serpents — the most feared assassination syndicate in Europe — a ghostly figure with no known face, only orders.
"Who's the target?" she asked, her voice even.
Marcus opened a folder and slid it across the seat. Inside was a single photo: a man in a charcoal suit, looking away from the camera, dark hair slightly messy as if the wind refused to obey him. Beneath the picture was a name.
Ethan Voss.
Ava frowned. "He doesn't look dangerous."
Marcus smirked. "They rarely do."
She studied the profile sheet. CEO of VossTech Industries. Former government cyber consultant. Currently living in Haverhill City. Age twenty-nine. Single.
The list went on — public achievements, accolades, and a record so clean it almost felt suspicious. But what caught her attention wasn't what was written. It was what wasn't.
"Why him?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
Marcus leaned back, tapping ash against the car's floor mat. "He's been digging into our operations. His company recently traced some offshore accounts that lead a little too close to our shell fronts. He probably doesn't even know who we are yet, but if he keeps looking—"
"He'll expose everything," Ava finished for him.
Marcus smiled. "That's my girl."
She closed the folder but didn't hand it back. "You want me to eliminate him quietly?"
"As always. No blood trails, no witnesses. Make it look like an accident."
Ava nodded. The familiar weight of another name pressed itself into her mind — another job, another face she would learn only to forget. She'd done this long enough to stop counting, but lately, something inside her had begun to crack.
It wasn't fear. It wasn't guilt either. It was exhaustion. A strange kind that lived beneath the skin, whispering that maybe she had lost herself somewhere along the way.
Marcus must've noticed the hesitation because his tone softened. "Ava," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're the best we have. Don't start doubting now."
She forced a smile. "I never doubt."
"Good. Because this one's personal for Hale."
She looked at him, confused. "Personal?"
He flicked his cigarette out the window and didn't answer.
---
The next morning, Ava stood in front of a mirror, adjusting the collar of her white blouse. Her long brown hair framed her face neatly, her eyes calm but unreadable. On the table beside her was a set of forged documents — résumé, university transcripts, references — everything she needed to step into Ethan Voss's world undetected.
She had memorized every detail of his schedule. His company, VossTech, had an open vacancy for a personal assistant after his former one had "resigned" suddenly. It was the perfect cover.
When she was satisfied, she slipped a small silver pendant around her neck — a keepsake from a life she couldn't remember clearly anymore — and left her apartment. The mission had begun.
---
VossTech's headquarters was a tower of glass and steel in the heart of Haverhill's business district. Inside, everything gleamed: the marble floors, the mirrored elevators, the endless rows of monitors displaying real-time data. It was the kind of place that smelled like money and ambition.
Ava approached the receptionist with quiet confidence. "Ava Moretti," she said. "I have an interview with Mr. Voss."
The woman smiled politely and gestured toward a private elevator. "Twenty-first floor, ma'am. He's expecting you."
The elevator ride was silent except for the soft hum of jazz playing through hidden speakers. Ava used the time to steady her breathing. It wasn't nerves; it was focus. Every mission had its rhythm, its tempo, and she knew exactly when to play her part.
When the doors slid open, Ethan Voss was standing by the window, back turned, staring at the skyline.
He turned as she entered, and for a split second, something flickered in his eyes — curiosity, or perhaps recognition, though they had never met. He was taller than she expected, dressed in a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his expression calm but sharp.
"Ava Moretti," he said, his voice low and even. "Please, sit."
She did, studying him discreetly. There was something about him — not just his composure, but the quiet sadness behind it. He didn't seem like the arrogant CEOs she'd dealt with before. He seemed… tired.
He skimmed her résumé and looked up. "You've worked with several tech firms before?"
"Yes, sir. Mostly in data logistics and client management."
He nodded slowly. "And why did you leave your last position?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "The company went bankrupt."
He smiled faintly. "Convenient."
She raised an eyebrow. "For them, not for me."
That earned a chuckle. It wasn't rehearsed; it was real. And that unnerved her more than she cared to admit.
The interview went on for another fifteen minutes. Ethan asked technical questions, behavioral ones, even personal ones — though always with that quiet detachment of a man who saw more than he said. When it ended, he closed the folder and said, "You're hired. Start tomorrow."
Ava blinked. "Just like that?"
He shrugged. "You seemed prepared. Besides, I trust my instincts."
She smiled politely. "That might not always be a good thing."
He looked at her for a long moment. "Maybe not. But sometimes, that's all we have."
---
That night, Ava sat in her apartment with the lights off, staring at the city below. The photo of Ethan lay on the table, now joined by a small black pistol, a silencer, and a vial of clear poison. The plan was simple — gain his trust, find his weakness, and make the kill undetectable.
But for the first time, she hesitated before assembling her tools.
Ethan Voss wasn't what she expected. There was something about the way he spoke — not cautious, but burdened, as if he carried ghosts of his own. And that flicker in his eyes when he first saw her — she couldn't shake it.
She poured herself a glass of whiskey and sank into the chair. Outside, the rain returned, tapping gently against the windows like a lullaby for the damned.
Her phone buzzed.
Marcus: Status update.
Ava typed back: I'm in.
Seconds later: Good. Don't lose focus. Remember what happens to those who fail.
She stared at the message a long time before replying: I never fail.
But as she set the phone down, her reflection in the window whispered otherwise. There was a time she believed that. Now, she wasn't so sure.
---
The next day, Ava arrived early. Ethan's office was quiet, sunlight spilling across the glass walls. He looked up from his computer as she entered. "You're early," he said.
"I like to be prepared."
He gestured to the coffee machine. "That makes one of us."
She smiled faintly and handed him his schedule. "You have a board meeting at ten, a call with the investors at noon, and lunch with the legal team at one."
He nodded approvingly. "Efficient. I like that."
Hours passed smoothly. She worked silently, observing him while pretending not to. He was methodical but distant, polite but closed off. Every once in a while, she caught him staring at nothing, lost in thoughts that seemed to darken his expression.
At lunch, he surprised her by saying, "Join me."
She hesitated. "Sir?"
He looked up from his computer. "Call me Ethan. And yes, join me. I don't like eating alone."
So they went to a quiet restaurant nearby — nothing extravagant, just warm lighting and soft music. Over pasta and wine, conversation began to flow more easily than she expected. He asked about her childhood; she lied, saying she grew up in Florence. She asked about his family; he said there wasn't much to tell.
"No one left?" she asked softly.
He looked out the window. "Not anymore."
Something in his tone made her stop breathing for a second. He spoke like a man who had lost everything but refused to show it.
Later that evening, when she returned home, she found a message waiting on her burner phone. Marcus again.
Marcus: Remember, Ava. He's a target, not a person.
She stared at the text, then at the photograph of Ethan she'd pinned to her wall. For the first time in years, she felt something other than control.
Regret.
Doubt.
And something far more dangerous — curiosity.
---
That night, she dreamed of him — his eyes, the quiet way he smiled when she corrected him, the way the rain seemed to follow them wherever they went. When she woke up, her pulse was racing.
She sat up, pressed her palms to her face, and whispered, "What are you doing, Ava?"
But there was no answer. Just the soft hum of the city below and the ticking of the clock counting down to the inevitable.
Tomorrow, she would step closer to Ethan Voss.
And tomorrow, she would begin to fall.