Chapter 21
Living Room — 8:26 AM
Yuki sat on the edge of the mattress for a while after Aveline left, hands over her face. Her cheeks still burned.
Eventually, the heat from the fireplace gave way to a different kind of discomfort—sticky skin, stale clothes, the sour tang of dried sweat and smoke. She groaned and forced herself upright.
Her phone lay on the coffee table where she'd dropped it last night. She grabbed it, thumb brushing over the cracked screen.
No "No Service."
Actual bars. The Wi‑Fi icon blinked weakly in the corner.
Yuki froze. Then she let out a strangled noise halfway between a squeak and a scream.
"Adrian!" she yelled, bolting toward the kitchen. "The internet's back!"
Adrian, mid-sip of coffee, nearly dropped his mug. "What?"
She shoved the phone in his face. "Look! Signal. Wi‑Fi. We're back in civilization."
He squinted at it. "Huh. Guess the towers dug themselves out."
"If the signal's back…" Yuki spun, already heading for the hallway. "The pipes might be too—"
She twisted the bathroom tap.
For a moment, nothing. Then the pipes coughed and rattled, spitting out a burst of rusty water before it cleared into a steady, blessed stream.
Yuki slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god."
"Thank you, plumbing gods," Adrian muttered from behind her. "We can actually shower."
Yuki turned, wide-eyed, wild. "Dibs. I smell like depression and gunpowder."
"Pretty sure Aveline needs it more than either of us."
"Aveline probably bathes in vodka and the blood of her enemies," Yuki shot back. "Move."
She darted into the living room, grabbed the change of clothes Aveline had left for her days ago, and vanished into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind her.
Adrian listened to the rush of water through the pipes—the sharp hiss of a real shower. For the first time in days, the mansion felt less like a bunker and more like a house.
He took another gulp of coffee, then glanced toward the stairs.
He still wasn't sure which bothered him more: waking up to find Aveline wrapped around Yuki like she'd grown there, or how natural it had looked.
He shoved the thought aside and went to hunt for a clean towel.
Kitchen — 9:02 AM
Yuki emerged twenty minutes later in a cloud of steam, cheeks flushed, hair damp and curling at the ends. She looked lighter somehow, like someone had peeled a layer of exhaustion off her.
"I think I just saw God," she announced. "In the shape of hot water."
"Don't use it all," Adrian said, already brushing past her with his towel. "Some of us are still radioactive."
"I left some mercy for you." She cupped her hands around her mouth and called after him, "Can't promise the same for Aveline!"
The shower was scalding and imperfect and the best thing Adrian had felt in days. Gray wash water swirled down the drain—ash, sweat, dried blood, marker ink. For a few minutes, there was no apocalypse, no mission, no Aveline. Just heat and the steady percussion of water on tile.
By the time he came back down, Aveline was already in the kitchen in a fresh black turtleneck and dark jeans, hair damp at the ends but somehow neat again. There was no visible evidence she'd been asleep on a too-small mattress by the fireplace.
Yuki sat at the table with both hands wrapped around a mug, eyes closed like she was meditating. "She has toothpaste," she muttered. "Actual mint toothpaste. Not the hospital chalk. We're saved."
Adrian dropped into the chair opposite her. "Guess the pipes thawed everywhere."
"The storm broke overnight." Aveline flipped something in a pan, movements economical. "Road crews started clearing major routes at dawn. Highways are reopening in sections already."
"You checked?" Adrian asked.
Aveline tipped her head toward the counter. A small radio sat there, volume low. A calm announcer drifted through the static, listing road numbers and districts. "…snow removal continuing… secondary streets to follow as crews progress…"
Yuki lifted her mug. "To civilization."
"No toasts," Aveline said. "You train with knives in an hour. You'll need your hands."
Yuki lowered the mug. "You really know how to kill a mood."
"That's literally my job," Aveline said.
Training Room — 10:02 AM
The mats were cold underfoot again. Showers or not, the air in the training room still bit at exposed skin.
Aveline stood in the center, a short combat knife in each hand. Not wooden trainers this time—real steel, dull enough not to lop off fingers, sharp enough that a mistake would still hurt.
"Rule one," she said. "Never assume a knife fight is survivable. If someone pulls a blade, you're already losing. Your goal is not to win. Your goal is to walk away with as many organs still inside your body as possible."
Yuki swallowed. "That's… encouraging."
"It's realistic." Aveline stabbed one knife into the foam dummy's chest, right where a heart would be, then dragged it sideways in a short, efficient cut. "Guns are loud. Knives are quiet. Up close, they're worse."
Training Room — 10:02 AM
She pulled the blade free. "Grip. Standard forward." She wrapped her fingers around the handle, blade extending from the thumb side of her fist. "Reverse." She flipped it, the knife now pointing down along her forearm. "You'll learn both. Each has a purpose."
She held the knife out to Yuki first.
Yuki hesitated before taking it. It felt wrong in her hand too heavy, too sharp, too personal.
Aveline stepped in close, adjusting Yuki's fingers without asking. Her hands were like ice around Yuki's knuckles.
"Thumb here," Aveline murmured. "Not on the spine. You'll cut yourself under impact. Wrist straight. Elbow in. The blade is part of your arm, not an accessory you're borrowing."
Yuki shivered. "What about… slashing?"
"Slashing is messy. Unreliable. You stab to end a threat. You slash to make them bleed out later or drop the weapon." Aveline guided Yuki's arm in a slow, controlled thrust toward the dummy's gut, then up under where its ribs would be. "Target zones: throat, inner thigh, armpit, kidneys. Anywhere with major vessels."
Yuki's face went a shade paler. "Great."
"Hey," Adrian said. "Maybe don't give her the serial killer lecture right away."
"She's already marked as a target," Aveline replied, eyes still on Yuki's grip. "This just keeps her alive longer."
She stepped back. "Again. On your own. Slow."
Yuki mimicked the motion. Thrust. Up. Withdraw. Her shoulders were tight, but the angle of her wrist was closer to what Aveline had shown.
"Better," Aveline said. "You overextend. Keep the power in your core, not your shoulder."
Yuki tried again, jaw set.
When Aveline finally turned to Adrian, her tone cooled another few degrees.
"Your turn."
She tossed him the second knife. Adrian caught it easily, the weight familiar.
"Forward grip," she said.
He shifted without thinking.
"Reverse."
He flipped it, blade sliding smoothly into the new position.
"Attack the dummy. Center mass."
He stepped in and drove the knife into the dummy's chest in a clean, decisive line.
"Again."
He repeated the motion, quicker this time.
"Not bad," Aveline said. "NPU taught you that?"
"Close-quarters elective," Adrian said. "For raids."
"Your footwork's sloppy." She stayed where she was, making no move to correct him physically. "You're assuming your target stays still. They don't."
Adrian exhaled through his nose. "You just spent five minutes turning Yuki into a very pretty marionette. You can fix my feet."
"You don't need me to hold your hand," Aveline said. "Figure it out."
He stabbed harder than necessary the next time.
"Too much force," she added. "You're not chopping wood. You're creating holes. Precision over power."
He pulled back, jaw tight. "Got it."
Aveline looked between them. "Now, disarms. Adrian, you keep the knife. Yuki, you take his wrist and live."
Yuki made a small noise. "That's very optimistic of you."
Aveline moved behind her, cold hands settling on Yuki's shoulders. "Eyes on the knife, not his face. People telegraph with their arms, not their expressions."
"Right." Yuki squared up, swallowing.
Adrian lifted the blade. "You sure?"
"If you hold back, she learns nothing," Aveline said. "If you hurt her, I make sure you regret it."
"Motivating," he muttered.
He lunged, slow at first, aiming a straight line toward Yuki's midsection. Yuki flinched away, swiping clumsily at his forearm instead of redirecting it. The knife stopped inches from her hoodie.
"Inside the arm," Aveline said, catching Yuki's wrist and pushing it toward the inner line of Adrian's strike. "Not away from it. Again."
They repeated the sequence. And again. Each time, Aveline adjusted Yuki's elbow, the angle of her palm, the position of her feet.
Adrian watched the way Aveline's fingers stayed steady no matter how many times Yuki fumbled. The way her voice dipped a fraction softer when Yuki's breathing sped up.
"Good," Aveline murmured once Yuki managed a clean redirect, slapping Adrian's wrist aside before his momentum could carry him in. "Again. Faster."
He increased speed, steps coming more naturally now. Yuki kept up for the first three runs, blocking and redirecting, even managing a quick elbow to where his ribs would be twice.
On the fourth, she misjudged the distance and stepped in at the wrong angle. His forearm brushed her chest, and they almost collided.
She squeaked and stumbled.
Aveline's hand snapped around Adrian's wrist before he had time to finish pulling the strike. Her grip locked down over the tendons, iron-hard.
"Careful," she said quietly.
Adrian met her gaze. For a second, there was nothing but a flat warning there.
"She stepped into it," he said.
"And you adapted," Aveline replied.
Perfect continue writing
"Good. Just don't forget she's not your enemy."
Yuki straightened, cheeks pink. "I'm fine. Keep going."
They switched Adrian empty‑handed now, Yuki with the knife. Her grip was still awkward, but she improved with every pass. Aveline hovered near her shoulder, occasionally guiding, occasionally just watching in silence.
By the time Aveline finally called a break, Yuki's arms shook and Adrian's shirt clung damp to his back.
"Water," Aveline said. "Ten minutes. Then sparring."
Yuki dropped onto the bench against the wall. "She's trying to kill us," she muttered between gulps from her bottle.
Adrian sat beside her more slowly. "She already did. This is extra credit."
Yuki huffed out a laugh, then winced, rolling her sore wrists. "Do you think I'm actually getting better? Or is she just… tolerating me."
"She doesn't know how to pretend," Adrian said. "If you sucked, she'd say so."
Across the room, Aveline was cleaning the knives with slow, methodical movements. Her posture was loose, shoulders relaxed no visible strain at all despite having gone longer and harder than either of them. Her hands never trembled.
Adrian's mind flicked back to the bed last night, the way she'd lifted the whole frame by herself and carried it down the stairs like it weighed nothing.
Too strong for her size. Too fast. Too… everything.
"Hey," Yuki said softly. "You spaced out."
"Yeah." Adrian tore his eyes away. "Just thinking."
"That's dangerous," Aveline called without looking up. "You might hurt yourself."
Adrian rolled his eyes. "Appreciate your concern."
"Good." She slid the knives back into their sheaths with a practiced motion. "On your feet. Sparring."
Training Room — 10:54 AM
They faced each other again on the mat—no knives this time, just bare hands and bruised pride.
"No blades for this round," Aveline said. "You're practicing distance, timing, and restraint. Adrian attacks, Yuki defends. You can strike back, but no head shots. Try not to break each other."
Yuki flexed her fingers. "That's very specific and not at all reassuring."
"Three," Aveline said. "Two. One."
Adrian moved first, testing. A light jab toward Yuki's shoulder, easily blocked. He circled, feinted low, went high. Yuki flinched, but managed to get her forearm up in time.
"Good," Aveline said. "Don't chase him. Let him come to you."
Adrian increased the pace. Not full speed, but enough to make her work for it. His strikes were controlled, but the contact added up—taps to her ribs, her arm, her side.
Yuki stumbled back under the pressure. "Ow! Okay. Rude."
"You're leaving your right side open," Adrian said, even as he tagged it again.
"Because you keep hitting it!"
"Then stop letting me."
"Adrian," Aveline said. "You're accelerating faster than she can keep up."
"She needs to learn," he shot back, landing another strike a bit harder than intended. "The world isn't going to go easy on her."
"No," Aveline replied. "But you're not the world. You're supposed to be on the same side."
Yuki sucked in a breath and straightened. "I'm fine. Really. Keep going."
Aveline studied them for a beat, then gave a small nod. "Thirty seconds."
They moved again.
Adrian pushed. The rhythm of it should've been grounding breathe, step, strike but everything felt slightly off‑center. Every time Yuki flinched, his mind dragged back to the image of Aveline curled against her this morning, to the way Yuki had smiled, soft and unguarded.
His strikes got sharper. Sloppier.
Yuki blocked two in a row. Missed the third.
His palm caught just above her stomach, more force behind it than he'd meant. Air burst from her lungs in a choked sound. She folded over and dropped to one knee, arms wrapping around her middle.
"Enough." Aveline was there instantly, one hand between Yuki's shoulder blades, the other steadying her arm. "Breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth."
"I'm—fine," Yuki wheezed, eyes watering.
Adrian stepped back, stomach dropping. "Shit. Sorry. I didn't—"
"Didn't mean to, but you did," Aveline said, voice flat. She didn't raise it; she didn't need to. "I told you: control beats aggression. Every time."
"I know." His hands curled into fists, nails biting his palms. "I just—"
"You let whatever's in your head bleed into the fight," she cut in. "That's how people die on missions. Your team doesn't need your issues. They need your aim."
Yuki managed a weak laugh. "Still not dead. Just… winded."
"Stay that way," Aveline said. She waited until Yuki's breathing evened out before helping her up—cold fingers careful on her arm. "We're done."
"I can keep—" Adrian started.
"I said we're done." Aveline wiped her hands on a towel, dismissing the session as cleanly as if she'd flicked off a switch. "Shower again if you want. Lunch in an hour."
She walked off the mat without looking back.
Yuki stretched her side with a wince. "She's right, you know," she said quietly. "You were kinda going hard there."
"I know." Guilt settled heavy behind his ribs. "I'm sorry."
She nudged his arm with her elbow. "You hit like a truck. I'll take that as a compliment."
He huffed something close to a laugh. "Still sorry."
They left the training room together in silence.
Living Room — 3:02 PM
By mid‑afternoon, the house had settled into a strange, almost domestic quiet. Snow outside, warmth from the fireplace, the faint hum of the heating system finally doing its job.
Aveline declared "free time" with all the enthusiasm of announcing a mandatory briefing and left them in the living room while she tinkered with something in the next room.
Yuki flopped onto the couch with a theatrical groan. "I'm dead."
"You're not dead," Adrian said, lowering himself onto the other end far more carefully than usual. His ribs still complained when he leaned back. "If you were, she'd have dragged you outside and left you for the wolves."
"Comforting." Yuki buried her face in a cushion. "My cause of death is going to be 'tiny woman with knives.' Not the virus. Not mutants. Just her."
"Yet," Adrian said.
"Yet," Yuki echoed miserably.
Aveline walked past them toward the built-in shelves, expression unreadable. She flicked the TV on the old screen crackling to life with a burst of static then slid a disc into a player that looked almost as outdated as the furniture.
"What are we watching?" Yuki asked, lifting her head.
"Something educational," Aveline said.
The movie booted up in grainy color. Russian titles rolled across the screen in angular Cyrillic letters. Snowy rooftops. Men in long coats with cigarettes dangling from their lips. A woman in a red dress stepping off a train, her eyes sharp and calculating even through the film grain.
"Is this a spy movie?" Yuki asked.
"Da," Aveline said without turning around. She settled into the armchair near the fire, vodka glass already in hand. "1980s. Before everything went digital and boring."
The dialogue was entirely in Russian fast, clipped, layered over tense orchestral strings. Aveline occasionally murmured translations under her breath, just loud enough for them to catch fragments.
"He's lying… She knows… The embassy is compromised…"
Yuki pulled a blanket over herself and tried to follow along. Adrian sat stiffly, arms crossed, eyes on the screen but not really watching.
His mind kept drifting.
The way Aveline's hands had been ice-cold this morning when she'd corrected Yuki's grip. The way she'd lifted that bed frame yesterday like it was made of cardboard. The way she moved during training faster than she should be, stronger than her frame suggested, never winded, never hesitating.
On screen, the woman in red was cornered in a safehouse. The music swelled. Her partner a broad-shouldered man with a scar on his jaw stepped into the doorway.
She smiled. Relief flooded her face.
He raised his gun.
The shot echoed through the old speakers, distorted and tinny. The woman crumpled against the wall, red spreading across her dress in a dark, blooming stain. Her expression twisted...not pain, but betrayal.
Her partner turned and walked away without looking back.
Yuki gasped softly. "Oh my god. He just—"
"Left her to die," Aveline finished, voice flat. She took a slow sip of vodka, eyes never leaving the screen. "Classic move."
Adrian's phone buzzed in his pocket.
He flinched, pulled it out. The screen lit up with a name he knew too well.
Captain Elias Ward – NPU
His stomach dropped.
"I need to take this," he muttered, standing.
Yuki glanced over. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Work stuff." He moved toward the hallway, thumb already swiping to answer. "Give me a minute."
He stepped into the cold, narrow corridor and pressed the phone to his ear.
"Adrian." Elias's voice was steady, but there was an edge to it something urgent beneath the calm. "Good news. Roads are clearing faster than expected. We're green-lighting the operation."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "When?"
"Tomorrow. Maybe the day after if the secondary routes aren't passable yet. But soon." A pause. "You won't have to work with Aveline much longer. Just a few more days and you're back here."
"Right," Adrian said, though the words felt hollow.
"There's something else," Elias continued. "We've been analyzing the samples we recovered from the last raid. Found a new classification."
Adrian leaned against the wall. "New how?"
"Semi-mutants," Elias said. "It's rare, but it happens. The serum doesn't fully take brain function stays intact, cognitive abilities remain human. But the physical changes still occur."
Adrian's pulse kicked up. "What kind of changes?"
"Enhanced strength. Faster reflexes. Increased durability." Elias's tone turned clinical, the way it always did when he was reading from reports. "Body temperature drops significantly. Cold to the touch, like a corpse. We've got a few in containment now lab facility in the northern sector. Still trying to figure out how they're staying functional when the others degrade so fast."
Adrian's throat went dry.
Cold to the touch.
Enhanced strength.
Faster reflexes.
The room felt smaller suddenly. His hand tightened around the phone.
"Adrian? You still there?"
"Yeah," he forced out. "I'm here."
"Good. Just wanted to keep you in the loop. We'll send coordinates and final op details once the roads are confirmed clear. Stay ready."
"Copy that."
The line went dead.
Adrian stood there for a long moment, phone still pressed to his ear even though no one was on the other end anymore.
His mind was racing, pulling threads together that he didn't want to connect.
Aveline's hands. Ice-cold, even pressed against the fireplace.
The way she'd lifted Yuki's bed frame without hesitation, without strain.
The speed in her movements during training reactions too fast, strikes too precise.
Her wealth. The mansion. The gear that was far beyond what any crime division agent should have access to.
The way she'd known exactly what to do when NPU had that case. The way she'd pulled a full tactical team together in under twenty minutes.
Semi-mutants. Cold like a corpse. Enhanced strength. Brain intact.
"No," he whispered to himself. "No, that's—"
From the living room, a sharp, anguished scream cut through the air.
Adrian's heart nearly stopped before he realized it was the TV the woman in red, dying on screen, betrayed and bleeding out in a language he didn't understand.
He stepped back into the living room slowly.
Yuki had her knees pulled up to her chest, eyes wide and damp. "That was so sad," she whispered.
Aveline sat in the armchair, glass of vodka cradled in one hand, expression unreadable. Her eyes were still on the screen, but Adrian couldn't tell if she was watching the movie or something else entirely.
For a moment, their eyes met.
And Adrian couldn't shake the feeling that she knew. That she'd been waiting for this.
He sat back down on the couch, hands clenched into fists on his knees, and forced himself to keep breathing.
Just a theory. Just a coincidence. You don't know anything for sure.
But the pieces kept clicking into place, one after another, whether he wanted them to or not.
Dining Room — 6:47 PM
Dinner was quiet.
Too quiet.
Aveline had made something simple roasted vegetables, bread, soup but Adrian barely tasted any of it. He moved food around his plate, chewing mechanically, swallowing without really noticing.
Yuki tried to fill the silence with chatter about the movie, about how unfair the ending was, about how she'd never trust anyone in a trench coat again.
Aveline responded in short, clipped sentences. "Mm." "Maybe." "Smart choice."
Adrian said almost nothing.
"You okay?" Yuki finally asked, fork paused halfway to her mouth. "You've been weird since that phone call."
"Fine," Adrian said. "Just tired."
"Liar," Yuki said, but she didn't push.
Aveline's eyes flicked toward him briefly, then back to her plate. She took a slow sip of water, fingers pale against the glass.
Cold fingers. Always cold.
Adrian forced himself to look away.
After dinner, Yuki helped clear the table while Aveline disappeared upstairs. Adrian stayed seated, staring at nothing, mind turning over the same thoughts again and again.
Enhanced strength. Cold body. Brain intact. Semi-mutant.
"Hey," Yuki said softly, touching his shoulder. "Seriously. You're scaring me a little. What's going on?"
He looked up at her. Sweet, trusting Yuki, who'd been through hell and still managed to smile. Who curled up next to Aveline like she was safe.
What if she's not?
"Nothing," he said. "Just… thinking about the mission. It's coming up soon."
Yuki's face fell. "Oh. Right." She sat down beside him. "Are you scared?"
"No," he lied.
She didn't believe him. He could tell. But she didn't call him out on it.
"We'll be okay," she said quietly. "All of us. Right?"
Adrian wanted to say yes. Wanted to believe it.
Instead, he just nodded and stood. "I'm going to bed. You should too."
"Yeah." Yuki smiled, small and tired. "Goodnight, Adrian."
"Goodnight."
He climbed the stairs slowly, every step heavier than the last.
Adrian's Room — 11:34 PM
Adrian lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep wouldn't come.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Aveline's face. Calm. Unreadable. Knowing.
He replayed every interaction. Every moment.
The cold hands.
The inhuman strength.
The speed.
The way she'd moved during training—effortless, controlled, like violence was a second language she'd learned before she could walk.
The mansion. The money. The connections.
The way she'd pulled that tactical team together in minutes.
Semi-mutants. Rare. Brain intact. Enhanced.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He grabbed it.
A message from Elias.
Elias: Op confirmed. Day after tomorrow. 06:00 departure. Be ready.
Adrian set the phone down and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.
Two days.
Two days, and he'd be back in the field. Back with NPU. Away from this place. Away from her.
But what if he was wrong?
What if he was just paranoid, piecing together coincidences into a conspiracy that didn't exist?
And what if he wasn't?
Downstairs, he heard the faint crackle of the fireplace. Yuki's soft breathing. The house settling into sleep.
Somewhere in this mansion, Aveline was awake too. He was sure of it.
Adrian exhaled slowly and turned onto his side, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.
Two days, he thought. Just two more days. Then I'll know for sure.
But even as he thought it, he wasn't sure he wanted to know at all.