Leo's eyes locked on mine, unflinching, as if trying to read the hatred I'd long buried beneath my calm. I knew he saw it — how much I despised his family. My chest tightened. I turned away, exhaled deeply, and wiped the tears from my cheeks. No words. No explanations. I walked past him without another glance. This conversation was over.
"Do you really hate my family that much?"
His question stopped me cold. The air between us thickened. I could hear the low, deliberate pull of his breath before he spoke again.
"Then why don't you leave?"
I let out a sharp scoff. "You think I haven't tried?"
He turned toward me, confusion flickering across his brow, and I met his gaze briefly over my shoulder — just long enough for him to see the exhaustion in my eyes — before I walked away for good.
The Field
Night deepened over the academy grounds. I stood alone in the middle of the field, the silence so heavy it almost hummed. The only light came from the faint shimmer of stars against a dark sky — no voices, no footsteps, just me and the sound of my own breathing.
I didn't remember walking here. Maybe my mind just led me to the only place where I could breathe without walls, without orders, without ghosts.
For once, I let myself look up — at the vast sky, at the reminder that life could still be beautiful, even after everything I'd done. Moments like this almost made me forget who I was. Almost.
A killer. A weapon wearing the skin of a woman. Xena — assassin, executioner, monster.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
"With all the lives I've taken… do I even have the right to remember that I'm still human? I kill to survive. I stain my hands for freedom. So… what am I now?"
I knew the answer. But I still wanted to believe I hadn't completely lost my soul.
"You're human," a voice said from behind me. "You still are."
My breath caught. I turned sharply.
He stood there — calm, familiar, heartbreakingly real. His hands were buried in his pockets, a faint, knowing smile softening his face.
"Ace?" I whispered.
He didn't answer. The smile on his lips deepened, melancholic, as he lifted his arms — an open invitation.
And just like that, my restraint broke.
I ran to him and threw myself into his arms. My tears came in torrents, soaking into his chest.
"Ace, I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I didn't mean for you to get caught up in all of it."
He let out a soft laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around me.
"It wasn't your fault, Xena. And if I had the chance to do it again… I'd still choose to save you."
The words struck like a knife and a balm all at once. My heart thundered in my chest — torn between grief and fury. Because even now, even with Ace gone, the fire in me hadn't dimmed. My hatred for his family still burned. His death hadn't changed that.
I stepped back slowly, still holding his hand.
"Ace…" My voice trembled as I looked up — but his face was gone. The field was dark again. A man's shadow stood before me.
His hand was still in mine, cold, unyielding.
"What?" His voice was deep, rough, unfamiliar.
I swallowed hard. My tears returned before I could stop them.
"Forgive me," I said. "Because even after you died, I still couldn't stop thinking about killing your family. Forgive me, Ace, because you're the only Fontanilla I could ever look at without hate. But one day… I will destroy them."
My grip on his hand tightened. My eyes shut against the ache.
"Do you really have to do that, Xena?" His voice carried the weight of sorrow — a man begging for something he already knew he wouldn't get.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "But I have to fight for my freedom. And to do that… I have to kill your brothers. And your father."
Sunlight cut through the dorm's window when I opened my eyes. The white ceiling above me blurred before it came into focus. I sat up, pushed my hair back, and scanned the room. Max's bed was empty. So was Legolas's — or so I thought, until I saw him slumped against the side of my bed, his shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a chaotic mess.
"Legolas," I muttered. No response.
I leaned closer, then grimaced when I caught the sharp scent of alcohol.
"Of course," I sighed, then nudged his foot lightly. "Legolas. Go to your bed."
Leo cracked one eye open, gave me a dull look, then stood without a word. He dropped onto his mattress and rolled over, half-asleep again.
"Don't you have class?" I asked, irritated.
"Get out of my sight, Xena. You're ruining my sleep," he groaned.
I clenched my jaw. The urge to kill him is growing by the minute.
One glance at the clock told me I was late. There was no point rushing to class now. Damian's business came first — I needed to check if Riguel had settled his debt. If not, I'd have to put a bullet in his skull myself.
With that thought, I headed for the shower.
The Mission
"Again?" I frowned, my voice sharper than I intended. Damian's cold tone didn't waver.
"It's been two months since your last assignment," he said, standing by the window, hands on his hips. "What's wrong, Xena? You getting scared?"
Of course. Another suicide mission. Typical.
He was a demon in a tailored suit — and still, I wondered if he ever thought of Ace when he sent people to die. His son had been killed in one of these missions. Did that ever cross his mind?
"No," I said flatly, my fists clenching.
"Are you sure?" Damian turned, smirking as he reached for his glass of whiskey. Our eyes met — his, amused; mine, dead.
"Good." He sipped, then faced the window again. "Do your job properly, or you'll be arranging Ezekiel and Artemis's funerals when you get back. Dismissed."
The door clicked shut behind me. I exhaled through gritted teeth and stared down at the photograph in my hand.
"Carlos…" I muttered.
Carlos Olarte — my target. Not just any name, but one of the major players in the underground. A ghost the authorities could never touch. Damian's greatest rival.
I wasn't sure if this was a mission… or a death sentence.
He was protected by more than a hundred men. The police, the NBI, the PDEA — all had tried and failed. Not a single gram of his operation had ever been recovered.
And now I was supposed to walk into his fortress alone.
There were only two possible endings to this mission:
either my skull gets blown open, or my body ends up in a barrel of cement.
The Fight Within
I took my frustration out on the punching bag. The gym echoed with the sound of each hit — sharp, rhythmic, furious. My body burned, slick with sweat, but I couldn't stop. Fear clawed at me from inside, disguised as anger.
One last hit — and the tears finally came.
"Damn it," I hissed, slamming my fist into the bag again.
A shadow moved behind me. Before I could react, a sharp sting flared near my ear. I spun around — Ezekiel stood there, sliding something small into his pocket.
"What was that?" I demanded, touching the sore spot. I felt a tiny, solid bump.
"A tracker," he said. "You're not dying out there. If you don't come back, I'll find you."
He gave my arm a light smack and walked off.
I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.
He'd never abandoned me before. The fear eased, replaced by something fragile — hope. I could do this. I had to.
I'd come back. I had to. For my freedom. For my father.
The building was an abandoned five-story structure in the heart of Manila — a ghost hidden in plain sight, surrounded by crumbling towers and empty lots. No one would notice a gunshot here. No one ever did.
This was Carlos Olarte's nest — the drop point for his narcotics shipments. Tonight, it would be his tomb.
I crouched in the shadows, counting bodies. Sixty armed men. Less than expected, but still too many.
I laughed under my breath. "See you soon, Death."
Attaching a silencer to my gun, I took aim at a guard near the entrance — cigarette between his lips, lighter in hand. One soft pull of the trigger. His body dropped before the flame could touch the smoke. Three guards left. They shouted, searching for the source.
I steadied my breath. Then —
A cold click behind my head.
"On three," a voice ordered. "Drop the gun."
I froze.
"One…"
My finger lifted from the trigger.
"Two…"
I set the gun down. He kicked it away.
"Stand."
I did. Slowly. Thinking. Calculating.
Then he stepped into view — and smiled.
"Xena?" he said.
Of course. The worst possible outcome.
The target himself.
"Well, look at that," Carlos laughed, raising his voice so his men could hear. "The Fontanillas' finest assassin — caught by me, just like that!"
The others rushed over, circling me with rifles raised. Carlos lowered his own weapon, grinning like a man who'd already won.
Something was wrong. I never got caught this easily. This wasn't carelessness — this was a setup.
From his jacket, Carlos pulled out a syringe and a small vial of white liquid. My stomach turned. I'd seen that substance before — one of his products.
Two men stepped forward to grab me.
Big mistake.
The moment one hand touched my arm, I twisted, driving a kick into his ribs. I grabbed the second man, locking my arm around his throat — using him as a human shield just as the others fired. Bullets tore through flesh. Carlos shouted angrily, ordering them to stop.
He gestured, and the guns dropped. Fists replaced barrels.
I fought like a cornered wolf — fast, brutal, desperate. But the biggest of them caught me mid-move. His kick hit my ribs; his fist followed, hard into my stomach. The air left my lungs as I hit the ground.
He hauled me up by the collar, grinning. "Quick, aren't you?"
Then came the slap — sharp, heavy, blinding. My lip split. The world tilted. He dragged me forward, threw me to my knees before Carlos, and pressed a gun to my head.
"Try to move," he warned, "and I'll paint the floor with your brains."
I stayed still, breathing hard, glaring up at Carlos as he filled the syringe.
"You know," he said, stepping closer, "I can see why the Fontanillas hired you. Impressive work. So impressive, in fact… that I've decided not to kill you. Not yet."
"What do you mean?" I spat. "Not yet?"
Carlos smiled. "We had an agreement. But I'll tell you about that later. For now, consider this a gift."
He nodded, and his men pinned me down. I struggled — useless. The syringe plunged into my thigh, its sting burning deep.
Pain flared. My pulse hammered. My limbs went weak.
"You'll love my product, Xena," Carlos said, standing. "It's one of my best."
My vision blurred, the world turning into dark silhouettes.
Then everything went black.
It wasn't a drug. It was a sedative.