The world came back in shards.
Jake's eyes snapped open.
He was sprawled on a couch, one hand flung toward the ceiling as if reaching for something that had just slipped away. The sunlight poured in through tall windows, warm and golden, brushing across smooth, polished floors and soft, immaculate furniture.
Not Dean's place. Definitely not Dean's chaotic, cluttered home.
His body ached. Every muscle screamed in protest, and the bandages wrapped around his arms and torso told a story of the fight he barely remembered finishing. Someone had cared for him. Someone had fixed him.
A translucent screen forced itself into his field of vision.
XP +90
Jake blinked, slow, deliberate, as if awakening from a fever dream.
He swiped, and the full stat screen expanded in front of him. Numbers burned themselves into his mind:
Strength: 189
Speed: 167
Agility: 125
Stamina: 150
Intelligence: 50
Power: 70
Energy: 12 / 149
Jake's gaze froze. Energy. Just twelve points left. His body was screaming exhaustion. Every fiber of him begged for rest.
He sank deeper into the couch, letting the light wash over him, feeling the tension bleed out of his muscles.
"…Tch." He muttered under his breath. His hand traced the edge of the couch like he was anchoring himself back to reality.
From the master bedroom, soft footsteps approached.
"Oh… you're awake."
Miranda appeared, casual but composed, her presence like a calm tide in the storm that had been his life for the last days. She carried herself with that subtle grace of someone used to handling chaos—and somehow, she always made it feel safe.
Jake blinked at her. The shadows under his eyes deepened, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to him.
"…Where… am I?" he asked finally, voice hoarse.
"This is fine," she replied gently, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You were… hurt worse than I thought. I couldn't leave you like that."
Jake's fists clenched briefly, then relaxed. Someone had actually cared. Not for his power, not for his reputation. Just… cared.
He leaned back further, letting the couch cradle his exhausted body.
His eyes drifted back to the screen.
Miranda tilted her head slightly.
It was subtle. Almost nothing.
But her eyes lingered on Jake a second longer than before.
Jake sat upright on the couch, slowly sipping the herbal tea she'd given him. The warmth spread through his chest, easing the last of the ache in his limbs.
"…You know," Miranda said casually, a soft smile on her lips, "thinking about it… you kind of resemble a colleague of mine."
Jake almost spit out the tea.
He coughed instead, barely managing to swallow, his heart lurching violently in his chest.
Shit.
He'd forgotten.
She was a former system analyst. A real one. Someone who worked close enough to dangerous people that resemblance was not a word he could afford.
"Oh—really?" Jake said too quickly.
He stood up at once.
"Well," he added, already reaching for his jacket, "I've clearly overstayed my welcome."
Miranda blinked. "Wait— I didn't mean anything bad."
She stood too, worry flickering across her face. "I'm sorry if I offended you."
Jake paused, his back half-turned.
"It's fine," he said evenly. "I had to leave anyway."
She relaxed a little. "Thank you."
Jake hesitated.
Then—he smiled.
Not sharp. Not cold.
Just… genuine.
He stepped forward and continued toward the hallway.
Behind him, Miranda's cheeks warmed faintly, her fingers tightening around the edge of her apron.
Then—
Jake's head popped back into the room.
"I—uh."
Miranda startled slightly. "Y-Yes?"
"…I don't know where the door is."
Silence.
She stared at him.
Then slowly raised a hand and pointed. "That way."
Jake followed her finger.
The opposite direction of where he'd gone.
"…Right."
He nodded solemnly and walked out—this time correctly.
Awkward.
Outside, the city air hit him like a reset button.
Jake groaned loudly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Damn it," he muttered. "Way to destroy the cool exit."
He walked a few steps—
bzzzt.
His phone vibrated.
"Hm?"
Jake pulled it from his pocket.
Dravers.
He exhaled. "Ha. She finally called."
He answered.
"Hello."
"Meet us at Central Park," Dravers said flatly.
"Wow," Jake replied dryly. "Not even a long time no—"
The call ended.
Beep.
Jake stared at the screen.
"…Woah. What's her problem?"
Central Park was quiet at night. Too quiet.
As Jake approached, he immediately spotted two silhouettes standing beneath a flickering lamppost.
Dravers.
And that annoying guy.
The moment Jake stepped into the light, Dravers spoke.
"We're in serious trouble."
Jake yawned. "Just when I finally got exhausted. What could possibly—"
She cut him off.
"We've been assigned an assassination."
Jake's steps slowed.
"…Okay," he said lazily. "And?"
Dravers met his eyes.
"An S-rank."
The words hit him like a brick to the face.
Jake's pupils widened.
"…You're joking," he said quietly.
She didn't blink.
The night suddenly felt colder.
Much colder.