Los Angeles — Beverly Hills, CA
Morning settled over Beverly Hills—not loud, not rushed.
Just… controlled.
Sunlight spread across polished streets and glass windows, washing away the last traces of night. Joggers passed by in quiet rhythm, luxury cars glided through the roads, and everything looked exactly the way it was supposed to.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
A black Audi A8 broke that calm.
The car sped down the street before slowing sharply as it approached a gated mansion. The engine cut, leaving a brief silence behind it.
The driver's door opened.
Gary stepped out.
His eyes immediately scanned the area—left, right, above.
Cameras.
Corners.
Blind spots.
Nothing escaped him.
Mike stepped out after him, stretching his back with a quiet groan like this was just another normal day.
Gary didn't share that feeling.
"I'm calling Miguel," he said, already pulling out his phone.
Mike leaned casually against the car, lighting a cigar, smoke drifting lazily into the morning air as his eyes wandered the street—not careless… just experienced.
Gary dialed.
It barely rang once.
"Yeah?" Miguel answered.
Gary kept his voice low. "We're outside."
"I know," Miguel replied. "I saw the car pull up."
Gary's gaze lifted again—toward the corners of the mansion.
"Then you already know the problem."
A short pause.
"…Cameras," Miguel said.
"Every angle," Gary confirmed. "No blind entry. Not with this kind of gear."
Mike exhaled smoke, watching a passing car without interest.
On the other end, Miguel's tone shifted—sharper now.
"Give me a minute," he said. "I'll handle it."
"Wake Zion," Gary added. "I want full control, not partial."
"Already on it."
Gary hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"…And Celine?"
"She's still inside," Miguel replied. "With Allysa."
Gary's grip tightened slightly around the phone.
"…Get her ready."
The call ended.
Silence settled again—but not the peaceful kind from earlier.
This one felt… tighter.
Gary slipped his phone back into his pocket, eyes still scanning.
Then he moved.
He opened the trunk.
The metal lifted with a low, heavy sound.
Inside—
weapons.
Clean. Packed. Ready.
Gary reached in, pulling one case at a time, movements controlled and precise. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
This wasn't just unloading.
This was preparation.
From across the street—
someone watched.
Hidden behind the edge of a neighboring property, barely visible past a concrete corner.
A man in a private driver's uniform.
Still.
Observing.
His eyes tracked every movement—Gary, the weapons, the car.
"…Well," he muttered under his breath, almost amused.
"That's not normal."
He didn't move.
Didn't step out.
Just watched.
Carefully.
Patiently.
Like he wasn't just a bystander—
but someone waiting.
Inside the mansion, Miguel pushed the door open just enough to slip through.
Zion's room was dim, the curtains half-drawn, letting in thin streaks of pale morning light. The space was clean but lived-in—modern shelves, a sleek lamp, scattered gear. A pistol rested quietly on the bedside table, within easy reach.
Zion lay sprawled across the bed, completely out.
Miguel stepped closer—then grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard.
"SIR, YES SIR—I'M AWAKE!"
Zion shot upright instantly, snapping into a salute, eyes wide and unfocused.
"…Wait—Miguel??"
Miguel stared at him, unimpressed.
"Yeah. Who else wakes you up like that?"
Zion blinked a few times before letting out a breath, rubbing his face.
"Damn… I haven't slept like that in years."
Miguel's gaze flicked briefly to the pistol beside the bed.
"Get up," he said. "We're moving."
Zion followed his line of sight, grabbed the pistol, and slipped it under his shirt in one smooth motion.
"What's the play?" he asked, now fully awake.
"CCTV room," Miguel replied. "Gary's outside. He brought the weapons."
A grin spread across Zion's face.
"Say less."
He moved fast—already halfway to the door before stopping just long enough to tap Miguel's shoulder as he passed.
"Good to be back."
Then he was gone.
Miguel exhaled quietly, staring at the empty doorway for a second.
"…Classic Zion."
He ran a hand through his hair and stepped back into the hallway.
Celine.
The mansion was quieter here—too calm compared to the tension building outside. Sunlight spilled softly through tall windows, brushing against polished floors and white walls, everything clean, controlled… almost peaceful.
It didn't match the situation at all.
In the kitchen, that peace still held.
Celine sat at the island, one leg crossed over the other, a warm cup of coffee in her hands. Steam curled gently upward as she took a slow sip, eyes briefly closing.
"Thank you," she said softly as the maids stepped away.
They bowed slightly before leaving, their footsteps fading into silence.
For a moment, it was just her… and the quiet.
Then—
"Scarlet."
Miguel's voice cut clean through the calm.
She looked up, blinking once.
"Alejandro?"
He stood at the entrance, posture steady, expression unreadable.
"Outside. Now."
No explanation. No softness.
Just urgency.
Celine raised an eyebrow, lifting her cup slightly.
"…Seriously? I just got this."
Miguel didn't move.
"This is important."
Something in his tone made her pause.
She studied him for a second… then sighed, setting the cup down.
"Fine. You owe me another one."
He had already turned away.
Celine pushed off the stool and followed, her footsteps light against the floor as she caught up beside him.
They moved through the mansion in silence at first, the calm atmosphere slowly giving way to something heavier.
"Alright," she murmured, lowering her voice, "what's going on?"
Miguel kept his eyes forward.
"We're moving weapons inside."
Celine stopped for half a second.
"…What?"
He didn't slow down.
"Zion's handling the cameras. Gary's outside."
She caught up quickly, her voice dropping even lower.
"Why are we sneaking them in? Why not just tell Allysa?"
Miguel exhaled quietly.
"It's Gary's call."
That was enough.
"…Right."
The air shifted after that—subtle, but real. The kind of shift you feel before something goes wrong.
They reached the back entrance.
Miguel pushed the door open slightly—
Then stopped.
Celine noticed immediately.
"What—"
Miguel raised a hand.
Silence.
Her eyes followed his line of sight.
Near the side wall, partially hidden—
A man crouched low, pressed close to the corner of the property. A private driver's uniform. Still. Watching.
Not moving.
Not supposed to be there.
Celine's expression sharpened.
"That's not one of ours."
Miguel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"No…"
A quiet beat passed.
"He's been watching."
Outside, near the front gate, Gary stood beside the Audi, his attention fixed on the mansion—but his instincts already starting to stir.
Something felt off.
And just like that—
The calm of the morning was gone.
Both of them froze.
For a split second, neither of them moved.
Then—instinct kicked in.
They slipped behind the wall in one smooth motion. Miguel's hand immediately went for his pistol—
—but Celine caught his wrist.
Firm.
She shook her head once.
No noise.
No mistakes.
Miguel held her gaze for a brief second… then slowly released his grip.
Celine moved.
Silent. Precise.
She slipped around the corner, closing the distance in seconds before the man could react—
—and drove him to the ground.
A dull thud echoed softly against the pavement as she pinned him, her knee pressing into his back, one hand locking his arm in place.
"Hey," she whispered, voice sharp and controlled. "Who are you?"
"Hey—hey—please don't hurt me!" the man stammered, panic breaking through instantly. His hands lifted as much as her hold allowed. "I didn't see anything—please!"
Miguel stepped in behind her, eyes scanning the perimeter—corners, rooftops, windows.
Clear. For now.
"Name. Age. Position," Celine said, her tone low but absolute.
"C-Charlie Dave Stockton," he answered quickly. "Thirty-two—I'm Allysa's private driver. Please—I told you everything—"
Celine's grip didn't loosen.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him.
"…I've seen you before," she muttered. "Yesterday."
Miguel leaned closer, voice barely above a breath.
"Scarlet. Don't let him go. He could sell us out."
"I won't—I swear!" Charlie said quickly, his voice shaking harder now. "I won't tell anyone, I swear—I have a family. Please… I can't die like this…"
Celine stayed still.
Watching him.
Measuring.
The fear in his voice. The way his body shook. No resistance. No signs of training.
Just a man who wasn't supposed to be here.
A long second passed.
Then—
"Alright," she said coldly. "I'm letting you go."
Charlie's breath hitched.
"But listen carefully," she continued, her voice dropping further. "If a single word about this reaches Allysa—"
She leaned closer.
"I will find you."
A beat.
"And I won't miss."
"I—I understand," Charlie said quickly. "I swear. I won't say anything."
Celine held him there for one last second—
Then released him.
Charlie pushed himself up slowly, brushing dirt from his uniform, still shaken. Celine stood as well, composed like nothing had happened.
"You should go," she said calmly. "Head inside. Get something to eat."
"Ah… I—I'm fine," Charlie replied, still trying to steady himself. He hesitated, glancing between them. "But… what are you guys doing out here?"
Miguel stepped forward before Celine could answer.
"Security measures," he said smoothly. "Those rifles you might've seen—they're for protection only. No harm intended. Especially not to Allysa."
Charlie swallowed, nodding.
"…Right. I understand."
A pause.
Then—
"I can help," he offered. "Carry the equipment in."
Celine immediately shook her head. "No need. Just go."
"Wait," Miguel cut in.
Celine glanced at him.
"We use him," Miguel said quietly. "Less exposure. Faster transfer."
She studied him for a second… then gave a small nod.
"…Fine. But we keep an eye on him."
Charlie nodded quickly, relief visible on his face. "Of course. I'll help."
The three of them moved toward the gate.
Step by step, the mansion's quiet morning started to feel thinner—like it could crack at any moment.
They reached the front just as Gary turned toward them.
His eyes immediately locked onto Charlie.
Sharp.
Suspicious.
"What the hell is this?" Gary asked, voice low.
"We found him watching," Miguel said calmly. "Patrick."
Gary didn't respond right away.
His gaze swept over Charlie—posture, breathing, eyes, hands.
Nervous. Untrained. No immediate threat.
Still—
Not clean.
Charlie stood stiffly under the pressure, unsure where to look.
In Gary's head, everything ran fast.
Charlie Dave Stockton. Thirty-two. Private driver. Six years working here…
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Doesn't look like a problem…
A pause.
But that doesn't mean he isn't one.
Gary stepped a little closer.
Close enough to make Charlie feel it.
"…You help," Gary said flatly. "And you keep your mouth shut."
Charlie nodded immediately. "Yes, sir."
Gary held his gaze for one second longer—
Then turned toward the Audi.
"Let's move."
"Scarlet. Alejandro."
Gary's voice came low and controlled, but there was weight behind it.
"Can we trust him?"
Celine didn't look away from Charlie.
"Yeah," she said, calm and firm. "He's under control."
For a split second, her mind slipped—
OMGG… I'm talking to my future man.
—and just as quickly, she shut it down.
Mike stepped forward, letting out a quiet chuckle as his attention shifted.
"Well, I'll be damned…" he said, eyes landing on Miguel. "Didn't think I'd see you here again. You never change."
Miguel's expression stayed neutral—but his gaze hardened.
Charlie frowned, glancing between them.
"…Miguel?"
A beat.
Mike clicked his tongue under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Ah—yeah. My bad," he muttered. "Slipped."
Charlie let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension.
"Hehe… it's fine, really. I'm not trying to get involved in anything," he said quickly. "I just… saw something and got curious. You guys are—uh—pretty intense."
No one laughed.
Gary stepped forward.
That was enough to silence him.
Charlie straightened instinctively, shoulders stiff, hands unsure where to go.
Gary didn't rush it.
His eyes moved—slow, deliberate. Posture. Breathing. Eye contact.
Not trained.
Not lying—at least not well enough to matter.
Still…
Gary's voice came out flat.
"You've been here a while."
Charlie nodded quickly. "Y-Yes. Six years."
A short pause.
Gary gave the faintest nod.
Figures.
He didn't say it out loud—but the conclusion was already made.
Still not cleared.
Just… not a priority threat.
The tension lingered for another second—
then broke.
"Uncle Mike!"
Celine moved before anyone else could react, stepping in and wrapping her arms around him in a quick, natural hug.
It was sudden enough to shift the entire mood.
Mike blinked—then laughed, caught off guard.
"Well, damn," he said, patting her back lightly as they pulled apart. "Look at you."
Celine grinned, sliding her hands into her pockets like nothing happened.
"Still the same," she said casually. "Didn't change much."
Mike smirked. "Yeah? Could've fooled me."
He studied her for a moment, the humor easing into something quieter.
"How's your mom these days?" he asked. "Cassandra."
Celine's expression softened—just slightly.
"…She's better," she said. "Not like before."
Mike nodded once.
"Good."
A brief silence settled between them.
Then he exhaled, a faint smile tugging at his lips—something older behind it.
"You know…" he said, almost to himself, "you look a lot like your father."
Celine stilled.
"That smile," Mike added, glancing at her again. "Yeah… that's him. Same guy I knew."
The words landed deeper than expected.
Celine didn't respond right away.
Her smile stayed—
but it dimmed.
Just enough.
Gary noticed.
Gary crossed his arms, his gaze lingering on Celine for a brief second—just enough to notice the shift in her expression—before looking away.
Then—
Miguel's phone rang.
The sharp vibration cut clean through the moment.
He pulled it out immediately.
"Yeah. Go."
On the other end, Zion leaned forward in his chair, the glow of multiple monitors reflecting off his face. Screens flickered—camera feeds, security grids, looping footage.
His fingers moved fast across the keyboard.
"I've got control," he said, focused. "Outer CCTV is down. I'm looping the last clean feed—no movement detected."
A quick pause as he checked another screen.
"You've got a window. Not long."
Back outside, Miguel lowered the phone.
"Green light," he said. "Zion's got the cameras on loop. We're clear—for now."
Gary didn't waste a second.
"Move."
His voice snapped the group into motion.
He stepped forward, already thinking three steps ahead.
"There's a blind spot along the side perimeter," he said, pointing subtly toward the far edge of the property. "We use that—not the gate. Too exposed."
His eyes swept over them, making sure everyone was locked in.
"We move fast. No noise. No mistakes."
He popped the trunk open.
Inside, the black bags sat packed tight.
"I've got rope," Gary continued, reaching in. "Mike, Miguel—you're with me. We handle the drop from outside."
He glanced toward the mansion.
"Charlie. Celine—you're inside the backyard. Stay natural. If anyone sees you, you're just moving equipment. Nothing more."
A beat.
"Don't look like you're hiding something."
His gaze sharpened.
"Clear?"
They nodded.
"Clear."
No hesitation.
They moved.
The bags came out one by one—heavy, compact, unmistakable.
Gary led the way along the side, pushing through the line of bushes that separated the clean, polished front from the quieter edge of the property. Leaves brushed against their clothes, branches shifting softly as they slipped through.
On the other side—
the blind spot.
No cameras.
No direct line of sight.
Just a narrow stretch of space between the outer wall and the backyard perimeter.
Miguel moved first, securing the rope around a solid anchor point along the structure. He pulled it tight, testing the tension.
"Good."
Gary nodded once, already lifting the first bag.
On the other side of the wall, Celine and Charlie were in position.
Celine stood ready, eyes up, tracking every movement above. Charlie stood beside her, hands tense—but steady enough.
The rope dropped.
Then the bag followed.
"Coming down," Gary muttered under his breath.
Celine caught the line, controlling the descent while Charlie supported the weight.
Slow.
Careful.
The bag touched the ground without a sound.
She guided it aside immediately, clearing space.
Above, Gary was already preparing the next one.
No wasted motion.
No unnecessary words.
Again.
Lower.
Catch.
Move.
Each transfer cleaner than the last.
The rhythm built naturally—quiet, precise, practiced.
Around them, the mansion stayed still.
Morning carried on like nothing was happening.
But in that narrow blind spot—
everything was moving.
And fast.
Gary crossed his arms, his gaze lingering on Celine for a brief second—just enough to notice the shift in her expression—before looking away.
Then—
Miguel's phone rang.
The sharp vibration cut clean through the moment.
He pulled it out immediately.
"Yeah. Go."
On the other end, Zion leaned forward in his chair, the glow of multiple monitors reflecting off his face. Screens flickered—camera feeds, security grids, looping footage.
His fingers moved fast across the keyboard.
"I've got control," he said, focused. "Outer CCTV is down. I'm looping the last clean feed—no movement detected."
A quick pause as he checked another screen.
"You've got a window. Not long."
Back outside, Miguel lowered the phone.
"Green light," he said. "Zion's got the cameras on loop. We're clear—for now."
Gary didn't waste a second.
"Move."
His voice snapped the group into motion.
He stepped forward, already thinking three steps ahead.
"There's a blind spot along the side perimeter," he said, pointing subtly toward the far edge of the property. "We use that—not the gate. Too exposed."
His eyes swept over them, making sure everyone was locked in.
"We move fast. No noise. No mistakes."
He popped the trunk open.
Inside, the black bags sat packed tight.
"I've got rope," Gary continued, reaching in. "Mike, Miguel—you're with me. We handle the drop from outside."
He glanced toward the mansion.
"Charlie. Celine—you're inside the backyard. Stay natural. If anyone sees you, you're just moving equipment. Nothing more."
A beat.
"Don't look like you're hiding something."
His gaze sharpened.
"Clear?"
They nodded.
"Clear."
No hesitation.
They moved.
The bags came out one by one—heavy, compact, unmistakable.
Gary led the way along the side, pushing through the line of bushes that separated the clean, polished front from the quieter edge of the property. Leaves brushed against their clothes, branches shifting softly as they slipped through.
On the other side—
the blind spot.
No cameras.
No direct line of sight.
Just a narrow stretch of space between the outer wall and the backyard perimeter.
Miguel moved first, securing the rope around a solid anchor point along the structure. He pulled it tight, testing the tension.
"Good."
Gary nodded once, already lifting the first bag.
On the other side of the wall, Celine and Charlie were in position.
Celine stood ready, eyes up, tracking every movement above. Charlie stood beside her, hands tense—but steady enough.
The rope dropped.
Then the bag followed.
"Coming down," Gary muttered under his breath.
Celine caught the line, controlling the descent while Charlie supported the weight.
Slow.
Careful.
The bag touched the ground without a sound.
She guided it aside immediately, clearing space.
Above, Gary was already preparing the next one.
No wasted motion.
No unnecessary words.
Again.
Lower.
Catch.
Move.
Each transfer cleaner than the last.
The rhythm built naturally—quiet, precise, practiced.
Around them, the mansion stayed still.
Morning carried on like nothing was happening.
But in that narrow blind spot—
everything was moving.
And fast.
The final bag settled into place.
For a moment—no one moved.
Then the tension broke.
A collective breath left them almost at the same time.
Miguel rolled his shoulders slightly, easing the stiffness. Celine brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, eyes still scanning out of habit. Charlie let out a quiet exhale, like he'd been holding it the entire time.
Gary looked over the group.
Just once.
Then a small, rare smile appeared.
"Good work," he said. "All of you."
His gaze shifted briefly.
"Especially you, Charlie."
Charlie straightened, a grin slipping through despite himself.
"It was nothing," he said quickly. "As long as I can help… I'm good with that." He hesitated, then added, more firmly, "You can trust me. I won't say anything. Not to anyone. Not even Ms. Allysa."
Gary held his gaze for a second.
Measuring.
Then gave a slight nod.
"See that you don't."
The moment settled.
Then Mike broke it.
He leaned back slightly, eyes drifting up toward the sky as a few birds passed overhead, cutting across the pale morning light. He flicked the last bit of his cigar to the ground, crushing it under his heel.
"Well…" he muttered, stretching his arms a little. "That's my cue."
He glanced at them with a crooked grin.
"Daytime's calling."
He turned and started toward the Audi, hands slipping into his pockets like the entire operation hadn't just happened.
Celine lifted a hand, waving lightly.
"See you around, Uncle Mike."
Miguel gave a small nod—silent, but enough.
Charlie stayed where he was, watching him go, still piecing together who exactly he'd just helped.
Gary didn't move.
His eyes followed Mike all the way to the car.
Mike opened the door, paused for a second—then looked back over his shoulder.
That same grin.
"Remember this, kids," he called out.
A beat.
"Life's already messy."
He tapped the roof of the car lightly.
"Don't be messy."
Gary huffed quietly under his breath.
Mike slipped into the driver's seat.
The engine came alive with a low, smooth hum.
Then the Audi pulled away, rolling down the street until it disappeared beyond the line of palm trees—just another car in Beverly Hills traffic.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't the same silence as before.
The job was done.
The weapons were inside.
And for the first time that morning—
they had a moment to breathe.
Celine glanced at Miguel.
Charlie shifted his weight, still a little unsure where he stood.
Gary looked back at the mansion.
The calm was back.
But underneath it—
everything had changed.
The Audi disappeared at the end of the street, swallowed by distance and morning light.
For a second, no one moved.
Then Gary turned back.
"Alright," he said calmly. "Let's move. Get the bags inside before the maids start asking questions."
Celine gave a small nod. "Got it… Patrick."
Miguel and Charlie followed without a word. The three of them slipped back toward the mansion, footsteps quiet, movements controlled—just another routine morning to anyone watching.
Gary stayed behind.
The silence returned around him.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and dialed.
It rang once.
Twice—
Then connected.
"Good day, Handler," Gary said, voice even.
"Good day to you as well, Agent 429," came Cassandra's reply—calm, composed, unmistakably in control.
Gary glanced briefly toward the mansion before speaking again.
"I need a favor."
A short pause.
"What kind of favor?" she asked.
Gary exhaled quietly. "It's about an old friend of yours… Frank Michael Johnson."
Silence.
Then—
"…Mike?" Cassandra's tone shifted, just slightly. "Why?"
Her voice steadied again. "And Agent 429—did you receive the weapons I had him deliver?"
"Yes, Handler. Everything's been transferred successfully."
"Good."
A beat.
"Now explain."
Gary's gaze hardened just a little.
"He's in trouble," he said. "Las Vegas. A man named Villano—big money, bigger reach. Mike owes him. Couldn't pay. Now his family's being threatened."
He paused.
"That's why he's been hitting banks. The Strip job—the one making headlines? That was him."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"…That idiot," Cassandra muttered under her breath.
There was no anger in it.
Just something older.
"Why didn't he come to me…"
Gary said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Cassandra exhaled slowly, the sound faint through the line—then when she spoke again, the softness was gone.
Replaced by authority.
"Fine," she said. "Request accepted."
Gary's grip on the phone eased slightly.
"I owe him," she continued. "More than he realizes."
A pause.
Then—
"I'll handle Villano."
Her voice dropped colder.
"I'll have Operative 001 assemble a task force. We've been tracking him for years. Every team we've sent… never came back."
A beat.
"That ends now."
Gary's eyes lowered slightly, a faint smile forming—small, but real.
"Understood, Handler."
He looked back toward the mansion.
"I'll let Mike know to disappear for a while."
"Make sure he does," Cassandra replied. "This won't be clean."
"I figured."
A brief silence passed between them.
Then—
"…Good work, Agent 429," she added.
The line went quiet.
Gary lowered the phone slowly, slipping it back into his pocket.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Still.
Thinking.
Then he turned—
—and walked back toward the mansion, like nothing ever happened.
Gary ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then he started walking.
Not toward the mansion—but along the side road that ran beside the estate. The path was quieter, less maintained. Fewer cameras. Fewer eyes. The kind of place most people didn't even realize existed.
The property stretched farther than it looked from the front.
Too far.
A few minutes in, he slowed.
There—partially hidden between tall hedges and concrete walls—was a secondary gate. Smaller. Simpler. Probably used for deliveries or maintenance.
And then—
A low, smooth engine rolled in.
Gary's body tensed instantly.
A sleek McLaren F1 glided through the side entrance, its engine humming softly—controlled, refined… dangerous. The gate opened just enough to let it pass before beginning to close again.
Gary moved without thinking.
He stepped off the road and pressed himself against the wall, just out of sight, his breathing steady but controlled.
The gate hadn't fully shut.
A narrow gap remained.
Enough.
The driver's door lifted open.
Bernard stepped out.
Phone already at his ear.
"…Yeah, Mr. Wong," Bernard said, voice low—but close enough now to carry through the gap. "The goods are ready. I can have them transported to France for the next operation."
Gary's eyes narrowed.
Next operation.
His pulse ticked up—just slightly.
He leaned in closer to the wall, careful not to expose himself.
"…No," Bernard continued after a pause, pacing a step or two beside the car. "I won't make it back to France by the day after tomorrow."
A faint smirk tugged at Bernard's voice.
"I'll be working from home for now. Spend some time with my fiancée… you know how it is."
Gary's jaw tightened.
Every word landed heavier than the last.
France. Operation. Goods.
This wasn't random.
This was organized.
Calculated.
"…Yeah," Bernard added, tone dipping lower. "I just got back to the mansion. I'll update you soon."
A click.
The call ended.
Bernard slid his phone into his pocket and walked deeper into the estate. The gate finally shut behind him with a soft metallic thud.
Silence.
Gary didn't move.
Not yet.
His eyes stayed fixed on the now-empty entrance, thoughts racing beneath a controlled exterior.
Next operation…
The words echoed—quieter this time, but sharper.
Closer.
A faint shift behind him—
Footsteps.
Light. Careful.
Before he could turn, a hand touched his shoulder.
"Hey…"
Gary flinched slightly, then turned.
Celine stood there, brows drawn just a little, her voice low.
"What are you doing?"
Gary held her gaze for half a second.
Then looked away.
"…Nothing," he said, tone steady—but not as clean as usual. "Let's go. We shouldn't be out here."
Celine studied him.
She didn't push.
Just nodded.
They walked back together, side by side, the mansion growing larger with every step.
Neither of them spoke.
But Gary's mind didn't quiet.
France.
Goods.
Next operation.
Something bigger was moving.
And this time—
He was already standing right next to it.