The school day had ended, but Lyra Vianna wasn't ready to go home just yet.
She stood near the gates of the prestigious private academy, watching as students filtered out in clusters of giggles, chatter, and casual waves.
Her own uniform was perfectly pressed, her silver hair tied in a low ponytail, her sharp red eyes distant and unreadable. She had a presence that made people look twice, yet one that kept them far away.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her driver: "Car is waiting at the main entrance, Miss Vianna."
She didn't reply.
Instead, she stared at the world around her—the warmth of her classmates saying goodbye, the sunlight dancing on the sidewalk. A quiet, bitter thought bloomed in her mind: They don't even realize how meaningless they are.
---
Lyra sat across from her best friend, Sia, in a quiet café they often visited after school. It was tucked between two boutique shops downtown, walls covered with books and vinyl records, and the scent of roasted coffee beans mixing with soft jazz from hidden speakers.
"So, what are you doing this weekend?" Sia asked, stirring her iced latte.
"Existing," Lyra replied, her voice cool and flat. "Same as every week."
Sia frowned. "You always say that. Come on, your family's loaded. You can do anything you want."
Lyra's eyes flicked up, annoyed. "And that means I'm happy?"
Sia leaned forward, her tone softening. "No, but you act like you're not allowed to be happy. Like it's some sin to let people love you."
Lyra scoffed, taking a sip of her drink. "Love? You think those people love me? They love what I represent. Vianna this, Vianna that. The perfect daughter, the family legacy. It's all fake."
"That's not true," Sia said gently. "You've told me stories about your brother and how he always brings you gifts when he travels. And your mom—didn't she stay up all night when you had that fever last year?"
Lyra's fingers tightened around her glass. "It's not enough. None of it is. They care when it's convenient. Not when it matters."
"Lyra…" Sia's voice cracked a little. "Don't push people away just because you're scared they'll leave."
"Stop acting like you know me." Her tone was sharper now. "You don't know anything. You're just like the rest."
Sia's face went pale. "I was just trying to help."
Lyra stood up abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor. "Then don't. I don't need anyone."
She walked out without another word.
---
The Vianna estate was a mansion sprawled across several acres of prime real estate. As the limousine pulled up, a guard opened the gate with a respectful nod.
Inside the mansion, life went on as always.
In the study, Lyra's father, Magnus Vianna, sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He was in his late fifties, tall, with silver-streaked hair and a voice that could command boardrooms.
"We've finalized the Dubai project," he was saying to his son, Rowan, who stood with a laptop in one hand and a notepad in the other.
"That'll increase our net worth by twenty percent this quarter alone," Rowan said with a proud smile. "I'll handle the foreign accounts. The Japanese firm also called—they want us to oversee the Osaka urban expansion."
Magnus nodded. "Good. You're learning well. Soon, you'll be handling this empire entirely."
In the living room, Lyra's mother, Helena Vianna, sank into a white leather armchair, exhaustion on her face.
"Seventeen patients today," she said, massaging her temples. "And one emergency surgery. I swear, the hospital's going to drain me dry before retirement."
Across from her sat her eldest daughter, Ayla, who had a stethoscope half-hanging out of her purse. "I can take the night shift this weekend, Mom."
Helena gave her a warm smile. "Thank you, Ayla. You're getting better each day."
The door opened, and Lyra stepped in, her expression unreadable.
Helena stood. "Lyra, welcome home. How was school?"
"Fine," she said, brushing past her mother.
Magnus appeared from the hall. "We got your grades this week. Stellar work. You make us proud."
Lyra didn't stop walking. "Yeah. Thanks."
Rowan gave her a half-smile. "Want to come see my new car? I got it delivered this afternoon. Bright red."
"I don't care," she muttered, heading toward the staircase.
Ayla looked after her, then at their parents. "She's been like this for a while now."
"She's just... growing up," Helena said, but her voice was tinged with doubt.
---
The night crept in. Lyra paced in her room, tossing her phone onto the bed, anger bubbling inside her. Her talk with Sia. The fake concern from her family. The way everyone acted like everything was perfect when it wasn't.
"They'd only care if I was gone," she whispered.
Slipping on a hoodie, she left the mansion through the side gate, ignoring the guard's question.
She has don't this quite a few times she enjoyed walking at night and jump rummaging through the streets.
She walked.
And walked.
Lyra didn't notice how far her feet had taken her. The argument with Sia kept looping in her head, echoing through all the other noise in her mind. She wasn't sure if it was the fight, or just her own exhaustion—but something inside her felt heavy, bitter, and aching. She wanted to disappear. She just didn't know where to go.
The city lights grew dimmer, more distant. Stores turned into warehouses, streets into cracked sidewalks. Her phone she tried to reach for it but it wasn't in her pockets.
It wasn't until she checked her watch that she realized it had been almost two hours. Two full hours of walking with no sense of direction, just a storm in her chest and a haze in her eyes.
"Where even… am I?" she muttered under her breath, looking around. The place was unrecognizable. The streets were narrow and silent, streetlights flickering. The air felt colder here, untouched.
Fear pricked at her chest. She had wandered too far. And somehow, that thought didn't scare her as much as it should have.
She kept walking, slower now. Her shoes crunched gravel. A faint breeze picked up as she turned a corner and found herself at a narrow, old bridge. It stood over a dark, sluggish river—still and soundless. There were no cars. No people.
Lyra walked to the center, leaning over the railing. Her hair fluttered gently in the wind.
"I came too far," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "Accidentally."
Her eyes followed the water below. It reflected nothing. Just blackness. "I guess… no one would care anyway," she murmured. "I'm too much of a pain, right? Always have been."
Her voice cracked. She climbed onto the railing, standing tall in the stillness, wind brushing her cheeks like cold hands.
A single footstep behind her broke the silence.
"I wouldn't recommend doing that," a deep voice said casually.
Startled, Lyra froze.
The voice was calm. Not panicked. Not overly dramatic. It was almost as if the person was… amused.
She turned her head slightly. A figure leaned against the bridge railing just a few feet away, his silhouette dark under the half-dead streetlight. His hands were in his coat pockets, his posture relaxed. As if he'd been standing there the whole time.
"I mean," he added, eyes half-lidded and sharp, "if you jump, you're going to ruin a perfectly good pair of shoes."
His voice cut through the fog in her brain like a knife.
The voice startled her. For a moment, she thought she imagined it.
But no, there he was. A man—maybe in his mid to late twenties—standing like he had all the time in the world. He wasn't surprised to see her on the railing. He wasn't rushing to stop her. He just stood there, calm as a midnight lake.
Then, with a practiced hand, he pulled out a cigarette from the inside of his coat and a lighter—an unusual one.
It gleamed even in the faint light. A smooth, matte metal body tinted in midnight purple with a silver yin and yang symbol engraved perfectly in the center. Intricate, old, but cared for.
Click.
A clean snap, and a bright blue flame danced to life.
He lit the cigarette, inhaled slowly, then exhaled a thin wisp of smoke into the cold night air. It curled around him, momentarily making him look like something between real and unreal.
"The world is beautiful," he said suddenly, eyes focused on the water below.
Lyra blinked, the words catching her off guard. She turned to look at him, unsure whether to laugh or question his sanity. "What are you talking about?"
His voice didn't waver. He wasn't smiling, but his tone wasn't sad either. Just… reflective. Distant.
"But how unfortunate us humans are that we can't see its beauty," he continued. "No… perhaps it would be more accurate to say—we don't want to see its beauty."
Lyra stepped down from the railing taking a step back, still unsure if this was a lunatic or someone more than he seemed. "Who are you? And what are you even saying?"
The man took another drag of his cigarette, then turned to her with a sidelong glance. His eyes clear, sharp, dark met hers without hesitation.
"I'm simply saying… we're too ungrateful. Too lost in ourselves. We ignore all the meaningful things around us because we're too busy drowning in our own self-importance."
She frowned slightly, her voice sharp. "I don't understand a single thing you just said."
That made him smirk.
"You look like the kind of person who reads quotes like this online and posts them with dramatic captions."
Lyra blinked in surprise. "…What?"
"'You're not alone,' 'Pain is temporary,' 'The moon's beautiful but so is your reflection'—you know, the whole aesthetic therapy package."
Her lips twitched.
She tried to stay cold. Distant. But the mockery was just light enough to nudge a laugh out of her chest.
"And which inspirational site did you pick this speech from?" she asked, folding her arms.
He flicked ash into the wind, then leaned forward slightly, just enough for her to catch the faintest glint in his eyes.
"The site's called life experiences."
Before Lyra could think of a reply to his last comment, he took one final drag of the cigarette and flicked it over the edge of the bridge. The faint ember dropped into the dark water below.
"Go home," he said quietly, brushing his hands together. "Don't wander off at night. There are real monsters out here."
She narrowed her eyes, offended by the condescension in his voice. "Excuse me?"
He looked at her again, tilting his head slightly, amused by her reaction. "Judging by your clothes, your hair, your eyes, your looks."
He waved a finger vaguely, "You're a pampered princess who probably hasn't walked alone on an empty street a day in her life."
She stepped forward, jaw clenched. "I can protect myself."
He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Can you now?"
Before she could fire back another word, he reached into his coat with a fluid motion and pulled out a handgun.
Lyra barely had time to register what was happening before—
BANG!
The sharp echo shattered the silence, making her flinch violently. The bullet didn't hit her.
She turned around in panic
and gasped.
A man lay sprawled behind her, blood seeping from the hole in his forehead. His hand was outstretched, fingers still curled around a pistol. His eyes were glassy and wide open, frozen in surprise.
"I mean," the boy muttered casually behind her, holstering the gun back into his coat, "did that asshole really think he could sneak up on me? That's a skill issue right there."
Her body went stiff. Her breath hitched.
She turned back to him, trembling. "You… you killed him?!"
He nodded nonchalantly. "Last one left of their little group. I got the rest about two blocks east." He paused, tilting his head as if recalling a memory. "I think there were seventy-four. Maybe seventy-five. Doesn't matter. They're all dead."
Her knees almost buckled as she gripped the railing to steady herself. Her mind was racing. Her heart hammered inside her chest like it wanted to escape.
"Are… are you going to kill me too?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
He looked at her then—really looked at her. Those dark eyes, so unreadable before, now seemed… hollow. Empty, like a void that had swallowed light and meaning a long time ago.
"Why would I?" he said, his tone light again. "I only kill people unworthy of living in this world."
She flinched. "And who the hell are you to judge that?"
At that, his expression shifted. The smirk vanished. He leaned forward on the railing beside her, staring down at the water like it was telling him secrets.
"You're right," he said quietly. "Someone like me has no right to judge anyone."
Silence. The air felt heavier.
"But still… someone has to do it."
She stared at him, confused, scared, angry, and something else she couldn't name.
"…What are you talking about?" she asked.
He didn't look at her.
"That gang," he said, voice cold now, "kidnapped children. Girls. Boys. Anyone they could grab. They sold them, used them, butchered them for parts. You'd be amazed what rich people pay for a young liver."
Lyra's stomach churned. Her hand clutched the railing harder. Her nails dug into the metal.
"I followed them for weeks. Mapped them. Learned everything. Tonight, I erased them," he said, flatly. "Their warehouse burned an hour ago. So did everyone still inside."
The nausea twisted deeper. She wanted to scream, to run, but couldn't move.
"You… burned them?" she whispered.
He nodded, almost like he was talking about cleaning up after a party. "Every one of them. No mercy. Not for monsters."
She stared at him, her eyes burning. "You're insane…"
He finally turned back to her, and this time, he didn't smile.
"You're trembling," he said. "That's good. It means your heart still knows what fear is. Most people lose that after they've been pretending for too long."
She didn't know what to say. Words had left her.
He gave her a brief glance, then glanced around.
"You're lost, aren't you?"
Her lips parted, but she couldn't answer. She just nodded slightly, eyes wide and teary.
Kael reached into his coat again, but this time, it was just a phone. He tapped something, glanced at the screen, then slid it back.
"There's a main road ten minutes that way. Go right at the fork. You'll find a cab or two."
She didn't move.
He turned and began walking away.
"Wait—" she called.
He didn't stop, but he did respond.
"I have some more insects to deal with."
Before Lyra could speak, think, or even breathe properly, the boy turned toward the body behind her.
With casual ease, like tossing away trash, he walked over, grabbed the man's corpse by the collar, and hoisted it up with one hand.
"What are you—?" she started, but the words froze on her tongue.
He didn't answer.
He walked to the edge of the bridge, leaned back slightly—and hurled the body over.
It disappeared into the dark river below with a distant splash that echoed faintly in the stillness. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
By the time she gathered the will to turn around again, he was already walking off into the night, as if nothing had happened.
Her legs shook as she stared down at the spot where the body had vanished. It was like her brain couldn't catch up with what her eyes had just witnessed. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, her breaths shallow and rapid. The air felt too thick to breathe.
She turned slowly in the direction he had pointed earlier.
Step by step, she started walking.
Her boots scraped against the concrete, unsteady and slow. Her mind screamed at her to focus, to pull herself together—but her thoughts were a blur of confusion, fear, and disbelief.
Who was he?
What kind of person kills someone, talks like a poet, and throws a body away like that?
She had always believed she was calm. Cold, even. She had gone through her own storms and stood through them. But this—this was something else.
She had seen a man die. Shot. Like it was nothing. Another corpse dumped like garbage.
Her throat was dry. Her hands clenched uselessly by her sides.
She reached the main road eventually. Her phone had long since died. Her surroundings were eerily quiet, completely cut off from the familiar world. No streetlights. No cars.
Just her and the night.
Then—
Headlights.
A van pulled up in front of her with a screech, its lights flickering through the gloom. Her body froze.
Three men stepped out.
Tall. Muscular. Tattooed. One of them wore brass knuckles; another had a cigarette hanging from his lip.
"Hey sweetheart," one of them grinned. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone?"
The other two flanked her.
Panic hit her in the chest like a punch. She took a step back, her heart pounding.
She opened her mouth to scream—
BANG!
One of the men jerked violently as a hole burst through his temple. He dropped to the ground, dead before he hit it.
"Shit—!"
The others turned, but two more quick shots rang out. Precise. Brutal. One went down with a shot clean through the chest. The other was hit square in the neck, choking on blood.
The driver tried to reverse in a panic—
CRACK!
A final shot punched through the windshield, spraying glass and blood.
Silence.
She couldn't move. Her legs were locked in place. Her ears were ringing. Her whole body felt numb.
Then—
A motorcycle screeched to a halt beside her.
Black. Sleek. Growling.
Sitting atop it, visor up, was him.
The boy.
Casually tucking the gun away again like it was a phone.
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
"Seriously," he said, voice flat. "Are you a magnet for trouble or something?"
Lyra stared at him, her red eyes wide with shock and disbelief, her lips trembling but unable to form words.
He walked over to her slowly, his boots crunching against the gravel. His brows furrowed when he saw how pale and frozen she looked.
"...You okay?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "Damn, you're still standing. Guess you're stronger than you look."
She didn't respond. Her eyes were locked on the three corpses sprawled across the road. Blood glistened in the moonlight. Her breath hitched, but she still didn't say anything.
The bot sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, alright. Sit back on the bike. I'll drop you off."
Still, she didn't move.
He followed her gaze toward the bodies and casually added, "Don't worry about them. Bunch of scum. They were members of some new gang trying to establish territory here. You know how it is—kill the pests before they multiply."
Without another word, he walked over, crouched, and picked up the bodies one by one as if they weighed nothing. With an almost bored expression, he tossed them into the van like sacks of meat.
Then he popped the bonnet, yanked some wires, and did something she couldn't quite follow. After stepping back a few meters, he drew his gun again.
BANG.
A small spark. Then smoke. Then fire.
The flames quickly caught onto the wires, crawling toward the fuel tank. Soon, the van was engulfed in a dull, roaring blaze. The stench of burning metal and blood filled the air.
Kael stared at it for a moment, then muttered, "Such a pain. At least this area's deserted. No buildings, no neighbors to report a little fire."
He turned back toward Lyra and motioned casually to the bike. "C'mon, princess. Hop on. I don't have all night."
Lyra blinked and slowly moved forward, still visibly shaken, her eyes flicking between the fire, the bodies, and him. She climbed onto the back of the bike.
But in that haze of shock, something strange crept into her chest. Not fear. Not horror.
Satisfaction.
She stared at the fire crackling behind them. The smell of blood didn't make her nauseous. It made her feel… alive.
And the boy in front of her was more than just some random killer. He was confident. Cold. Clean in his work. Like death didn't weigh on him at all.
He was cool. He was free just like how she wanted to be.
She gripped the edge of the bike seat and thought, What if I could be like him?
What if I could kill all the people I hate? Get rid of the trash in this world, one by one?
Her pulse quickened.
She clenched her fists and suddenly blurted out, "Let me join you!"
Kael paused. Slowly turned his head.
"What?"
"Let me join you," she repeated louder, her red eyes burning with something fierce, something dangerous. "I want to do what you do. I want to be part of it."
Kael stared at her for a moment, jaw visibly dropped.
Then he blinked twice, genuinely confused, and made a sound that was somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "...Huh?"
He raised one hand and waved it dramatically, like dismissing a pop-up window. "Bruh, I'm not out here player farming in a game, you know? Creating a party, unlocking side quests or something. I ain't looking for guild members."
He turned back forward, muttering, "What kinda insane person asks to be a killer's sidekick right after watching him burn three people alive...?"
He sounded amused. But Lyra didn't laugh.
Instead, she leaned forward, arms resting gently against his back, whispering to herself, Maybe I am insane.
But in that moment, she didn't care.
The bike drove in silence for a while, the hum of the bike filling the night air. The wind cut across his face, but his thoughts were louder than the engine.
He flicked a glance over his shoulder.
She was still holding on. Not too tight, not trembling. Her eyes weren't wide, her breathing was steady.
Weird, he thought. She saw people get shot, saw bodies burn—and yet she's not even crying. No panic, no begging. Just... calm.
He hesitated before finally asking, "Hey."
"Hm?" she responded, almost casually.
"You're not scared."
She tilted her head. "Of what?"
He snorted. "Of what? Of me. Of what just happened. I just killed four people in front of you. Most people would be throwing up or screaming by now."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she replied coolly, "That's just how rich people live."
He blinked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"My family's rich. Extremely rich. So all the kids are trained early," she said, as if reciting a shopping list.
"They showed us videos of criminals being executed, taught us about poisons, basic weapon knowledge. All so that in case of kidnapping or trauma, we don't break."
He turned his head slightly, a skeptical brow raised. "What kind of psychotic family does that to their own kids?"
She shrugged, glancing at the passing shadows. "It's supposed to keep us calm in life-or-death situations. Like what just happened. I guess it worked."
He let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, sure. 'Let's traumatize the kids early so they don't get traumatized later.' Makes total sense." He shook his head and muttered, "Rich people are built different, man."
"I'm still scared," she said after a moment. "Just… not as much. I've seen worse."
Kael made a mock terrified expression. "So uh, I didn't accidentally get on your bad side or anything, right?"
She gave him a flat look. "I could get you killed anytime I wanted."
He whistled, clearly amused. "Damn, noted. Please don't. I'm just a poor guy trying to survive in this trashy world."
She smirked but didn't answer.
They rode in silence for a bit longer before she suddenly asked, "So poor guy this is this bike stolen?"
Kael gasped dramatically. "What?! How dare you."
"So it is?"
"Absolutely not. This beauty is the love of my life," he said, patting the bike like it was a pet. "Had it for ten years now."
She made a weird face. "You're in love with a bike?"
He ignored the look. "It's not like I've had many friends. This thing's always been there. More reliable than people."
She laughed. "That's kinda pathetic."
"Thanks, I try my best."
"Wait—ten years? How old are you?"
"Twenty-six."
"So you've been driving since sixteen?"
"Yup."
She sighed, putting a hand on her forehead. "Right. I forgot. You're insane."
Kael grinned without looking back. "Takes one to recognize one."
He slowed the bike as they reached a quieter stretch of road, the shadows of trees blurring past them in the pale moonlight. Then, with a soft exhale, he said, "Kael."
Lyra tilted her head. "That's your name?"
He nodded once.
"What about your last name?"
Kael's lips curled into a half-smile, but there was no humor in it. "Not worth remembering."
"Why not?"
He didn't answer.
There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, more serious this time. "I was serious, you know. About working for you."
Kael raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the road. "What can you even do?"
"I can hack into almost anything," she said proudly. "Track phones, scrub digital trails, gather information, even unlock security systems. I've done it all."
Now that got his attention. He shot her a sideways glance, genuinely impressed. "Huh. So you're not just a spoiled heiress."
She smirked. "Hardly. I hate everything. Everyone. None of it matters. They're all just noise. But you…" Her voice softened. "You're different. You're cool. Free. I want to be like that too."
Kael's smile faded. There was something heavy in his eyes now.
Then, after a long pause, he said quietly, "Fine. You can join me… but only under one condition."
She perked up instantly. "What is it?"
Kael slowed the bike and pulled to the side of the road. The engine idled. He turned to face her, his expression serious—almost mournful.
"You never take a life."
Her eyes widened, visibly shaken. "What?"
"You heard me. That's the condition," he said. "You never kill. No matter what."
"But why?" she demanded. "You kill people—bad ones. Why can't I? It's the same."
Kael's voice turned cold, but not cruel—firm, edged with something that felt like grief.
"Because nothing justifies it. Not really. Not even killing scum. Once you cross that line… you don't come back. Ever."
She stared at him, trying to understand, her thoughts racing.
"I'll handle the blood," he said quietly. "You? You gather info, watch my back. That's it. If you can't live with that, we're done. I can turn this bike around right now."
He turned slightly, his hand hovering over the throttle.
"So," he asked, not looking at her. "What's your choice?"
She clenched her fists tightly, trembling. "I'm done with it all. I don't care anymore."
Kael stared at her, frowning slightly. "You're just gonna walk away from everything? From everyone? Just like that?"
She didn't flinch. "Everyone's selfish. They all pretend to care, but in the end, they only think about themselves." Her voice cracked. "So just go."
But then he saw it—barely. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Kael looked away, nodding quietly. "Got it."
The rest of the ride was silent. Wind howled past them as the night deepened. They didn't speak until they arrived at a small, secluded house tucked between the trees on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't big, but it had a certain charm—clean, quiet, and oddly warm under the dim porch light.
He guided the bike into the garage, shutting the door behind them. "Place isn't mine," he said offhandedly. "Just one of the safe houses someone gave me a long time ago."
They walked inside. The furniture was simple—dustless, practical. She took a seat on the couch while he grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge.
"So," Kael said casually, tossing one to her. "How old are you?"
She blinked, caught off-guard. "Huh?"
"Your age."
"…I'm eighteen," she answered slowly.
He nodded. "Alright. That makes things easier."
She raised an eyebrow. "Easier how?"
"I'll get you a fake ID tomorrow," he said. "From now on, you're just Lyra. No Vianna attached. No heiress bullshit. Just Lyra."
She looked down at the bottle in her hands, quiet.
Kael leaned back. "But we've got a problem. That silver hair of yours? Dead giveaway. Vianna estate trademark."
He glanced at her, then pointed toward the stairs. "There's an empty room upstairs. You can take it. In the morning, I'll sort the documents and clothes. But for now? You get some rest. Think about what you're doing."
She hesitated, looking toward the stairs, then back at him.
"I'll tell you everything tomorrow," he said. "For now, just breathe."
Lyra nodded slowly and walked up. The room was small, with just a bed and a lamp. She sat at the edge, staring at the wall.
The silence was louder than any voice. Her mind wouldn't quiet.
Was this really the right decision?
She had left behind everything—wealth, safety, power. Her family, her name. All gone in one night.
Would she regret it? Would they even come looking for her? Or would they pretend she never existed?
She curled into the blanket, eyes wide open, the weight of uncertainty pressing on her chest.
She wasn't sure what tomorrow held—but it had already begun to reshape her.
The night had a certain weight to it.
The rain outside tapped lightly against the glass windows of the small safehouse, more like a lazy rhythm than a storm. The lounge was dim, lit only by the orange hue of a table lamp and the dull glow from Kael's cigarette. Smoke curled in the air like whispers too shy to speak.
Kael sat on a tattered armchair, one leg flung casually over the other, elbows resting on the armrests like he owned the place—which technically, he didn't. But ownership was just a word. Presence was what mattered.
He flicked the lighter open and closed.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
The front door creaked open.
His eyes didn't move, not at first. Then, slowly, his head turned, gaze sharp under the mess of black hair hanging over his eyes.
A gust of cold air followed the new arrival.
Kael smirked.
"Well, if it isn't Officer May," he drawled, voice lazy but laced with sarcasm. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to tuck me in?"
May walked in, trench coat dripping, face as unreadable as stone. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she sat down in the chair opposite him with the kind of grace that didn't belong in government halls—it belonged in courtrooms and war zones.
Her eyes met his.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Kael leaned back in his seat, lit his cigarette, and took a long, slow drag. The ember glowed like a little eye in the dark.
"You know me," he said, voice almost bored. "When I don't have anything official, I go out hunting insects. Gotta stretch the muscles."
May sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"How many, Kael?"
Kael looked up at the ceiling and began counting aloud, like someone trying to remember how many beers they had the night before.
"Let's see… besides the warehouse guys—that was my assignment, by the way—I only wiped maybe… three? Four extra. They had it coming. Real pests. No paperwork necessary."
"You never learn."
"I learn plenty," he said with a grin, flicking ash into a chipped bowl. "I just don't like being housebroken."
May stood up, her coat flaring slightly with the motion. She glanced toward the door.
"Next week, the Boss wants to see you."
Kael raised a brow.
"The Boss? Boss boss?" he asked, genuinely intrigued. "What's the big man from upstairs want with a janitor like me?"
"I don't know," she said. "But show up. Clean. And don't piss him off."
Kael gave a lazy two-finger salute, cigarette still clinging to his lips. "No promises."
She was halfway to the door when she suddenly froze.
Her eyes locked onto something—or rather, someone.
A girl stood halfway down the staircase.
Silver hair, eyes wary. She wore oversized clothes like they didn't belong to her—because they didn't. Her bare feet peeked out beneath the hem of sweatpants. She was silent, but her presence screamed volumes.
May turned sharply toward Kael, hand already going to the pistol at her waist.
"Who is she?" Her tone was sharper now, no longer tired—just lethal.
Kael didn't flinch. Instead, he just looked over his shoulder with that same infuriating calm.
"Oh her?" He casually pointed his thumb behind him. "Caught myself a princess."
May's expression shifted. Recognition flickered behind her eyes like lightning.
"Vianna…" she whispered. Then louder, "Is that Lyra Vianna?!"
Her gun was drawn in a heartbeat, aimed dead at Kael's chest. Her stance was textbook. This wasn't May the handler—this was May the enforcer.
"What the hell is this, Kael?"
Kael didn't even blink. He leaned back, the lighter spinning on his index finger, perfectly relaxed even with a loaded barrel pointed at his heart.
"Easy there, Iron Lady," he muttered, amusement tinged with tiredness. "Why don't you ask the princess yourself?"
May didn't lower the weapon. She looked back at the girl.
"Lyra Vianna. Do you even realize how many federal flags are on your name?"
Lyra hesitated at the top of the steps, clutching the wooden rail like it was a shield. Her lips parted, but no sound came at first. Kael gave her a look—slightly tilted head, a small nod, like saying: Your move.
"I left them," Lyra said at last. Her voice was soft but firm. "I left my family. I'm here because I want to be."
May's brows furrowed. She looked between the girl and Kael again.
"You abducted her?"
Kael finally stood, stretching his arms lazily. He walked right up to the barrel of the gun and stopped just short.
"Now, now. If I abducted her, would she be wearing my hoodie and stealing my bed? Think, May."
May slowly holstered her weapon, but her eyes hadn't softened.
Kael rolled his neck, exhaling a trail of smoke as if the entire situation bored him to tears. Then, without so much as looking at Lyra, he said casually:
"She's working with me now."
May blinked. "What?"
Kael turned to face her, cigarette hanging from his lips. "You heard me. Sidekick. Partner. Whatever you wanna call it."
"Are you insane?" she snapped, stepping forward again. "You brought a high-profile heiress, daughter of one of the most connected families on the East Coast, into your black-ops kill shack and now you want her as a sidekick?"
Kael held up a hand with a lazy shrug. "First of all, it's not a kill shack, it's a safehouse. Very cozy. Secondly—yes."
May stared at him like he'd suggested arming a toddler with C4.
"If anyone finds out—Kael, her father won't just come for you with lawyers. He'll send half the continent's shadows crawling through your windows. You'll be dead before you even light your next smoke."
Kael pulled the cigarette from his mouth and tapped ash into the bowl. He gave her a half-lidded, bored look.
"Only if someone finds out."
That made her pause.
May narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
Kael grinned, that infuriating smirk returning to his face like a mask he'd never taken off.
"I mean," he said, "I change her hair, scrub a few entries from the register, plant a new ID, and poof—she's just another nobody. It's that simple."
May looked over at Lyra—still frozen on the stairs, still with that silver hair glowing in the dim light like a beacon—and then back at Kael.
She stepped closer. Her voice dropped a notch.
"You really think you can just rewrite her into a ghost?"
Kael didn't even blink. "I've done worse."
Another tense silence followed.
May's eyes locked with his, steady, cold, evaluating. She held his gaze like it was a challenge, like she was trying to read between the cracks in his usual smirk. For a second, something like disappointment flickered across her face. But it vanished just as quickly.
"I know what you're doing," she said quietly. "Don't think I don't."
Kael waved her off with a lazy hand and a crooked smile.
"I know you won't tell anyone," he said, walking back toward the chair, his voice light and amused. "You like acting like a hardass, May, but deep down? You don't hate me."
May didn't respond right away.
Instead, she turned toward the door, this time with slower steps.
"Next week," she said as she pulled the door open. "Don't be late to the meeting."
Kael didn't answer.
The door clicked shut behind her.
The lounge fell back into that familiar silence again, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the rain still drizzling outside.
Kael exhaled, watching the smoke drift up toward the ceiling.
Then, without turning around, he muttered toward the stairs:
"You can stop hiding now. She's gone."
Lyra stepped down slowly, still wide-eyed. "You really think this'll work?"
Kael looked up at her, his grin curling at the edge.
"It's already working, Princess."
"Are you not afraid?" Lyra asked walking slightly closer.
Kael blew out a smoke looking at the ceiling as if bored, "Afraid of w--"
"You already know don't drag it."
Kael smirked slightly, "I wouldn't be here if I was afraid of death."
"I still don't understand why have you brought me, do you have some ulterior motives?"
Kael retorted by complaining, "Huh? You asked me to brought you here okay....?"
Lyra still doubtfully asked, "Yes but it doesn't mean you can simply bring me into this...."
Kael threw his cigarette out and put his lighter in his pocket as he got up, "Listen if you wanna stay then stay, if you don't you're free to leave."
"Now good night."
---
The morning sun filtered lazily through the blinds, drawing golden lines across the walls of the small house. Lyra walked down the stairs slowly, still adjusting to the soft warmth of this unfamiliar freedom. The scent of brewed coffee and engine grease mixed strangely in the air.
Kael was already up, of course. He sat cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by bags—piles of them. Some still had the store tags flapping lazily, like flags of surrender. He was meticulously going through one of the bags when he looked up and spotted her.
"You're finally up, Sleeping Beauty," he said, flicking a box toward her. It skidded across the table and stopped right at her feet.
She blinked at the label. Hair dye. Black.
Kael reached behind him and pulled out more supplies: color contacts, clothes, a packet with what looked like documents. He tossed her a soft hoodie and a pair of jeans.
"Picked these up for you," he said casually. "Should fit. If not, cry to the universe or shrink yourself. Once you're done changing that trademark hair and eye combo, we'll head out and get your ID."
Lyra nodded and gathered the things in her arms without a word.
She stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. The sound of the latch locking echoed louder than it should have.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Then her gaze lifted slowly to the mirror.
And froze.
Her silver hair shimmered under the light. It poured over her shoulders like liquid moonlight, every strand bright and pure. Everyone had always complimented it—her family's signature, the unmistakable mark of the Vianna estate. But this was the first time she truly saw it.
It was beautiful.
Delicate.
Unmistakably hers.
Something twisted in her chest.
She reached for the scissors.
Her hand hovered for a second. Trembled.
Then, without warning, she slammed her fist against the mirror. The glass cracked down the center, webbing out like a spider's nest. A line of red formed on her knuckle, thin and sharp.
"Why are you hesitating now?" she whispered harshly, voice shaking. "You made the choice."
She gritted her teeth, grabbed the scissors, and with one swift, painful motion—snip—the first lock of silver fell into the sink.
Her breathing quickened.
Another snip. Then another. She didn't stop until half of it was gone—shortened, uneven, falling just above her shoulders.
Her chest rose and fell, erratic. She grabbed the dye next. Her hands moved like they belonged to someone else.
When she finally opened the bathroom door, the scent of chemicals still clung to her.
Kael looked up from where he was fixing a strap on his backpack. His eyes widened, but he didn't stand.
Instead, he whistled. "Huh."
Half of her silver locks were gone, replaced by short black hair that framed her face in a jagged, messy bob.
Her eyes were now a deep ocean-blue, calm but unreadable. She wore a plain grey shirt, slightly oversized, and dark jeans. The hoodie was tied around her waist.
"You butchered it," Kael said, eyebrow raised.
She shrugged. "Didn't like long hair."
He gave a low chuckle. "Right. Not because you were getting emotional or anything, huh?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. He stood up, grabbing the bag of documents and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Well, Princess," he said, nodding toward the door. "Time to make you disappear."
As they stepped out together, Lyra didn't look back.
But for just a second, in the sliver of mirror left untouched by the cracks, a faint glint of silver remained—like a memory cut short before it could become history.
---
The moment Kael pushed the door open, the atmosphere changed.
The place reeked of smoke, sweat, and stale beer. Lights hung low and flickering, casting yellow halos over shadowed faces. Tattooed men leaned over poker tables, dice clacked against wood, and every corner buzzed with the hum of danger. Loud voices barked bets and curses over the clatter of glass.
Then Kael stepped in.
Silence followed him like a loyal dog.
The laughter choked itself mid-throat. Cards paused mid-deal. One man at the bar blinked and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, lowering his drink. Another stiffened, slowly turning his head away like prey avoiding the eyes of a predator.
Lyra walked beside Kael, uncertain and tense. She leaned closer, voice quiet. "Why is everyone… staring at us?"
Kael didn't look at her. His hands were in his pockets, his gait lazy but calculated.
"I'm famous," he replied flatly, as if he'd just told her the weather.
They walked past the hush, down a hallway barely lit, the whispers behind them barely audible.
He stopped in front of a nondescript wooden door, knocked twice with the back of his knuckle, and opened it.
The room inside was small—strangely peaceful. No smoke. No noise. Just a desk, an old lamp with a cracked shade, and a frail man sitting cross-legged on a tattered chair. His eyes were clouded, unseeing, but his hands moved with slow precision as he cleaned a silver lighter.
Kael gestured with his chin. "This guy's blind," he told Lyra. "But don't let that fool you. He's the best in the city when it comes to making people disappear. IDs, records, passports—new life in a day."
The old man didn't even look up. "Sit," he said simply.
Kael sat and began listing details.
"Name's Lyra," he began. "But we'll change that. Make it something plain. Born in a rural town—mother dead, father unknown. Lived with an aunt who died last year. Got into some petty trouble, moved to the city. Works at a bookstore."
Lyra blinked. "That's… a lot."
"It's fine," Kael said, waving a hand. "He'll write the whole story better than any novel."
The old man gave a dry chuckle. "Come back at night. Everything will be done."
---
Later that Night
The two returned under the shroud of darkness. The gambling den still buzzed, but no one dared stop them.
Inside the quiet room, the old man handed over a small, brown folder. Inside: ID, birth certificate, work history, tax records—everything.
Lyra flipped through it, stunned. A new name. A whole life invented. All perfectly fake. All perfectly believable.
"You did all this in one day?"
The old man smirked, barely. "This is nothing."
Kael tilted his head. "Told you."
He handed Lyra the folder and nudged her with his elbow. "Go wait by the bike. I need to talk to him."
Lyra hesitated, brows furrowed. "Why?"
"Just business."
She stared at him for a moment but eventually turned and left. The door clicked shut behind her.
As soon as it did, shadows moved.
From behind shelves, cracks in the wall, hidden doors—six men stepped out. All armed. All ready.
Kael didn't move.
He sighed and leaned back in the chair, pulling out a cigarette. "So this was your plan?" he asked, lighting it. "Gotta say… old-school, but effective."
The old man's face remained blank. "You're too dangerous, Kael. The bounty's too high."
"How much was it again?" He asked dryly looking at the old man.
"twenty million American dollars."
Kael said, exhaling a plume of smoke. "That's a pretty price for my head."
"And it keeps increasing."
"Yeah i saw that, how about you wait till it's 100 million?"
"No one in our line of work would ignore that," the old man replied, voice steady. "Not even me."
Kael stared at him, cigarette between his fingers. "We've known each other a long time."
"I taught you alot of what you know," the old man said. "But you know better than anyone, in this business... money comes before loyalty."
Kael smiled thinly. "Yeah, yeah. Everyone keeps saying that like it's profound."
He stood up slowly, still exhaling smoke, his body relaxed.
"You think I didn't notice the six guys behind the wall? You think I brought her here without checking for traps?"
The men tensed.
The old man narrowed his blind eyes. "Doesn't matter. You're surrounded."
Kael tilted his head. "Am I?"
In a flash, he drew his pistol. No hesitation. The shot rang out like a thunderclap.
The old man's head snapped back. Blood bloomed across the wall behind him like a sudden painting.
The six men barely reacted before Kael turned on them.
Two bullets.
Three.
The last one lunged and Kael moved like a ghost—knee to the gut, elbow to the throat, another shot, clean and merciless.
Silence.
He stood alone in a room of corpses.
Ash drifted from the tip of his cigarette as he looked down at the old man's lifeless body.
"You were a good teacher, even if you thought me only little," he muttered. "Shame about the greed."
He holstered his gun, picked up the folder again, and walked out without looking back.
---
Lyra leaned against the motorcycle, the cool night breeze brushing strands of her newly black hair across her cheek. Her reflection in the chrome handlebar looked foreign. Blue eyes. Cropped hair. Baggy shirt and slacks. She looked… normal.
Unrecognizable.
The sound of boots on pavement drew her attention. Kael emerged from the dark hallway, his shirt slightly splattered with crimson. His face held the same bored calm it always did—like blood didn't matter.
She blinked. "Where's all that blood from?"
Kael glanced down at himself, then back up. "They tried to assassinate me," he said casually. "Don't worry—I killed them all."
She stared. "...What?"
"They hid in the back. Thought they'd get me by surprise." He handed her the small folder like it was nothing more than a fast-food receipt. "Your new life. Keep it safe."
Lyra hesitantly took it. "Why would they do that?"
Kael shrugged. "Because the bounty on my head is worth more than their lives."
Her eyes widened. "Bounty? How much?"
Kael smirked. "Twenty million."
She choked. "Twenty million dollars?!"
"And it keeps going up."
Her voice dropped, quiet and sharp. "Who even puts a bounty that high on someone who works with the FBI?"
Kael's smirk thinned. "Underworld mafias, syndicates, ex-cartels... the usual. But the FBI?" He gave a quiet laugh. "They pretend they don't know, but I'm not an idiot. They want me dead just as much. They think I don't see through it. Cowards, hiding behind legal walls."
He swung one leg over the bike and glanced at her. "Get on."
Lyra stood there, clutching the folder. She looked down at it, hesitated, then flipped it open. Inside was a complete file—typed, stamped, aged just enough to look authentic.
Name: Lyra Noelle
Date of Birth: June 3, 2004
Place of Birth: Ashton Hill, Montana.
Background: Lyra Noelle was raised in the rural town of Ashton Hill. Her mother died during childbirth; father unknown. She lived with her grandmother until the age of fifteen, when the woman passed away from illness. A quiet student, Lyra was known to be bright but solitary. She moved to the city shortly after graduating high school, working part-time in a used bookstore. Keeps to herself.
Criminal Record: N/A
Known Skills: Basic first aid
Fluent in English and some French
Computer-literate
Good memory retention
Medical Records:
Vaccinations up to date. Allergic to shellfish. No serious health conditions.
Emergency Contact: ##-xxxxxxxxx
Lyra shut the folder slowly. "It's… scary how real this looks."
"It is real," Kael replied, lighting a cigarette. "From now on, this is who you are. Not a single record of your old life exists anymore."
She looked up at him, voice quiet. "And if someone finds out?"
Kael took a drag and exhaled slowly. "Then I'm dead. You too, maybe."
She didn't flinch. "You still okay with that?"
He glanced back with that usual calm, deadpan gaze. "I wouldn't have brought you here if I wasn't."
"…You trust me that much?"
"I trust your type," he said, tapping ash off the end of the cigarette, "I wanna see something for myself."
She stared at him, surprised he'd read her that easily.
He nodded at the bike. "Come on. You've got a new name now. Let's make sure no one ever asks for the old one."
The soft clinking of metal echoed in the silent morning as Kael crouched beside his bike, tightening bolts and adjusting wires with practiced ease. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, casting long shadows through the dusty windows of the safehouse garage.
Lyra leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised.
"What's so special about it?" she asked.
Kael didn't look up. "Nothing. I just like it."
For a moment, there was quiet—until the front door creaked open.
It wasn't just any creak. It was slow. Subtle. The kind that sent instinct racing before logic could catch up.
Lyra stiffened. Her body moved without thinking, stepping beside Kael with sharp alertness. "There's someone here," she whispered. "We should—"
Kael calmly placed a hand on her shoulder, voice low but unbothered. "Relax. No one's attacking this place. It's too far, too off-grid, and too unknown."
She still looked tense.
"And secondly," he added with a sigh, "there's only one person I know who doesn't believe in knocking."
Footsteps. Confident. Fast.
Officer May appeared in the open doorway, sunlight casting a halo behind her, expression unreadable. Her coat fluttered slightly with the morning breeze.
Kael glanced up from the bike, expression as flat as always. "What now?"
May's eyes shifted past him, locking onto the girl standing at his side. For a brief second, her composure faltered—barely.
"That's her, isn't it?" she asked, tone clipped.
Kael stood, brushing off his hands. "Told you it'd look real. Impressed?"
May's jaw clenched just slightly before she masked it again under her usual stoicism. "You're playing a dangerous game, Kael."
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it slowly, like her words hadn't registered. "Aren't I always?" he exhaled. "So what's it this time?"
May met his gaze dead-on. "There's work. A big one."
Kael's smirk returned with a flicker of genuine interest. "Now we're talking. Have a seat."
He gestured to the small table near the window, the light catching faint scars in the wood.
Lyra followed silently, still on edge. She sat beside Kael, her hands curled in her lap as she watched the quiet storm between the two professionals.
May took out a slim folder and slid it across the table. "Target is Adriano Falcone. Underground mafia. Italy-based, but he's extended operations here. Arms trade, human trafficking, blackmail, political sabotage—you name it. He's untouchable. Until now."
Kael opened the file lazily, his gaze scanning through. "They finally got tired of pretending he didn't exist, huh?"
May didn't respond.
Kael looked over at Lyra. "Pick it up."
Lyra blinked. "Huh?"
"It's your first mission," Kael said. "Time to make an entrance."
She hesitated, then slowly reached for the file. Her fingers trembled for a fraction of a second. She caught it and tightened her grip.
May watched her carefully—an unreadable expression flickering across her face. "You sure this is a good idea?" she asked Kael.
Kael didn't look at her. "She's not made of glass."
Lyra flipped through the pages, trying to match her face to the confidence she was expected to show. But the weight of it hit her harder than she'd expected.
Details. Maps. Photos of dead men. Weapons. Surveillance logs.
She swallowed and looked up. "You… want me to do something in this?"
Kael leaned back, exhaling smoke. "Analyze it. Learn it. Every pattern, every gap. Your mind's sharp—I've seen it. Start seeing like us."
May said nothing, but Lyra could feel the woman's eyes on her. Judging. Measuring.
Lyra straightened her shoulders and nodded, pretending she didn't feel like she was about to throw up.
Kael grinned slightly. "Welcome to the game."
Kael stood up, stretching slightly. "I'll be back. Nature calls," he said flatly, spinning the lighter in his fingers before slipping it into his pocket.
As he turned his back to the two women and headed down the hall, his footsteps echoed lazily. For just a split second, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He wanted them to talk. Alone.
The door to the bathroom clicked shut.
A tense silence fell.
Officer May's eyes remained locked on Lyra, arms crossed, her gaze unreadable but sharp. Then she finally spoke, voice low and cold.
"Why are you doing this?"
Lyra tilted her head, arms resting behind her on the couch like she owned the place. "Doing what exactly, Officer Buzzkill?"
May didn't take the bait. "You belong to a respected family. You had a future, one paved in gold. Yet here you are, playing sidekick to a contract killer in some rundown cabin in the middle of nowhere."
Lyra scoffed, flipping her now-black hair over her shoulder with exaggerated flair. "Respect? You mean control. Appearances. Forced smiles and empty dinners. No thanks."
May's voice was calm but stern. "That life gave you security. Safety. This—what you're doing now—it's chaos. It's blood and bodies. This is not a movie, girl."
Lyra's eyes narrowed, the bratty mask giving way to venom. "Don't call me girl. You're not my mother."
May's lips thinned. "No. But I am someone who knows exactly what this life does to people. You think this is some edgy rebellion? That killing is glamorous?"
Lyra leaned forward, voice sharp like glass. "You think I care what it does to me? That fake little doll life back there? That was the real hell. This—this at least feels real. There are people out there who deserve to die. And if I have to shoot a few for that? I'll sleep fine."
May's eyes hardened. "You're wrong. You won't sleep. Not forever. The screams come later."
Lyra rolled her eyes. "Wow. Deep. How many years did it take for you to master that cliché speech?"
May's voice cracked with disappointment now. "You don't know what you're walking into. You're not trained, not ready. And you think this makes you powerful? It'll break you."
Lyra stood, inching closer, her tone acidic. "I'm not some porcelain toy who needs saving, Officer. I'm not going back. So stop talking like I'm twelve. You don't know me. You don't know what I've seen, what I've felt. I'm not playing. This is real for me."
May didn't flinch. "Then act like it. Stop pretending you're in control. You're not Kael. You don't wear death like perfume. You're just a girl running from her name."
Lyra smirked, venomous and defiant. "Better than being someone who lives a fake life with a badge as a mask. At least I'm not a walking contradiction."
The two women stared each other down, tension heavy enough to cut with a knife.
Kael still hadn't returned.
May rose from her seat slowly, the weight of years resting on her shoulders. Her boots clicked against the wooden floor as she walked over to Lyra, who remained sprawled on the couch like she owned the place, chewing on invisible gum, clearly unbothered.
But May's voice was sharper now. Lower. Deadly serious.
"If you're really going to do this," she said, "then you should at least know what kind of monster you're working with."
Lyra lazily turned her head, raising a brow. "Monster? Bit dramatic, don't you think?"
May's eyes were steel. "You didn't hear me wrong. That's exactly what he is. A monster in human skin."
Lyra chuckled. "He looks more like an overworked gas station cashier with murder issues."
May didn't smile. "You think he's just some edgy, brooding killer? Let me tell you something. Since Kael joined us six years ago, he's killed over 2,300 people."
Lyra's fake smirk froze.
May took a step closer.
"And those are only the ones we know about."
Lyra frowned slightly, but didn't back down. "So? He's an assassin. Isn't that his job?"
May's voice was grim. "No, Lyra. His job is to eliminate threats. But Kael—Kael kills with ease.
With joy, maybe. He never fails. Ever. He's never missed a single target. Doesn't blink. Doesn't feel. He doesn't even flinch when he burns people alive or feeds them to wolves. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Lyra stared for a moment. "He fed people to wolves?"
May nodded. "Once. In Russia. A whole gang. Ripped apart in the snow while he watched. Not even a flinch."
Lyra leaned back slowly, her arms crossed, eyes dark with intrigue. "And yet… you keep him around."
May's voice turned bitter. "You want to know why he's with us? You think he just signed up? No. We hunted him for five goddamn years. An anonymous killer.
No fingerprints. No trace. No witnesses. Every time we got close, it was like chasing smoke. We thought it was multiple people at first. That's how clean and chaotic his killings were. But no… it was always just one."
Lyra's brows furrowed. "Then how'd you catch him?"
May's jaw clenched. "That's just it. We didn't. He let himself get caught. No one knows why. Maybe he was bored. Maybe it was part of some sick game. But one day, we found him just… sitting. Waiting."
"…Waiting?" Lyra repeated, more serious now.
May nodded slowly. "He had every chance to disappear. To vanish. But instead, he walked into one of our traps. Calm. Quiet. Like it was planned.
We tortured him for days. I mean real torture sleep deprivation, sensory assault, electroshock. Nothing worked. No reaction. Just that same blank, bored look. That same dead stare."
She exhaled, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"He was sentenced to be hanged."
Lyra sat up straighter, eyes wide.
"But before it could happen," May continued, "the top brass decided he was too valuable. Too dangerous to waste. So they offered him a deal—his life in exchange for service. And just like that… he agreed."
"…Why?" Lyra asked, genuinely puzzled now. "Why would someone like him agree to that?"
"That's the question," May said bitterly. "No one knows. He gave us a name—Kael. No last name.
No ID. No birth record. No family. We scoured every global database, even classified systems. Nothing. It's like he never existed. Not a single trace of who he really is.
No one who's seen his face has lived. No one knows where he came from. He just… appeared. Like a ghost that kills."
Lyra swallowed hard, her voice quieter.
"…So you really don't know anything about him?"
May looked her dead in the eye.
"No one does. And that's what makes him the most dangerous man alive."
A long pause.
Lyra leaned back again, eyes thoughtful. The bratty smirk was gone. Instead, something darker had taken its place.
A strange glint of… admiration.
"Guess I picked the right person to follow, then," she whispered.
May stared at her like she was insane.
"You're out of your mind," she said. "You think this is a game. You think Kael will protect you. But one day… he won't. Because he's not your guardian angel, Lyra. He's a weapon. A ticking time bomb. And when he goes off, no one gets spared."
Lyra didn't respond.
She just stared at the hallway where Kael had vanished… her expression unreadable.
The heavy silence in the room was broken by the soft creak of the floorboards.
Kael emerged from the hallway, hands in his pockets, face as unreadable as ever. His boots made no rush, no urgency. Just that casual, bored stroll like he'd only gone to check the mail.
May's stare snapped toward him like a sniper scope locking on target.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice cold and sharp.
Kael raised an eyebrow. Then, without missing a beat, he muttered:
"Yeah. This house just has water issues."
He sat down again like nothing had happened, lighting a fresh cigarette like the conversation was still exactly where he left it.
"Pipes scream louder than some people I've interrogated," he added, flicking the lighter shut.
May didn't laugh.
Didn't blink.
She just kept staring at him like she was trying to solve a puzzle that kept changing pieces.
Kael looked at her sidelong, the corner of his mouth twitching. Not quite a smile. More like amusement barely worth his effort.
"What?" he asked, exhaling smoke slowly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
May didn't respond right away. Instead, she took a long breath through her nose and looked over at Lyra, who was sitting a little straighter now, but her arms still crossed in that same bratty defiance.
There was something different in her eyes now. A weight that hadn't been there before.
"Nothing," May said at last. "Just had a very enlightening chat with your little protégé."
Kael raised his brows slightly, pretending to be interested. "Oh yeah? She ask you for makeup tips?"
Lyra snorted.
May scowled.
"No. But I gave her something better." Her gaze moved back to Kael like a blade sharpening. "Perspective."
Kael didn't respond. He just dragged the cigarette slowly, letting silence answer for him.
Then, as if bored of the entire exchange, he stood again, brushing the ash off his sleeve.
"Cool."
"Now," he said, looking at Lyra, "go get your gear. We leave at ten."
Lyra blinked. "Wait—what? Tonight?"
Kael gave a small, lazy nod.
"You said you wanted in. Welcome to the real thing."
And with that, he turned and walked toward the back room again, smoke trailing behind him like a phantom.
May didn't stop him. She just looked at Lyra one last time, voice low.
"Still think this is fun?"
Lyra didn't answer.
But she stood up anyway.
And followed him.
________________________________