The mist had lifted completely by mid‑morning, revealing the slope of the mountain and the shadows of ancient pines perfectly still. The villa, stark against the forest, sat empty of expectation—but the team felt its presence in every silent wall.
They gathered in the study at precisely 9:03 a.m. Lightning-fast coordination, no small talk. Layla tapped the familiar map interface on her tablet; Minjoon checked sidearms; Andrea stood near the doorway, hands folded lightly, eyes distant. Eunwoo stood closest to her, waiting—not instructing.
"North path looks clear," Layla said, voice flat. "Movement about four clicks from here. Not sure if it's agents or traffickers. Could be scouts for the real target."
Andrea walked over and peered at the map—in fresh air, justice grew sharper. She tapped a small twinkling icon. "Zero comms coverage," she said. "I see the block zones. But the terrain… too wide. Too exposed."
Eunwoo didn't reply. He simply checked the scope on his rifle, breathing low. A man who needed no signal.
Minjoon zipped his bag shut. "Recon in pairs. Andrea, you and I will map the southern approach. Eunwoo, you and Layla take the east entrance?"
Andrea nodded once, turning to Eunwoo.
His eyes flicked up at her. Cognizant. Carefully balanced. "We'll stay on line," he said.
"Of course," she said, tightly. Almost polite.
Then she turned on Minjoon. "Let's move. We can't wait till dusk."
He followed. They disappeared down the hall.
Eunwoo adjusted his vest and picked Layla's tablet. "I'll handle the drone controls."
Layla shook her head. "You're needed in the field—"
"I'll sit it," he interrupted. "Go with Minjoon."
Reluctantly, Layla conceded. "Fine."
Andrea reached the door first and paused in the corridor's lighting, backlit like some fallen star.
Eunwoo stopped beside her.
She didn't turn.
But neither moved away.
"Be safe," he said, barely above a whisper.
"Don't slow me down," she replied, voice cool. But a flicker in her shoulder said she heard him.
They left.
The forest swallowed them immediately. Branches overhead formed a lattice of green, sunlight broken into scattered gold. The ground was cold, mossy, ears sharper than minds.
Andrea led — her path quiet, practiced. Minjoon whispered coordinates into a small handset, scanning foliage for hidden signs of life. Deer tracks, broken twigs, footprints not made by animals. It all felt taut.
They reached a ridge overlooking the property's eastern edge. Andrea crouched low and viewed the valley stretch. Minjoon watched her from behind, quiet. She fingered the scope—no humans, but three small fires far below. Suspicious. Earth freshly dug. They listened for movement.
"Could be camps," Minjoon suggested quietly.
Andrea nodded. "Then we document and report back. Stay low."
He copied coordinates. They crept back the way they'd come, eager not to disturb the peace.
In the villa's east wing, Eunwoo and Layla moved in unison. Drone humming overhead, camera scanning.
Layla frowned at the feed. "Temperature spikes about fifty meters south."
He watched the live video—small heated caverns of earth. "Someone's hiding a burner or generator. Maybe a compound."
Layla tapped. "Could be drug labs. Or operative outposts."
He switched the camera to thermal. Latent signals showed two moving heat signatures near a tree line.
Layla's breath hitched. "Live targets."
Eunwoo closed his eyes a moment. Andrea. Safe. He focused.
"Coordinates saved. Drone's battery low. We withdraw."
They turned to retreat.
Back up front, Andrea and Minjoon reached a rocky formation which formed a natural blind. She knelt and collected a soil sample. Her glove slid, revealing knife‑cut scars across her wrist, sharpened from years of combat training. She didn't notice.
Minjoon saw.
He swallowed, unaware this count as courage.
"Don't," he mouthed silently.
Andrea withdrew. Clean sample into a container. She rose and nodded. "Let's go."
Minjoon fell in line. They passed through whispering branches back toward the villa.
The team reconvened in the foyer at sunset. Tension still reconsidered in every face. Eunwoo showed coordinates and thermal stills; Andrea passed the soil container and photos. Layla cross‑checked.
They dismissed the live drones. The generator heat matched soil disturbance at the same location.
Layla's voice trembled. "That's clear network. Could be drug or weapon manufacturing."
Andrea didn't respond.
Eunwoo straightened. "Fortify the west wing. I've already arranged a ghost vehicle drop. Get ready for a shift at midnight."
His tone caramelized with authority. It felt natural.
Andrea's eyes flicked to his lips. Only once.
Minjoon swallowed. Layla leaned back.
So they set into motion.
Eunwoo entered the upstairs hallway just before midnight. Light footsteps after.
Andrea approached from her room. She wore slim tactical gear—practical, silent, and all black.
She didn't speak.
He did. Quietly.
"Trust me."
She stopped.
Over seconds, her chest heaved faintly.
"Count to ten."
She inhaled.
"Then you can leave my side."
Her eyes darkened.
She didn't say no.
But neither did she say yes.
They moved out.
The forest at night taught you to be silent. To blend. The wind sounded like ghosts. Their breaths formed mist. The only light from distant campfires—they mapped out the target zone.
Andrea advanced on foot, cloak dark, stance low. Eunwoo held flank. Every muscle poised.
Layla and Minjoon monitored radio feeds, watching the smokes, watching the soil vents.
Andrea reached the camp. It was an illegal pharmaceutical site. Lined lab tables. Vials. Dirty glass. Underground heaters.
She pressed eyes to scope.
Three targets moving. Shadow-stretch.
She calibrated.
Shots fired.
It happened so fast.
Tactical. Efficient.
No time for fear.
She moved, darting two meters left.
Eunwoo saw flash of heat, heard glass shatter.
He covered Andrea, ducked low.
In seconds, slumping bodies, no screaming.
Laura cameras captured the outcome.
Minjoon inhaled and said softly: "Secure samples. Burn the site. No comm logs."
Layla nodded, tears in her eyes.
They backed out.
Dawn came tearing through branches as they retreated.
Back at the villa they submitted their findings. Andrea remained silent, gloves peeling off, face stoic.
Eunwoo swept out a report. When he mentioned they'd shut it down, she looked at him for the first time in hours.
Rough voice, clipped: "Good work."
Before he could say something—
She turned and left.
Eunwoo let her go.
At dawn, the villa waited again. A fortress scarred but intact.
They trapped night and fire inside.
And watched it burn from the edges.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Andrea sat alone on the villa's terrace, wrapped in a loose sweater even though the sun pressed against the forest canopy, soft and insistent through low gray clouds. Around her, the garden sloped away, still and waiting: ferns glistening, moss clinging to stone edges, the small pond reflecting shabby ripples in mirror-flat water. A sense of waiting hung in the damp air.
She stared out at the forest, unmoving. Her thoughts were restless, fragmented—images from last night flickered: the panther wisp in her bones, Dimitry's revelation, the weight of inheritance she never asked for. She inhaled slowly, tried to anchor herself in the moss scent, the green hush around her. But peace didn't come easily now.
Footsteps on the stone terrace—quiet, practiced. Eunwoo appeared at the edge of her vision, but Andrea kept her back to him. He watched her, tension coiled in his shoulders.
He waited.
She didn't need to turn.
He studied her silhouette—the curve of her neck, the narrow tension in her shoulders, the way her hair caught the breeze just enough.
After a moment, he approached cautiously and sat on the balcony edge some feet away. His tone—a measured half-smile—shifted, warmth threading his cold façade:
"So big cat, big ears too, huh?"
Andrea stiffened slightly but did not glance back. Her jaw tightened. She murmured in Turkish, dry as autumn wind: "Heykel." (Statue.)
That made him smile faintly, softer than she'd seen before. "Did you say I'm handsome, statue?" His voice turned flirtatious—light, teasing—but careful, respectful. He watched her surrender to a rumble of wind in the trees rather than respond.
Andrea exhaled slowly. She was irritated—his tone, his proximity, his attempt at chipping away her walls. Yet under the irritation flickered a flicker of something worse: trust.
He waited until the silence stretched then rose, as if drawn by gravity, and moved to stand directly in front of her. Andrea's posture was still, unreadable. He took a breath.
Softly, he said, "Andrea."
She shifted but did not lower her gaze.
"There are things I have to ask." Her name came wrapped in regret.
He paused, waiting.
When she still did not turn, he knelt—on one knee—on the wet stone before her chair. The garden seemed to hush in recognition of the gesture. Her breath stuck in her throat.
He reached one hand toward his heart, then released it—swallowed—before speaking again. "I'm sorry."
The single word cut through the distance between them like glass breaking.
Her eyes finally turned, met his. Grief and skepticism flickered there, rival emotions clear as afternoon light.
Andrea's voice trembled. "You… what did you want to say—before you knelt?"
Eunwoo exhaled slowly, the cloud of his breath disappearing into the chilled air between them. A flicker of guilt softened the edge of his voice.
"Not just the apology," he said, words carefully folded. "I want to understand what happened. Last night—I saw you shift. I saw the panther... your body, the eyes—your mother's eyes. I don't know what that means. But I'm not walking away. Not without knowing."
Andrea's expression didn't move. She remained seated, arms crossed, legs drawn in like a fortress. She looked through him—past him—as if searching for the end of a conversation she never started.
But Eunwoo wasn't finished.
He stepped closer. Not with force. With intent.
His voice dropped lower, intimate in the way people confess without asking for mercy.
"When did this start? Are you even... human?" His words weren't cruel—just uncertain. "I want to know what all of this means, Andrea. I want to know the past you've been hiding in all these years."
The question wasn't sharp.
It was soft.
Too soft for someone like him.
Something in Andrea stilled.
That tone—quiet, unsure, no mask of leadership or pride—wasn't Eunwoo. Not the man who gave orders with his spine, not the man who dissected threats with logic and control. This version of him wasn't the boss.
He was just… someone standing in the rain.
Literally.
She noticed too late that he'd sat down on the terrace stone—wet from earlier rain, the moss chilled and seeping into his dark pants. He didn't flinch. He didn't care.
He was sitting on the floor like the cold didn't touch him. Like this conversation mattered more than pride.
Andrea blinked.
"Ne yapıyorsun..." she muttered under her breath, stunned. (What are you doing...)
He looked up at her with something close to quiet surrender in his eyes.
And that frightened her more than the questions.
"I don't want to share anything," she said finally, standing abruptly. Her voice was calm but final.
She turned, ready to walk off the terrace, boots clicking once—twice—
"Not even your boss gets to ask?" His voice cut through the air like it had weight.
Andrea stopped in her tracks. Her jaw tensed.
"You're just the team leader," she snapped over her shoulder. "So act like it."
His next words came with the kind of force that cracked porcelain.
"I'm your fiancé too."
Silence.
She turned slowly. Not fast. Not dramatically.
But the sound of her coat shifting in the wind was loud against the quiet.
He wasn't looking at her.
His head was down.
Fingers still curled slightly against the stone as if unsure whether to reach or retreat.
"You really want to bring that up now?" she asked, voice barely above the breeze.
His reply was nothing more than a whisper.
"Yes."
Then, more quietly—
"Because I'm not standing here as your superior. I'm sitting here because I… care."
The clouds thickened.
And then the sky opened.
The first drops hit his shoulder.
Then his hair.
Then the stone around him.
Andrea's eyes widened. "Eunwoo. Let's go inside."
No response.
The rain began to fall harder, drumming against the wood beams, soaking into the worn edges of the terrace floor. His sleeves darkened, his shirt clinging to his frame.
"You'll get sick, please..." she said again, her voice softer now. There was something pleading tucked into the corners of her tone.
Still, he didn't move.
Instead, his voice cracked with something like regret.
"I didn't mean to see what I saw... when you changed. Believe me, I saw nothing... Not really. I was too stunned. Too scared for you. Too—"
He swallowed.
"I saw the pain in your eyes more than the claws. That's what I remember."
Andrea stared at him.
The words—simple, raw, too honest—stripped her of her practiced silence.
Her shoulders dropped.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
The rain kept falling.
But her hand—once balled tightly into her sleeve—didn't resist when he reached for her wrist. It was a weak hold. A pleading one. Nothing about it was possessive.
But slowly, she felt his grip loosen.
Not because he was letting her go.
Because he wasn't holding on to her out of force.
Because he was apologizing with his silence now.
And she had no argument left.
Not with this version of him.
Not with the version of her that didn't want to fight anymore.
She stepped closer—but didn't speak.
And this time, neither of them moved first.
Only the rain did.