Sharon didn't waste time. As soon as he stepped into the hallway beside her, she handed him another slim folder. Her tone was brisk, clipped, every word measured.
"Your task is simple," she said. "Target: Halvorsen. Last time you and Romanoff went after Dravoss, you took him out—and most of his circle with him. But Halvorsen slipped through. Now he's back in the city, trying to cut another deal with mutant traffickers."
Her eyes flicked to him, sharp and unyielding. "This time, we finish it. No loose ends."
Alex flipped the folder open as they walked toward the elevator, scanning the photo of a stocky man with cold eyes and expensive taste. "And by we, you mean…"
"I'll be running surveillance from the control room." Sharon's heels clicked against the marble floor, her stride purposeful. "You'll be the one making contact and pulling the trigger if necessary. Think of me as your eyes in the sky. You're the blade."
Alex smirked faintly, closing the folder with a snap. His green eyes glinted with interest. "Blade suits me. So where's this all going down?"
They exited into the hotel lobby, the morning crowd moving around them. Sharon kept her voice low as she leaned closer.
"Halvorsen's meeting at a high-rise across town—neutral ground, but crawling with security. Cameras everywhere, mercs on every floor. If you slip, you're not walking out."
Alex's grin sharpened, his gaze flickering with a predator's gleam. "Dangerous, crowded, and full of guns pointed at me. Perfect."
Sharon ignored the grin, handing him a keycard. "This will get you into the building. Floor twelve is where you'll start. I'll guide you from there."
He turned the card over in his hand, studying it. "And where will you be, Carter? Hiding behind the screens while I do the heavy lifting?"
Her gaze met his, calm but firm. "I'll be watching every angle. If you screw this up, I'll know before you take a second step."
Alex chuckled, tucking the keycard into his pocket. "Good. Then I'll make sure to put on a show worth watching."
For the first time, Sharon's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by her usual cool professionalism.
"Save the theatrics. This mission doesn't need charm—it needs precision."
"Charm is precision," Alex shot back with a grin as the two of them stepped out into the street.
The rain from last night had faded, leaving the city sharp and gleaming under the morning sun. Taxis rushed by, horns blaring, the pulse of the city already alive.
Sharon gestured to a waiting black sedan at the curb. "Our ride. Let's move."
Alex slid in beside her, leaning back in the leather seat as the car pulled into traffic. His grin never faded, but his green eyes had hardened, fixed on the job ahead.
"Halvorsen," he muttered under his breath, the name already rolling through his mind like prey caught in the crosshairs. "Let's see how fast he runs."
The sedan moved quickly through traffic, the driver silent. Alex leaned back in his seat with a folder in his hand. Sharon sat beside him, typing fast on her phone as she updated the safehouse about their arrival.
Alex opened the folder again. The photo showed Halvorsen—a tall, lean man with the kind of strength that came from years of surviving in rough places. He wore a suit and held a glass of whiskey, smiling without any warmth.
"Halvorsen," Alex said quietly. "The one who slipped away last time."
Sharon looked up. "And he hasn't stayed quiet. He's been rebuilding, slowly. Now he's tied into a trafficking ring across borders. He's here to finalize a shipment worth millions. Once that happens, he disappears again. And if he does, no one's catching him."
Alex's green eyes narrowed. "So he came back here to play king. And you want me to remind him why that won't work."
"Exactly," Sharon replied. "We don't get a second miss. You and Romanoff handled Dravoss, but leaving Halvorsen alive was a mistake. I don't want a repeat."
The car turned sharply, heading toward the cluster of high-rise buildings. Sharon lowered her voice. "His spotters are on the twelfth floor. They'll be watching for anyone out of place. Halvorsen himself is on the twenty-third. Guards, cameras, heavy security."
Alex closed the folder and slipped it into the side compartment. A grin crossed his face, sharp and confident. "Twenty-three floors of security. Perfect setup for me."
"This isn't a game," Sharon said firmly. "Go in, kill him, and get out alive. That's it."
"Staying alive is the easy part," Alex said as the sedan slowed. "The only choice is how loud I make it."
Sharon kept her tone serious. "Then keep it clean. If you don't, you'll end up with a target on your back."
The car stopped in front of the building, glass shining in the morning sun. Sharon nodded toward it. "Showtime."
Alex stepped out, adjusted his jacket, and smirked. "Relax, Carter. Ghosts don't scare me."
Without another word, he joined the crowd heading toward the building entrance.
Alex didn't bother with the front desk or cameras. The moment he stepped into the building, he let the Darkness Authority spread out like a second skin. Shadows wrapped around him, bending light, sound, and even electronic signals. To the guards, cameras, and scanners—he simply didn't exist.
He moved through the lobby and into the elevators without a sound, walking past two armed men who never even turned their heads. The doors opened, and he rode straight up to the twenty-third floor.
Halvorsen's office was exactly where Sharon said it would be. Expensive glass walls, dim lights, and music playing faintly in the background. Inside, Halvorsen leaned against his desk, a drink in one hand, his other arm around a girl who was clearly there to entertain, not talk business.
Alex didn't rush. He waited. The shadows held him completely invisible, not a breath out of place. He stood there until the room went quiet and the girl finally excused herself, leaving Halvorsen alone.
That was the moment Alex moved. One step forward and the shadows peeled back just enough for him to be seen.
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