The shot cracked and the world exhaled.
Through the scope, Alexei watched the sniper fold—clean, soundless, as if gravity itself had decided the man was no longer worth it.
The rifle clanged once against steel and tumbled away. His partner jerked toward him, eyes wide, then vanished behind the same burst of mist.
Efficient, Psycho murmured, satisfaction curling through his pulse. Two breaths, two ghosts. I approve.
Alexei's mouth barely moved. "They never learned not to breathe in pairs."
Below, the compound stuttered into chaos. Voices rose, the horn blared—three long, one short. Fear always had a pattern.
He slung the rifle and slid down the ridge, the dry earth whispering against his sleeves. Afternoon stayed pinned in the sky, long shadows flattened to lines. Heat carried the tang of oil and blood.
Psycho rode inside him like current—silent, watchful, proud. I missed this, he said, almost fond.
