The rain hadn't let up. It slicked the villa's terrace, ran in thin streams down the shutters, and filled the air with a low hiss that masked smaller sounds. Kairo stood at the upstairs window, looking over the drive. The gravel was untouched, the gate still locked. To anyone else, it would have looked like safety.
To Kairo, it was just the quiet before the breach.
He checked his watch—2330 hours. Too late for a friendly visit, too early for an all-out assault. Vale's people liked to come when you'd just started to think maybe nothing was going to happen.
Downstairs, Elira was moving through the kitchen, checking cupboards like she was cataloguing what they had. He could hear the faint clink of porcelain, the slide of drawers. It was a domestic sound, at odds with the storm pressing against the windows.
He turned from the glass, heading downstairs. She was leaning over the counter, tying her hair back.
"Anything?" she asked without looking up.
"Not yet."
"That's not comforting."
"It's not meant to be." He glanced at the table—two mugs, steam curling from them. She slid one across to him.
"Coffee?"
"It's stronger than it looks," she said. "You're going to need it."
They drank in silence for a moment, the quiet almost lulling—until a faint crunch sounded from outside. Not gravel. Glass.
Kairo's mug was already on the table before Elira heard it too. She tensed, eyes darting toward the front of the house.
"Stay here," he murmured.
"You know I'm not going to do that."
He didn't argue. He simply crossed to the hall closet, pulled out the shotgun, and handed her a pistol from the shelf above it.
Her fingers curled around the grip like it was muscle memory. "Where?"
"South side window," he said. "Ground floor. At least two."
The lights flickered—just for a heartbeat, but long enough to feel intentional.
Kairo's voice was low but hard. "They've cut the power."
From the corner of her eye, Elira caught movement outside—a shadow slipping past the hedges.
She met his gaze. "So much for a few hours."
The next sound was sharper—glass breaking fully this time, not the tentative crack of a testing blow. A window somewhere near the study gave way with a muted crash muffled by the rain.
Kairo moved first, cutting through the dim hall, Elira at his flank. The lights gave one more flicker before surrendering completely, plunging the villa into darkness. The storm outside became the only constant sound, rain whispering against the roof.
In the pitch-black, Kairo's presence was a quiet weight ahead of her—measured, deliberate. He stopped at the corner leading into the study wing and leaned just enough to see. The air carried a new scent—wet leather, gun oil, and the faint trace of someone who didn't belong here.
"They're inside," he said, voice barely above a breath.
"How many?"
"Two in the study… another near the stairs." He tilted his head, listening harder. "…Maybe more."
Her grip on the pistol tightened. "Then we move fast."
He glanced at her, and in the dark, she caught the faint outline of a smirk. "Just don't get in my way."
Before she could answer, he was moving again—low, quick, silent despite his size. The first man in the study didn't even have time to aim; Kairo caught him mid-step, yanking the rifle sideways, smashing the butt into the man's jaw with brutal efficiency.
Elira took the second before his gun cleared the shoulder strap. One precise shot—suppressed, just a sharp hiss in the dark—dropped him where he stood. She moved to cover the doorway while Kairo checked the bodies.
"They're not Vale's regulars," he murmured, checking for identification and finding none. "Too clean. Too disciplined."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning Vale's outsourcing again." His voice hardened. "Foreign contractors."
A creak above them pulled both heads upward. Someone on the landing, moving toward the bedroom corridor.
They climbed the stairs without a word, Kairo taking the lead. At the top, the hallway stretched in both directions, shadows twisting in the half-light from the storm. The rain on the windows made it harder to hear, but the faint scrape of a boot gave the intruder away.
Kairo moved in a blur—rounding the corner, slamming the man against the wall with a forearm to the throat. The intruder dropped his weapon, hands clawing for leverage, but Kairo's hold didn't waver.
"Who sent you?"
The man just grinned—bloodied teeth, mocking.
Kairo tightened his grip, voice cold. "Last chance."
Instead of answering, the man jerked his head forward, trying to headbutt him. Kairo shifted, slamming him into the wall hard enough to rattle the frame. The grin disappeared.
"Your choice," Kairo said, and let him drop.
Elira stepped in, picking up the weapon and checking the hallway beyond. "We're clear here."
"For now," Kairo muttered. He knelt, frisked the man, and came up with a phone—locked, but still buzzing faintly from some silent message.
Downstairs, the sound of another window giving way cut through the storm.
Elira met his eyes. "We've got more coming."
Kairo chambered a fresh round. "Then we make an example out of them."
They moved back toward the stairs, side-by-side now, the unspoken rhythm between them settling in—him taking point with the heavier firepower, her flanking to cut off angles. They didn't need to speak; they'd done this too many times before.
As the next set of shadows breached the front hall, Kairo's voice dropped to a low growl meant for her alone.
"Stay close, Elira."
She almost smiled—sharp, defiant. "Always."