The city looked different from the rooftop.
From above, it was quieter—almost peaceful—like nothing ugly could survive this far from the ground. But Kevin Blackwood knew better. Darkness didn't disappear with height. It only learned how to hide better.
He stood still, every sense alert, aware of the woman across from him.
Viper.
She was shorter than him, lighter on her feet, her posture relaxed but deceptive. She moved like someone who knew exactly how dangerous she was. Her mask concealed her face completely, leaving only her eyes visible—sharp, observant, calculating.
Too observant.
Kevin forced himself to look away.
"Briefing says the target is inside," Viper said, her voice smooth but distant through the modulator. "Top floor. Two guards minimum."
Kevin nodded. "We split. I take east stairwell. You take west."
"No," she said immediately.
He turned sharply. "No?"
"This building has blind spots," she replied calmly. "Splitting increases exposure. We move together."
Kevin studied her for a moment.
She was right.
That unsettled him more than it should have.
"Fine," he said. "You lead."
They moved in sync, dropping silently from the rooftop and slipping into the building through a shattered window. Inside, the air was stale and thick with dust. Their footsteps made no sound against the concrete floor.
Kevin found himself watching her again.
The way she paused before corners. The slight tilt of her head as she listened. The controlled stillness.
It felt familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
They reached the stairwell. Viper raised a hand, signaling him to stop. She crouched, touching the floor briefly, then looked up.
"Motion sensor," she whispered. "Outdated model."
She pulled a small device from her belt and disabled it in seconds.
Kevin frowned behind his mask.
Shalom does that exact same thing.
The thought struck him so suddenly he nearly missed the next signal.
Viper glanced at him sharply.
"You okay, Reaper?"
"Yes," he replied, too quickly.
She held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary before turning away.
"Stay close," she said.
That only made it worse.
Inside the top-floor office, the target was exactly where intelligence said he would be—alone, nervous, surrounded by screens filled with data he never should have possessed.
The man looked up, eyes widening as two shadows emerged from the darkness.
"P-please," he stammered, backing away. "I—I can pay—"
"Silence," Kevin said coldly.
The man froze.
Viper moved behind him with swift precision, disabling him without unnecessary force. Kevin watched closely, his chest tightening.
That move.
He had seen it before.
Not on a mission—but at home.
Shalom had once demonstrated a self-defense technique after a late-night conversation about safety. She'd laughed it off, saying she took a class once.
Kevin hadn't believed her then.
He didn't believe it now.
They secured the data and prepared to leave. As they moved toward the exit, alarms suddenly blared.
Red lights flooded the hallway.
Viper swore under her breath. "Backup protocol. Someone tipped him off."
Kevin's mind raced. "Stairwell's compromised. We take the fire escape."
They ran.
Footsteps echoed behind them. Voices shouted. The building seemed to close in, walls narrowing, exits disappearing.
At the fire escape, a gunshot rang out.
Viper stumbled.
Kevin reacted instantly, grabbing her arm and pulling her into cover behind a metal door.
"You hit?" he demanded.
She shook her head quickly. "Grazed."
He glanced at her arm—blood seeped through the fabric.
Too much.
He tore a strip from his sleeve, wrapping it around her arm tightly. His hands moved automatically, expertly.
She stared at him.
"You've done this before," she said quietly.
"So have you," he replied.
Their eyes locked.
Something unspoken passed between them.
The footsteps drew closer.
Kevin made a decision.
"This way," he said, grabbing her hand.
She didn't pull away.
They leapt from the fire escape onto a neighboring rooftop, rolling hard. Kevin landed first, pulling her up just as another shot rang out.
They ran until the noise faded, until the city swallowed them whole.
They stopped several blocks away, hidden behind a crumbling wall.
Viper leaned against it, breathing hard. Kevin stood a few steps away, his heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the chase.
"You didn't have to do that," she said.
"Yes, I did."
She studied him again, eyes narrowed. "You trust me very quickly."
He hesitated. "I don't trust easily."
"Then why?"
He didn't answer.
Because something about you feels like home.
He couldn't say that. Not to her.
Not like this.
"We should report," she said after a moment.
Kevin nodded. "Agreed."
They stood in silence, the distance between them heavy.
"Reaper," she said suddenly.
"Yes?"
"If the Circle ever asked you to choose," she said carefully, "between loyalty and something you cared about… what would you do?"
The question hit him like a punch.
"I would protect what I care about," he said without hesitation.
Even if it costs me everything.
Her breath caught slightly.
She turned away quickly. "That's dangerous thinking."
"Maybe," he said. "But it's honest."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then her hand reached for her mask.
Kevin's pulse spiked.
"Viper—"
"I need air," she said quickly. "Just for a second."
She lifted the mask just enough to breathe, her face still hidden from him.
But Kevin saw it.
A glimpse.
Her jawline. The curve of her lips.
His world tilted.
Shalom.
The name screamed through his mind, impossible and undeniable.
"Put it back on," he said sharply.
She froze.
"Why?" she asked slowly.
"Because if I see your face," he said, voice strained, "I won't be able to forget it."
She lowered the mask.
Their eyes met again.
Something fragile shattered between them.
That night, Kevin returned home shaken.
Shalom sat on the couch, arm bandaged, wearing a familiar expression of calm.
"You're bleeding," he said immediately.
She looked down. "It's nothing."
"Shalom," he said sharply.
She met his gaze.
For a moment, everything hung between them—truth, lies, fear, love.
"I had a bad day," she said quietly.
"So did I," he replied.
They stood there, inches apart.
Both knowing.
Neither daring to speak it.
Outside, unseen cameras adjusted their angles.
Inside the Obsidian Circle, files updated.
ATTACHMENT CONFIRMED.
NEXT PHASE INITIATED.
And somewhere deep within the organization, Victor Kane smiled.