The Shadow in the Kitchen.
Aryan's apartment was a cramped box tucked away in a crawl space, perpetually reeking of damp concrete and boiled rice.
He unlocked the rusty padlock with quivering hands, slipping inside and securing all three bolts.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him. He slid down against the wooden door until he hit the floor. His heart still raced, each beat echoing like distant thunder.
He closed his eyes.
[System Open]
"Five million dollars," he whispered.
Concentrating on the thought, a stack of crisp bills materialized in his palm.
"This can't be real," he murmured, running his thumb over the texture of wealth.
"But it is real," Sam's voice cut through his disbelief.
"Yesterday you couldn't pay rent. Today you're a king. Everything you've endured is over now."
Aryan clutched the money tighter. "Me. A millionaire. The same man who counted coins for medicine last week."
His gaze drifted to the thin curtain separating the main room from the alcove where his mother slept. Her breathing was wheezy but consistent.
"I'll move you to a private hospital tomorrow, Ma," he promised softly. "VIP suite.
The finest doctors. Everything changes now."
He stood up, pacing the small room.
"Wait," Aryan said, frowning. "Amara said Demons are humans too. Or rather, we are all 'humanoid.' Even you, Sam... are you human?"
"Don't insult me," Sam scoffed. "That's merely genetic variation. You may share biological classifications, but don't compare me to a monkey."
Aryan raised an eyebrow. "You're humble, aren't you?"
He walked to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on his face. The cool liquid was a shock to his system, washing away the grime of the ballroom. He took a deep breath, finally feeling safe.
DING.
[Passive Skill: Seer Eye Triggered.]
[Perception Check: PASSED.]
Aryan froze. Water droplets clung to his chin, falling in slow, deliberate taps against the metal basin.
His instincts screamed.
He looked at the window above the sink. It was closed. But the dust on the sill... the pattern was wrong.
[Truth: The window was breached four minutes ago.]
[The dust has been rearranged to create an illusion of disturbance.]
Aryan's heart slammed against his ribs. He whirled around, scanning the shadows.
"DOWN!" Sam thundered in his head. "They found you!"
Aryan dropped instinctively as a dark form detached from the ceiling corner.
"Not a demon," Aryan whispered, glimpsing the attacker. "Human."
"Worse," Sam replied. "Professional. Look how he waited."
The figure hung spider-like above, clad in matte-black tactical gear.
"An Assassin," Aryan breathed.
The assassin dropped.
He moved with supernatural speed, faster than sound. Moonlight caught the edge of a combat knife, turning it into a silver streak of death aimed at Aryan's throat.
[Target: Unknown Assailant]
[Class: Hybrid Assassin]
[Intent: Silence the Witness.]
"Your Agility is garbage!" Sam yelled. "Trust your eyes! Now! Right—left—"
"I can see him in slow motion," Aryan whispered, watching the blade inch closer. "Every glint of metal. But..."
"Move faster!"
"I can't!" Aryan hissed. "My muscles won't keep up!"
The blade was an inch from his jugular.
I'm dead, Aryan realized, a bitter smile forming. I'm rich, and I'm dead.
THWACK.
A ceramic mug hurtled from the darkened living room, striking the assassin's temple with the force of a gunshot.
The assassin faltered mid-lunge. The blade missed Aryan's throat, slicing his shoulder instead. Aryan crashed against the sink, clutching the wound.
"Timing is everything," a voice drawled from the shadows.
Amara rose languidly from Aryan's battered sofa. She was still wearing the torn red dress, but she had thrown a leather trench coat over it. She took a bite of an apple she had taken from Aryan's fruit bowl.
Crunch.
"Who—" the assassin growled, blood trickling down his mask.
"Someone disappointed in your technique," Amara said, her mouth full.
"Sloppy."
She didn't use her daggers. She closed the distance in one step and delivered a roundhouse kick to the assassin's head.
CRACK.
The assassin spun in the air and slammed into the wall, sliding down unconscious.
Amara stood in the center of the room, chewing.
Aryan stared at her, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "You... how..."
"I followed you," Amara said. "Parked two streets over. Picked your lock. Spent ten minutes on your sofa before you even got here."
She flicked the apple core at the unconscious man.
"This guy slipped in shortly after me. Clever enough to set a tripwire, but dumb enough not to check the corners. He didn't see me sitting ten feet away."
"You watched?" Aryan asked, horrified. "You watched him try to kill me?"
"Wanted to assess your awareness," Amara said, wiping blood from her boot.
"You spotted the window dust. Impressive. But you failed to check the room. If I wasn't here, your throat would be open."
Aryan looked at the curtain. "My mother..."
"She's fine," Amara said. "I put a silence charm around her bed. She slept through the whole thing."
She walked to the door and unlocked the bolts he had just secured.
"Let's go, Aryan."
"What?"
"This address is burned," Amara said. "I found it. He found it. By dawn, this building will be ashes. Anay's friends don't leave loose ends."
"Move where?" Aryan asked, looking at his squalid home.
Amara smiled, a dangerous glint in her amber eyes.
"My place. It's a fortress. Safe house rules."
She paused in the doorway. "Besides, your training starts tomorrow at 04:00 hours. If you're going to be my partner, I need to fix your pathetic Strength stat before you get us both killed."
DING.
[New Quest: Survival Training]
[Instructor: Amara 'The Hell Trainer']
[Objective: Survive One Week]
[Reward: +5 Agility, +5 Strength, One Billion Dollars]
Aryan nearly choked. One Billion?
He grabbed his backpack immediately, stuffing clothes inside.
"What about him?" He pointed at the assassin.
"Leave him," Amara said. "I called the cops. Let them find a high-level assassin in a waiter's apartment. The confusion will buy us time to disappear."
She glanced at his meager belongings. "Just put it in your System Space. You have one, don't you?"
"Uh... how do I do that?"
"Ask your System," Amara sighed. "Or whoever you talk to."
"I am Sam," the voice echoed in his head. "Mighty Sam. Tell her my name, or forget the billion credits."
"Um... they want you to call them Sam," Aryan said awkwardly.
Amara froze.
A strange expression crossed her face—recognition? Fear?—before she suppressed it.
"Sam? Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay, whatever," she shrugged, feigning indifference. "Ask Sam then."
"Good," Sam purred. "Just visualize it."
Aryan focused. The backpack vanished from his hands and reappeared in a floating inventory screen.
"Whoa."
Amara was already halfway down the hall.
"Come on, Truth Breaker. The shift isn't over yet."
Aryan hesitated at the door. "What about my mother?"
Amara stopped. For a fraction of a second, her mask cracked. Raw emotion flickered across her face—grief, a painful memory.
Then she clenched her jaw, and the soldier returned.