The world was quiet again. Too quiet. Ash woke to the faint light of dawn spilling through the broken windows. The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled like it — clean, metallic, cold. He blinked slowly, disoriented, as the memories of the night before pressed down on him like waves.
Vernon was still there.
He sat near the window, half-dressed, his hair a mess, the strap of his gun harness hanging loose against his shoulder. He looked different in the morning light — less like the sharp, untouchable agent Ash had known, and more like a man trying to remember how to breathe.
For a moment, Ash just watched him. The shape of his back. The faint rise and fall of his shoulders. The way his hand hovered near his weapon, even now.
"Couldn't sleep?" Ash asked quietly.
Vernon didn't turn. "Didn't want to."
Ash sat up, the cold air biting at his bare skin. He pulled on his shirt slowly, still feeling the echo of last night — the warmth, the fire, the way everything had fallen apart and come together at once.
He wanted to speak, but what could he say?
That it had meant something?
That he would never forget?
The words stuck in his throat.
Instead, he asked the only question that mattered.
"What now?"
Vernon finally turned to look at him. His eyes were unreadable again — the same guarded calm that spies wore like armor. But there was something beneath it, something small and breaking.
"Now," Vernon said, "we finish the mission."
Ash's stomach twisted. "And if that means—"
"If it means killing me," Vernon interrupted softly, "then you do it."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through bone.
Ash wanted to argue. To say he wouldn't, couldn't. Bu t they both knew better. Spies didn't get happy endings. They got orders. And every order came with a price.
Vernon stood, strapping his holster in place, the movements efficient and cold. "You know where to find me after," he said.
Ash frowned. "After what?"
"After the blood starts again."
And then he was gone — just like that.
The door creaked shut, leaving Ash alone in the pale light. He stared at the empty space where Vernon had been, trying to breathe around the ache in his chest.
He told himself he was fine. That this was just another day, another mission, another man he'd lost to the rules of war.
But the lie didn't hold.
By noon, the safehouse was gone.
Ash moved through the city like a ghost, the crowds blurring around him. His mind kept replaying Vernon's words, his touch, the way he'd said finish the mission like it meant something more than survival.
He made it to the rendezvous point — an old warehouse by the docks, quiet and empty. The sea wind carried the smell of salt and oil.
Inside, his contact was already waiting.
The man's coat was too neat, his smile too thin. "You're late," he said.
Ash didn't respond.
The man handed him a folder. "Your final target."
Ash opened it — and froze.
The photo inside was grainy but unmistakable.
Vernon.
Target: Eliminate. No capture. No questions.
His fingers went cold around the paper.
He looked up sharply. "Who authorized this?"
The contact only smiled. "Does it matter?"
Ash felt the world tilt around him. All the noise in the room faded until there was only the pounding of his heart.
He had known it would come to this. Deep down, he had always known. But knowing didn't make it easier.
He slid the folder back across the table. "There's a mistake."
"There isn't."
Ash's hand moved to his gun before he could think. The contact raised his brows, unbothered. "Careful, Agent. You're not the only one who knows where the bodies are buried."
Ash lowered the weapon slowly, every muscle trembling.
"Then tell your superiors," he said quietly, "that I'll finish it."
The man smiled wider. "That's the spirit."
Ash turned and walked out, the folder still in his hand, his chest burning.
The sky had begun to darken again — the same kind of storm-light as the night before.
He pulled out the photograph one last time, staring at Vernon's face. The man he'd kissed. The man who had said kill me if you must. Ash didn't know whether he was the hunter or the hunted.