I had a few hours before Sylus came to collect me.
A few hours to absorb the fact that I was about to board a private jet with the man who once held me captive and now called it a test.
A few hours to pretend that didn't affect my pulse.
His briefing replayed in my head while I sped home on the motorcycle—concise, precise, intentionally incomplete.
A three-day delivery trip.
Prototype weapons.
A buyer with no name.
Low expected resistance.
"Adapt if it changes."
Classic Sylus: just enough truth to hang yourself neatly.
I parked the bike outside my building, Mephisto hopping off the tank with a metallic flutter and following me upstairs like a silent chaperone.
Inside my apartment, I inhaled once.
Three days.
Not much to pack.
Plenty to be nervous about.
Not that I'd admit that to anyone—especially not him.
I pulled out what made sense for a mission like this:
Black fitted turtleneck—flexible, clean lines.
Black tactical pants—reinforced seams, holster-ready loops.
Black boots—quiet tread, solid grip.
A wine-red wool coat—heavy enough to hide my gun; sharp enough to look like authority I absolutely didn't possess.
I showered quickly and dressed.
Holstered the handgun—it synced to my grip instantly, warm and grounding.
Slid the Onychinus phone into an inner coat pocket.
Packed the laptop, charger, memory cores, tools, and three changes of clothes—all tactical, all quiet.
The backpack looked compact from the outside.
Inside, it held enough hardware to offend several governments.
Mephisto hopped onto the dresser, watching like a judgmental gargoyle.
"Judging my choices?" I asked.
He tapped the braid I'd just tied—tight, clean, keeping my shoulder-length waves contained.
"You're right," I sighed. "Very professional."
He clicked once. Approval. Probably.
I checked the mirror.
Light makeup—just enough to hide the dark circles and the way my lips liked to dry into paper.
Sharp braid.
Dark silhouette.
Minimal profile.
Someone who belonged in the shadows of Onychinus far more than the fluorescent halls of the Hunters Association.
My ribs twinged as I tightened the coat belt.
"Behave," I muttered. They did not.
I ate a quick snack, pocketed painkillers, grabbed the backpack, let Mephisto glide onto my shoulder… and headed downstairs.
Right on the designated minute, a low hum rippled through the curb.
A black Onychinus car slid up—sleek, silent, the legal equivalent of a loaded weapon.
I hesitated for half a second.
Front seat with the twins?
Back seat with—
The rear door opened.
"Get inside," Sylus said, clipped and unmistakable.
I exhaled quietly.
Yeah. Shouldn't have hesitated. The twins would've been crowded — but absolutely less awkward.
The door sealed behind me with a soft hiss.
Sylus sat across from me—posture perfect, coat falling in razor-lined folds, attention locked on the black phone in his hand. His expression was unreadable, lit faintly by the screen's glow.
Good.
I didn't want his attention.
Not right now.
I buckled in and turned toward the window as the car pulled away from the curb. Neon washed through the glass in long streaks.
Mephisto settled beside me.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown ID: Do you even know why he's bringing you along?
I almost locked the screen immediately.
Viktor's taunts were predictable—thin, performative.
Another message blinked:
Unknown ID: He's afraid I'll bring down the plane, so he keeps the one thing I want to destroy with my own hands right beside him.
It didn't rattle me.
It clarified my role.
Fine.
If his paranoia kept me alive, he could consider me a parasite until I stopped being useful.
A third message:
Unknown ID: Not that he cares. A crash won't kill him. It's just easier to gamble with your life than risk his business suffering.
My expression didn't shift.
Of course Sylus didn't care.
That wasn't news.
Then the fourth message:
Unknown ID: But I'll be waiting, little spark. The longer the wait… the slower the kill.
Death threats. Creative.
Then—
Unknown ID: You know, when I saw you walk into that mansion… saw how close he stood to you in his office… I had to let off some steam.
An image file appeared.
I didn't open it.
I locked the screen.
And the world died.
The electric hum of the car cut instantly.
The dashboard blacked out.
Streetlights collapsed into darkness.
A chorus of screeching metal erupted as vehicles slammed into the dead traffic ahead. One spun out beside us. Another crashed into the sedan in front.
"Shit—!" Kieran snapped, hands flying over the unresponsive controls.
"Brake—brake—brake—!" Luke shouted.
Our car lurched violently as the emergency system kicked in. The belts bit into my shoulder as we skidded to a jarring halt just shy of an SUV's bumper.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Holding its breath.
My phone vibrated—the only light in the car.
I answered.
Sylus's gaze was already on me.
A whisper spilled through the line—soft, hungry, delighted: "Open the image, or I'll keep exploding civilians."
The line died.
A heartbeat later—
BOOM.
A sedan to our right erupted in flames, the shockwave rolling through our chassis. Screams filtered in from outside.
My pulse didn't change.
That was the worst part.
I inhaled.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Unlocked the phone.
Opened the file.
A girl—my height, my build, my hair—tied to a metal bedframe.
Skin pale.
Underwear soaked red.
Limbs carved apart with quiet, practiced cruelty.
Not rage.
Not impulse.
Practice.
Then the lights surged back on.
Engines around us rumbled to life.
Traffic resumed like nothing had happened.
My lips pulled downward in a small, involuntary scowl.
Bile scraped the back of my throat, metallic and sharp.
Our car accelerated again.
I didn't look at Sylus.
But the air shifted—tightened.
His attention pressed against me with the weight of a calculation reaching conclusion.
Mephisto edged closer, talons brushing my sleeve—readiness, not comfort.
I swallowed once.
"Can you…"
My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.
"…please send Mephisto to keep an eye on Elara? Just for the next few hours."
The cabin went still.
Luke and Kieran froze.
Sylus didn't look away.
"Explain."
Not cruel.
Not emotional.
Operational.
I inhaled once, steady.
"Viktor is escalating," I said. "And she's my only friend. If he wants leverage, she's the easiest target."
Silence pressed in.
A real one.
Sylus didn't blink.
Then—
His gaze cut toward Mephisto.
His hand lifted.
He pressed the window control.
A silent command.
Mephisto launched through the narrow opening in a burst of metallic wings, vanishing into the night before I fully registered Sylus had moved.
The window slid shut.
Sylus turned back to me—not soft, not comforting, but precise.
"You made the correct judgment," he said.
"Next time, tell me sooner."
I nodded once. "Understood."
The passing lights carved the cabin into shifting red-gold geometry.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Not relief.
Not safety.
Just… space to think again.
I lowered my gaze to my phone.
The grotesque image had already been wiped from the thread—Viktor's usual erasure, as if he wanted the horror without the evidence.
Fine.
I opened a new message window.
Elara didn't like Mephisto.
Didn't trust him.
Didn't like the way his eyes tracked movement like a sniper scope.
Didn't matter.
She was the only friend I had in this world.
I typed slowly, thumbs steady despite the lingering bile in my throat:
Diana:
hey
i'm going to be away for a few days
don't ask where
just…
please don't freak out if you see mephisto around
Three dots appeared.
Vanished.
Appeared again.
Elara: why would he be here?
Another beat.
Elara: are you okay?
My chest tightened—not painfully.
Not pleasantly.
Just… tightly.
I typed:
Diana:
yeah
nothing to worry about
just tolerate him for a bit, okay?
it's important.
There was a longer pause this time.
Then:
Elara:
…okay
i trust you
tell him to stay out of my kitchen
A breath of something almost like a laugh escaped me.
Almost.
The screen dimmed in my hand.
The city outside blurred past the window again.
Mephisto was already gone—flying through the dark, watching over the only innocent piece of my life left.
I tucked the phone away.
Sylus hadn't looked back down at his device.
He was still watching me.
The car hummed on.
And the night felt full of teeth.