The city woke before the sun.
From the top floor of Monroe Tower, the glass walls caught the dull glow of streetlights fading into dawn. Below, cars moved like insects — small, obedient, forgettable. Elias Monroe stood at the window, half-dressed in a black shirt, cuffs undone, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
He didn't smoke for pleasure.
He smoked to remember what silence felt like.
The smoke curled around him, soft and bitter. It mixed with the faint scent of cologne, whiskey, and last night's rain still clinging to the city air. Somewhere behind him, the quiet hum of the penthouse felt too alive — the fridge humming, the clock ticking, footsteps that didn't belong to him.
Footsteps that belonged to the boy watching him.
Jin.
Elias didn't need to turn around to know he was there. Jin was quiet, almost painfully so, but Elias could feel him — the stillness in the room changed whenever he entered. It was like standing near a storm that hadn't broken yet.
"Morning," Elias said, his voice calm, careful.
Jin didn't answer. He rarely did. The boy simply leaned against the far wall, his eyes unreadable, hands folded behind his back. Black shirt, tactical pants, neat posture — too sharp for someone his age.
"You're early."
"I don't sleep much," Jin replied. His voice was low, almost flat, but something about it carried weight.
Elias smiled faintly. "You and I both."
He turned back to the window. The reflection showed two silhouettes — one sharp and elegant, one still and quiet. For a second, he thought about saying something else. Maybe about the meeting he had later, or about the fact that someone had tried to kill him just three nights ago. But the words never made it past his throat.
Instead, his mind slipped backward — into places he didn't like visiting.
---
He used to live in a smaller city.
No penthouse, no empire. Just the cold smell of oil and leather from his father's office. His father had run a "business" — one that traded favors for fear. Elias learned early that control was everything. You didn't cry. You didn't plead. You spoke only when you were sure your words could cut clean.
He was seventeen when he watched a man bleed out on marble flooring for the first time.
And his father had said, "If you ever want to be safe, make sure you're the one holding the knife."
That night, Elias promised himself he'd never need anyone.
Not protection.
Not comfort.
Not love.
That promise had kept him alive — and unbearably alone.
---
A soft sound pulled him back — a phone vibrating against the table. Jin's head turned slightly, instinctive, scanning for threats before realizing it was just Elias's private line.
Elias reached for it, but the number on the screen froze him.
Unknown.
Again.
He let it ring once. Twice. Three times. Then, finally, he answered.
"Mr. Monroe." The voice was familiar — low, hoarse. From the other side of the line, a man chuckled. "Still breathing, I see."
Elias's tone didn't change. "If you have something to say, say it."
"You're hard to kill," the man said, amused. "That's impressive. I expected my people to finish the job."
Jin's eyes flicked up. He stepped closer, almost silently. Elias didn't stop him.
"Tell your people," Elias said softly, "if they come near me again, I'll bury what's left of their employer in a building foundation before sunrise."
A pause. Then laughter. "You haven't changed."
The line went dead.
---
Elias placed the phone down slowly. His hands didn't shake — they never did — but the silence that followed was different now. Thicker.
Jin stepped closer, cautious but firm. "Who was that?"
"Someone who doesn't know when to stay dead," Elias said. His voice carried no fear, only irritation. "Don't worry about it."
"I'm your bodyguard," Jin replied, meeting his eyes for once. "It's my job to worry."
Something in Elias stilled. It wasn't what Jin said — it was how he said it. Calm. Steady. Not challenging, not afraid. Just… honest.
No one spoke to him like that.
For a heartbeat, the air between them tightened. Elias could smell the faint trace of Jin's cologne — clean, crisp, military. He could see the scar along his jaw more clearly now, the one that always caught the light.
He wanted to ask how he got it.
But he didn't. Elias never asked personal questions. They always led to places he didn't want to go.
"Eat something," he said instead, turning away. "You look like you haven't had breakfast in a week."
"I don't eat when I'm working," Jin said quietly.
"Then you'll pass out one day," Elias murmured, almost to himself.
"Then you'll finally have peace," Jin said, and there was a ghost of a smile — gone before Elias could decide if he imagined it.
He looked at him again. There it was — that silence. That strange, heavy calm that didn't feel like submission or fear. Jin was the only person in his world who didn't seem to care who he was.
And that… unsettled him.
---
The day passed slowly. Meetings, contracts, numbers. Elias played his role — the perfect executive, the untouchable man. But his mind kept flickering back to the phone call, and the voice behind it.
By nightfall, the city lights stretched across the glass again. Jin was still there — quiet as ever, a shadow that moved only when needed.
"Go home," Elias said without looking up.
Jin didn't move. "Not until you sleep."
Elias let out a soft, humorless laugh. "That might take a few years."
He closed the laptop, rubbing his temple. "You're not very good at following orders, are you?"
"I follow what matters," Jin said simply.
The answer hung in the air. Elias looked up, and for a moment, their eyes met — dark meeting dark, both carrying something broken they couldn't name.
He wanted to say something — maybe thank him, maybe ask why he cared at all — but the words froze.
Jin's gaze shifted suddenly. His body tensed.
"What is it?" Elias asked.
Jin didn't answer. He was already moving toward the door, hand sliding to the gun holstered under his jacket. His expression changed — sharp, focused.
Then, a soft sound echoed from the elevator — a metallic click. Not the sound of arrival. Something else.
Elias's pulse slowed. The glass reflected Jin's outline — tense, ready.
"Stay back," Jin said quietly.
The next second, the light flickered. Once. Twice. Then went out.
Darkness swallowed the penthouse.