The mirror was cracked.
Not shattered — just one long fracture running across the center, cutting her reflection in half.
Eira stood in front of it, buttoning her blazer with slow, mechanical movements. The suit clung clean across her frame, black on black. Her white hair fell in front of her eyes, and she didn't bother fixing it.
It was evening. The light outside was dying, that orange-gold hour where the world looks too soft to be real. Her apartment — if you could even call it that — was barely ten square meters. The kind of place people pass by and assume no one lives in. There was one chair. One bed. One cup.
She smoothed the lapel down, exhaled through her nose.
And just like that, her mind dragged her back.
She hadn't cried when it happened. Not even once.
She remembered the smell more than anything — the copper stink of blood on the tiles, the sharp stench of the open door, the rain slipping in. Her parents had just made dinner. She remembered that too.
And then the man came in.
He didn't say a word. Just pushed open the door and walked like he belonged there. He was young. Maybe twenty. Snake tattoo curling up his neck like some twisted vine. He pulled a knife before anyone even asked who he was.
Her dad tried to stop him. One stab to the stomach. Then the neck.
Her mom screamed, slipped trying to reach him — and he didn't hesitate. Knife again. Two times, three. Blood sprayed the kitchen wall.
Eira had been in the hallway. Frozen. Eight years old.
She didn't scream. She didn't run.
She just watched. Frozen, confused and shocked.
The man left.
-----
She didn't even remember leaving the house.
It was a blur of footsteps and silence. She took nothing. Not even shoes. Just walked until the houses stopped and the train noise grew louder and the sun started rising again. No one asked questions. Not one person stopped her. Maybe they assumed someone else would.
She stole food from a shop on the third day.
By the fifth, she was riding a public bus out of town with no idea where it was headed. She sat at the very back. Knees to her chest. Dried blood still under her nails.
The driver didn't say anything.
And neither did the man who noticed her.
He was seated three rows ahead, but she caught his eye in the reflection of the window. Rough face. Short stubble. Black coat. Wide shoulders. Maybe thirty. Looked like someone who knew how to fight and didn't enjoy it.
He got off at the same stop she did.
She tried to walk fast. He followed.
And when she finally turned around in the alley behind the grocery store, he had his hands raised.
"Not gonna hurt you," he said. "Just—"
He paused, taking her in. "You okay, kid?"
Eira didn't answer.
"You got any family? Someone looking for you?"
"...No."
He sighed. Looked around. Scratched his jaw like he was debating something deep.
"You shouldn't be out here alone. You look like you haven't eaten in a week."
She didn't move.
"I'll get you food. Then we'll talk about an orphanage, alright? Somewhere safe."
Still no response.
He turned slightly, muttering to himself. "Jesus... kids shouldn't be out here like this."
And then — like the world hated timing — the next moment shattered everything.
A blur dropped from above.
The man grunted and staggered, slammed against the wall. Someone — masked, fast, brutal — tackled him down. Fists flew. The mercenary fought back hard, but the masked guy got on top of him and wrapped his arms around the man's neck like a python.
Choking him. Legs locking in. Eyes wild.
The knife from the man's jacket had skidded across the ground — stopped right near Eira's foot.
She didn't scream. Didn't move.
The world felt… quiet.
That smell came back again. Blood. Metal.
The color red flashed in her mind — the way it had soaked the floor beneath her mom. The sound of the blade entering skin.
That snapping, wet sound. That silence after.
The man was being choked to death.
He looked at her. Not yelling. Just eyes, wide, desperate.
Eira looked down at the knife. Then up.
Then down again.
Her small fingers curled around the handle.
And then she walked forward.
One step. Another.
She didn't raise it high. No scream. No fury.
She just pushed it into the masked man's back — as hard as she could.
It didn't go deep. She was too weak.
But it made the man flinch.
That was enough.
The mercenary gritted his teeth, twisted, grabbed the attacker's throat, and in one brutal motion —
Snap
The masked man crumpled.
Eira stepped back, blade falling from her hand.
The mercenary was coughing, holding his throat. He sat up slowly, blood running from his lip. His eyes scanned the alley before locking on her.
"You okay?" he asked, voice raspy.
She just stood there. Eyes distant.
"I… sh*t. I'm sorry you had to see that."
He looked at the body. Looked back at her.
She didn't look scared.
She looked… still.
Then her voice came — quiet, cold, like winter wind.
"I want to learn to kill."
The man blinked. "What?"
"I want to kill the people who stabbed Mum and Dad."
She didn't raise her voice. Didn't flinch. Just said it like it was the weather. Like it was always going to happen.
The mercenary looked at her — really looked.
"What the hell did you go through…" he muttered.
He picked up his knife. Cleaned it.
And then sighed.
"I go by Sun-2," he said after a pause. "We don't use real names anymore."
Eira blinked. "Why not?"
"Real names belong to people who have something to go back to."
She didn't reply.
He watched her for another moment.
Then said, "You hungry?"
The merc camp was half a day away. Deep in the woods. No road signs. Just gravel, tree stumps, makeshift tents, and steel drums burning old documents. The place reeked of sweat and fire and history.
When Sun-2 walked in with a small girl trailing behind him, everyone stared.
"The hell is this?" one guy asked.
"She yours?" a sniper laughed.
Sun-2 ignored them.
"Get her food," he said. "She saved my life."
That shut them up.
Eira was handed a dented can of something warm. She ate in silence, legs swinging off a wooden crate. Sun-2 sat beside her. Watching the flames.
He didn't say anything for a while.
Then finally, without looking at her:
"You ever want to go back to being normal?"
She stopped eating.
"No."
"Why not?"
She stared into the fire.
"They stabbed Mum four times. I counted."
Sun-2 didn't speak.
"She was trying to crawl to me. I think she saw me. I think she knew I was hiding. And they still stabbed her again."
Silence.
"I want to remember that. I want to remember what it sounded like."
He closed his eyes, exhaling slow.
"You really want to become someone who kills?"
------
Then after a pause, she said, "Yes..."
That night, she slept in a cot inside a storage tent. Cold mattress. Thin blanket. But for the first time since that night… her stomach wasn't empty.
Sun-2 sat outside, cigarette in hand, watching the moon rise over the trees.
"She's gonna be trouble," one of the others muttered, walking past.
He didn't answer.
He just looked toward the tent.
Toward the little girl with ice in her blood.
And wondered what the hell he had just brought into the camp.