9:57 AM | Ironcliff City Highway
The Lamborghini Vision GT ate miles like a predator, engine purring low and hungry as Adrian pushed it past ninety on the straightaway. Sirens wailed somewhere behind them, distant, fading, swallowed by speed and distance.
In the rearview mirror: smoke. Black and thick, rising from Metro City like a funeral pyre.
His safehouse. Gone.
Adrian's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
Yuki sat crammed in the back, knees pressed against the seat, still trembling. Her face was streaked with tears and soot, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused, staring at nothing.
Aveline rode shotgun, perfectly still. Posture upright, hands folded in her lap, eyes scanning the road ahead with mechanical precision, tracking traffic patterns, exit routes, potential tail vehicles.
Silent.
Always silent.
For fifteen minutes, no one spoke.
Then.
"Ironcliff City," Adrian said finally, breaking the suffocating quiet. His voice was rough, strained. "You live in Ironcliff City."
"Correct," Aveline replied without looking at him.
"Where in Ironcliff, exactly?"
"Ironcliff Heights."
Adrian's foot nearly slipped off the accelerator.
He turned to stare at her. "Wait. Ironcliff Heights?"
"Affirmative."
"Isn't that…" He blinked. "Isn't that for millionaires? And billionaires?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"You're a millionaire?"
"No."
Relief flickered across his face. "Oh, thank God, I thought…"
"Billionaire."
The car swerved slightly.
Adrian corrected with a jerk of the wheel, eyes wide. "What?!"
Aveline turned to look at him, expression flat, neutral, clinical. "C.R.I.M.E Division compensation structure is performance-based. High-risk operations yield proportionally elevated financial remuneration, asset retention incentives, operational discretion bonuses, hazard-pay multipliers."
She paused. "I've been employed for seven years. Accumulation was statistically inevitable."
Adrian stared at her.
Opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Tried again.
Failed.
From the back seat, Yuki let out a sound, half laugh, half sob. "She just blew up your house and now you find out she's richer than God."
"Significantly richer," Aveline corrected matter-of-factly. "Deities lack quantifiable net worth. I possess liquid assets totaling…"
"I don't want to know," Adrian interrupted, laughing despite himself. "I really, really don't want to know."
Aveline's lips twitched. Almost imperceptibly.
Not quite a smile.
Just acknowledgment.
10:07 AM | Still Driving
The tension had eased. Fractionally. Enough to breathe.
Adrian adjusted the mirror, glancing back at Yuki. "You okay?"
She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Yeah. I think. Maybe." A shaky breath. "I don't know."
"You will be," he said gently.
Yuki managed a small smile. Then her eyes drifted to Aveline, studying her profile. "Do you... do anything for fun? Like, ever?"
Aveline's gaze remained fixed forward. "Previously addressed. Recreation is inefficient."
"But you have a mansion," Yuki pressed. "What do you even do with all that space?"
"Tactical training. Firearms maintenance. Strategic analysis. Physical conditioning."
"Those aren't hobbies."
"Purpose supersedes entertainment."
Adrian smirked. "What about social media? You on Instagram? Twitter? Anything?"
Aveline's expression shifted, just barely. A flicker of something cold and sharp.
"Social media," she said slowly, voice flat and clinical, "is a soul-sucking void of meaningless algorithmic validation which has regressed humanity back into the Dark Ages. It commodifies identity, weaponizes insecurity, and reduces complex human interaction to performative dopamine cycles designed by corporate entities to maximize engagement metrics at the expense of authentic connection."
Silence.
Adrian blinked. Then grinned. "You sound like Wednesday Addams."
Yuki burst out laughing, real laughter this time, cathartic and bright.
Aveline turned to look at them, expression genuinely confused. "I don't understand the reference."
"Of course you don't," Adrian and Yuki said in perfect unison.
Aveline's eye twitched.
"Oh, you got opinions," Yuki managed between giggles.
Adrian was still laughing when another thought hit him. "Wait, is that why when I tried looking you up online. Like, everywhere. Facebook, LinkedIn, Instagram, literally everywhere. I found nothing. Not even a parking ticket."
"Correct."
"How?"
"Professional necessity. Digital footprint elimination is standard protocol for C.R.I.M.E operatives. All records scrubbed, search algorithms suppressed, facial recognition databases flagged for exclusion." She paused. "I don't exist. Digitally."
"That's..." Adrian trailed off. "That's actually terrifying and sounds frankly very depressing."
"Effective," Aveline corrected.
Yuki leaned forward. "But what about family? Friends? Don't they post about you?"
Aveline's expression didn't change. But something flickered in her eyes, brief, dark, gone before it could be identified.
"No family. No friends. Operationally optimal."
The car went quiet again.
Adrian opened his mouth, closed it. Decided not to push.
Instead: "You're part Italian, right?"
"Yes. Father's side."
"So... La Sangre Nera. Your own people. Doesn't that, I don't know, bother you?"
Aveline turned to look at him. Her gaze was cold. Clinical.
"Betrayal of blood for profit," she said flatly, "makes for significantly better financial returns than loyalty to organized crime syndicates with limited growth potential and high mortality rates. Risk-benefit analysis: clear. Emotional attachment: irrelevant."
Adrian stared at her.
"I should not have asked."
"Correct."
10:33 AM | The Mood Shifts
Adrian was still processing when Aveline went quiet.
Not her usual quiet. This was different. Heavier.
Her eyes had narrowed slightly, focused on something internal. Calculating.
"Aveline?" Adrian prompted.
She didn't respond immediately.
Then: "Those men."
"What about them?"
"They weren't standard operatives."
Adrian frowned. "What do you mean?"
Aveline's jaw tightened, barely visible, but there. "Nexo Pharmaceuticals employs contractors. La Sangre Nera utilizes street-level enforcers. Both organizations operate within predictable parameters, minimal training, standard-issue equipment, tactical coordination limited to basic formations."
"Okay...?"
"Those men," Aveline continued, voice dropping lower, colder, "were not contractors. They were armored like special government forces. Level IV ballistic plates. Military-grade tactical loadouts. Synchronized breach protocols. Operational discipline consistent with Spetsnaz, Delta Force, SAS, or equivalent tier-one units."
The temperature in the car seemed to drop ten degrees.
Yuki's breath caught. "Government?"
"Probable," Aveline said. "Nexo and La Sangre Nera are criminal enterprises. They lack access to that caliber of equipment and training. Unless..."
"Unless what?" Adrian asked quietly.
Aveline turned to look at him. Her eyes were sharp. Cold. Calculating.
"Unless the government is Nexo. Or Nexo is the government. Or the government supplies them. Distinction irrelevant. Operational outcome identical. If state-level forces are involved, witness protection becomes exponentially more complicated. And significantly more dangerous."
Silence.
Heavy. Oppressive. Suffocating.
Yuki's voice was barely a whisper. "Why would the government want me dead?"
No one answered.
The highway stretched ahead, empty, gray, endless.
Adrian's grip tightened on the wheel, old scars on his knuckles going white.
Behind them, smoke still rose from Metro City.
Ahead: Ironcliff Heights.
Sanctuary.
Or a trap.
10:51 AM | Ironcliff Heights
Ironcliff Heights wasn't a neighborhood. Not really.
It was a statement.
Wrought-iron gates, fifteen feet tall, ornate, gilded. Security checkpoint with biometric scanners and armed guards in crisp uniforms. Beyond: winding roads lined with trees older than the city itself, mansions set back behind walls and hedges, architecture that screamed old money and untouchable power.
Adrian whistled low. "Jesus Christ."
The guard at the checkpoint approached. Professional. Unsmiling. Eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
Aveline lowered the window. "Resident 047. Clearance code: Nightingale-Seven-Seven-Kilo."
The guard scanned her retina with a handheld device. Checked his tablet. His eyes flicked briefly to Adrian and Yuki, lingered for half a second, then back to Aveline.
He nodded once.
The gates opened with a smooth hydraulic hiss.
They drove through in silence.
The driveway alone was longer than most city blocks.
Manicured hedges. Marble fountains. Sculptures that probably cost more than Adrian's entire apartment building.
And then, the mansion.
Three stories of modern architecture fused with classical elegance. Glass and stone and steel. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the morning sun. A greenhouse off to the left, glass panels glinting. Gardens sprawling in every direction, roses, hedges trimmed into geometric perfection, a pond with actual koi fish visible even from here.
Adrian parked the Lamborghini in the circular drive and just stared.
"You live here," he said flatly.
"Affirmative."
"Alone?"
"With staff. And cats."
"Cats?"
Aveline was already out of the car, moving toward the front entrance with her usual crisp efficiency.
Adrian and Yuki exchanged glances, then followed.
The door opened before Aveline reached it.
A butler, elderly, dignified, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, stood in the doorway. His eyes flicked briefly to Adrian and Yuki. Professional assessment. No judgment. Just acknowledgment.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
"Miss Aveline," he said with a slight bow. "Welcome home."
"Caruso." She stepped inside without breaking stride. "Guest accommodations. Two rooms. First floor and second floor. Standard provisions."
"Of course, Miss. Shall I prepare refreshments?"
"Later. Secure the perimeter first. Additional surveillance protocols, active monitoring, motion sensors, perimeter drones."
Caruso's expression didn't change. "Understood."
Then, two blurs of motion.
Cats.
One black. One white. Both massive, Maine Coons, easily twenty pounds each, fur thick and luxurious, tails like feather dusters.
They bolted across the marble foyer toward Aveline with the kind of single-minded focus usually reserved for prey animals fleeing predators.
And then, she knelt.
Just dropped to one knee, arms opening, and caught them.
Both cats slammed into her at full speed, purring so loudly it sounded like twin engines revving. The black one, massive, muscular, green-eyed, headbutted her chin with enough force to make her blink. The white one, sleek, elegant, blue-eyed, wrapped around her arm, kneading frantically, claws sinking into fabric.
Aveline's face changed.
Not much. Just softened.
Her eyes, usually cold, clinical, calculating, went warm. Her mouth curved upward into something that wasn't quite a smile but was close. Real.
She hugged them.
Both arms wrapping around the squirming, purring masses of fur, holding them tight, burying her face briefly in the black one's neck. Her fingers scratched behind ears, stroked along spines, movements gentle and practiced and affectionate.
"Hello," she murmured. Quiet. Soft. "Missed you too."
The purring intensified, impossibly loud, vibrating through the air.
Adrian froze.
He'd seen Aveline kill three men without blinking. Watched her blow up his house with clinical detachment. Heard her analyze emotional responses like spreadsheet data.
But this.
This was human.
Yuki gasped. "Oh my God."
Aveline looked up, cats still in her arms. "Problem?"
"They're beautiful," Yuki breathed, already moving forward, hands outstretched. "What are their names?"
"Bruno Meows." Aveline nodded to the black one. "Meowly Cyrus." The white one.
Adrian choked on a laugh.
Yuki's face lit up like sunrise. "You named them after…"
"Pop culture references. Yes." Aveline released the cats carefully. "They were acquired during an undercover operation involving a music industry executive. Naming conventions seemed… appropriate."
Bruno Meows immediately headbutted Yuki's leg. Meowly Cyrus rubbed against her shins in a figure-eight pattern, purring like a motorcycle.
"Can I," Yuki hesitated, "Can I pet them?"
"It seems they've already made the decision for you."
Yuki dropped to her knees, laughing, real, genuine laughter, as both cats swarmed her. Bruno flopped onto his back, exposing his belly. Meowly climbed into her lap, kneading.
Adrian watched Aveline stand, brushing fur from her clothes with brisk efficiency. The warmth was gone, mask back in place. Neutral. Clinical. Controlled.
But he'd seen it.
She was capable of love.
She just chose not to show it.
Except for cats.
Interesting.
Caruso led them through the mansion.
It was obscene.
No, absurd.
Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Art on the walls that Adrian was ninety percent sure belonged in museums. A grand staircase that curved upward like something out of a period drama.
"First floor," Caruso announced. "Living quarters, kitchen, dining hall, library, gym, indoor pool."
Yuki's eyes went wide. "Indoor pool?"
"Olympic regulation. Heated. With sauna and steam room."
They passed the library, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leather chairs, a fireplace, rolling ladders.
Then the gym, commercial-grade equipment, weights, punching bags, a climbing wall.
Adrian just shook his head. "Unbelievable."
"Second floor," Caruso continued, leading them upstairs. "Additional guest rooms, Miss Aveline's personal quarters, office, secondary library."
"Secondary library?"
"Philosophy and psychology texts. Miss Aveline prefers separation of subject matter."
Of course she does.
They reached the second-floor hallway. Five doors per side, evenly spaced.
Caruso gestured. "Miss Aveline's room: number four. Guest accommodations: number five, adjacent." He turned to Adrian. "Sir, your quarters are first floor, east wing. Room seven. Maximum privacy."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Furthest from everyone else?"
"Optimal spatial distribution for operational security," Aveline said flatly. "Also: noise containment."
"Noise, what?"
"You snore."
"I do not snore."
Yuki giggled.
Aveline's lips twitched.
Adrian's room was ridiculous.
King-sized bed with sheets that probably cost more than his car. Ensuite bathroom with a shower and a bathtub. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens. A desk. A chair. A television.
And his bag, his bag from the safehouse, sitting neatly on the dresser.
Unpacked.
Clothes folded and put away in drawers.
Toiletries arranged in the bathroom.
He stared.
"How…"
A knock at the door.
Caruso. "Staff retrieved your belongings from the vehicle, sir. Standard protocol."
"You unpacked for me?"
"Of course. Is the arrangement unsatisfactory?"
Adrian opened a drawer. His shirts were color-coded.
"No. No, it's... fine. Great. Thank you."
Caruso bowed and left.
Adrian sat on the bed.
What the hell is my life right now.
Yuki's room was identical. Except her things were arranged even more meticulously.
She stood in the doorway, staring.
"They organized my underwear," she whispered.
Aveline walked past without stopping. "Staff efficiency. Standard."
"But, how?"
"They're professionals."
Yuki looked at Adrian. Adrian shrugged.
"Just... go with it."
12:15 PM | Adrian's Room
Adrian had just collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed, when a knock sounded at his door.
He groaned into the pillow. "What?"
The door opened. Yuki peeked in, Aveline standing behind her in the hallway.
"We're going to the gym," Yuki said. "Aveline's going to teach me some self-defense stuff. Want to come?"
Adrian turned his head just enough to look at them. His eyes were bloodshot. Exhausted. "Do I look like I want to come?"
"You look like you need coffee," Yuki offered.
"I need sleep. Eight hours minimum. Preferably twelve." He buried his face back into the pillow. "Wake me for dinner."
Yuki glanced at Aveline.
Aveline stared at Adrian's sprawled form, disheveled hair, wrinkled clothes, one arm hanging off the bed at an awkward angle.
Her expression remained neutral. But her voice dropped to a clinical mutter.
"He looks like a lazy, unkempt sloth."
Yuki burst out laughing, hand flying to her mouth to muffle the sound.
Adrian didn't move. "I heard that."
"Observation. Not criticism."
"Still heard it."
"Irrelevant. Sleep deprivation decreases operational efficiency by forty-two percent. Rest is tactically sound."
Adrian waved one hand vaguely. "Thank you for the permission, Captain Obvious."
Aveline's eye twitched.
Yuki grabbed her arm, still giggling. "Come on. Let him sleep."
The door closed.
Adrian was unconscious within thirty seconds.
---
1:30 PM | Aveline's Private Gym
Yuki stood in the center of the training mat, still wearing borrowed clothes from Aveline's closet, black leggings and a fitted grey tank top that somehow made her look smaller than usual.
Aveline circled her slowly. Assessing. Calculating.
"You froze during the breach," Aveline said flatly. "Panic response. Statistically lethal in sixty-three percent of similar scenarios."
Yuki's shoulders tensed. "I, I didn't know what to do."
"Correct. Which is why we're addressing the deficiency now." Aveline stopped in front of her. "Self-defense fundamentals. Not to make you combat-effective, that requires years. But to increase survival probability in close-quarters encounters."
She moved behind Yuki without warning, arm wrapping around her throat in a simulated choke.
Yuki gasped, freezing again.
"Wrong," Aveline said coldly. "Tuck your chin. Immediately. Protects airway. Prevents unconsciousness."
Yuki tucked her chin down.
"Good. Now, drop your weight. Make yourself heavy. Attacker expects resistance upward. You go down instead."
Yuki dropped, and Aveline's grip loosened fractionally.
"Elbow. Hard. Solar plexus."
Yuki drove her elbow backward, tentative, weak.
"Unacceptable. Again. Commit to the strike. Aggression increases effectiveness by forty-two percent."
Yuki tried again. Harder this time. Her elbow connected with Aveline's ribs with a solid thunk.
Aveline released her immediately. "Better. Repeat. Twenty times."
For the next hour, Aveline drilled her relentlessly.
Palm strikes to the nose. "Heel of your hand. Drive upward. Recoil immediately."
Groin kicks. "Stabilize first. Knee up, then extend. Maximum force. Don't hesitate."
Eye gouges. "Fingers stiff. Aim for the corners. Attackers instinctively recoil. Creates escape window."
Wrist escapes. "Twist toward the thumb. Weakest point. Pull hard."
Yuki stumbled through the movements, clumsy at first, but gradually finding rhythm. Her breath came in short gasps. Sweat soaked her shirt.
Aveline never praised. Just corrected. Adjusted angles. Demonstrated again with mechanical precision.
But when Yuki successfully executed a combination, chin tuck, weight drop, elbow strike, turn and palm strike to Aveline's padded hand, Aveline paused.
"Adequate," she said.
Yuki beamed like she'd won an Olympic medal.
2:45 PM | Still in the Gym
Aveline walked to a cabinet and returned with two items.
First: a folding knife. Compact. Matte black. Spring-assisted blade.
She placed it in Yuki's hand. "Safety knife. Thumb stud deployment. Blade length: three inches. Legal carry in most jurisdictions. Keep it on your person. Always."
Yuki stared at it, fingers trembling slightly. "I don't know if I can,"
"You can. And you will. Hesitation kills." Aveline demonstrated the flick-open mechanism. "Practice until it's reflexive."
Second: a watch. Sleek. Black metal band. Digital face with multiple functions.
"Multipurpose tactical watch," Aveline explained, fastening it around Yuki's wrist with clinical efficiency. "Features: GPS tracking, emergency strobe light, hundred-twenty-decibel alarm, encrypted communication channel."
She tapped the screen. A menu appeared. "Alarm activates here. Flashlight here. Most importantly..." She held up her own wrist, identical watch gleaming. "Synchronized connection. Your distress signal transmits directly to my device. Real-time location sharing. Biometric monitoring."
Yuki looked down at the watch, then up at Aveline. "We're... connected?"
"Affirmative. Within a fifteen-mile radius, I can locate you within thirty seconds. Beyond that range, satellite relay extends coverage globally."
Something warm bloomed in Yuki's chest. Connected. Safe. Protected.
Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Thank you."
Aveline's expression didn't change. But her eyes softened. Just barely.
"Operational security. Standard protocol."
"Still. Thank you."
A pause. Then Aveline nodded once. "You're welcome."
3:15 PM | Yuki's Bathroom
Yuki sank into the hot tub with a groan that was half relief, half ecstasy.
The bathroom alone was bigger than her old apartment. Marble everything. Heated floors. A bathtub that could fit three people comfortably, jets built into the sides, temperature-controlled water that felt like liquid silk.
Steam rose around her. Lavender-scented bath salts dissolved in swirling clouds.
She leaned her head back against the edge and closed her eyes.
This morning, men with guns had tried to kill her.
This afternoon, she was learning to fight back.
Tonight, she'd sleep in a mansion guarded by drones and security systems.
And Aveline, cold, clinical, terrifying Aveline, had just given her tools to survive. Had connected their watches. Had said you're welcome like she actually meant it.
Yuki looked down at the watch on her wrist, still there even in the bath, waterproof and gleaming.
Connected to Aveline.
She smiled despite everything.
Maybe they'd survive this after all.
4:15 PM | Indoor Pool
The pool was absurd.
Olympic-length. Crystal-clear water. Underwater lighting that turned everything ethereal blue-green. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens.
Yuki stood at the edge in a borrowed swimsuit, black one-piece, perfectly fitted because of course Aveline's staff had already stocked guest sizes.
Aveline sat in a lounge chair nearby, fully dressed in tactical pants and a fitted black shirt, reading a book titled Cognitive Behavioral Analysis in Antisocial Personality Disorder.
She didn't look up. "Water temperature: eighty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Optimal for muscle recovery."
Yuki dipped a toe in. Perfect.
She slid into the water with a sigh of pure bliss.
For a while, she just floated. Let the warmth soak into bruised muscles. Let the quiet wash over her.
Then she swam. Slow laps. Nothing fancy. Just movement. Alive. Safe.
Aveline turned a page.
"You don't swim?" Yuki called from the shallow end.
"Negative. Currently reading."
"But you have a pool."
"Tactical conditioning requires varied exercise modalities. Swimming: cardiovascular efficiency, low-impact joint preservation, full-body engagement."
"So... you do swim."
"Affirmative. When operationally relevant."
Yuki laughed. "You're impossible."
Aveline's lips twitched.
Bruno Meows appeared from nowhere, padding across the tile. He stopped at the pool's edge, peering down at the water with obvious suspicion.
Meowly Cyrus followed, immediately flopping onto Aveline's lap.
Aveline set down her book without hesitation and scratched behind Meowly's ears. The purring started instantly, a deep rumble.
Yuki watched, mesmerized.
This was the same woman who'd blown up a house and neutralized three men without blinking.
But she stopped reading to pet her cat.
"They really love you," Yuki said softly.
Aveline didn't look up from Meowly. "Cats are efficient companions. Low maintenance. No emotional manipulation. Affection based on mutual benefit rather than social obligation."
"That's not why they love you."
"Incorrect. Behavioral conditioning via feeding schedules and environmental enrichment,"
"Aveline."
She looked up.
Yuki smiled. "They love you because you love them. It's okay to admit that."
Silence.
Aveline's hand stilled on Meowly's fur.
For just a moment, something flickered in her eyes. Vulnerable. Uncertain.
Then gone.
"Emotional attachment serves functional purposes in specific contexts," she said quietly.
"That's a yes."
Aveline's jaw tightened. But she didn't argue.
She just went back to petting her cat.
5:45 PM | The Greenhouse
The greenhouse was a cathedral of glass and green.
Rows of raised beds overflowing with herbs, basil, mint, rosemary, thyme. Fruit trees in terracotta pots, lemon, lime, fig. Vining tomatoes climbing trellises. Strawberries spilling over wooden boxes.
It smelled like earth and growth and life.
Yuki followed Aveline down the central pathway, eyes wide. "You grow all this?"
"Staff maintains cultivation. I provide specifications." Aveline plucked a strawberry from a nearby plant, inspected it, then handed it to Yuki. "Organic. No pesticides. Harvest as desired."
Yuki bit into it. Sweetness exploded across her tongue, juice running down her chin.
"Oh my God."
"Superior flavor profile compared to commercial agriculture. Cost-benefit analysis: favorable despite maintenance requirements."
They walked slowly, Aveline pointing out varieties, heirloom tomatoes, rainbow chard, three types of basil.
At the back of the greenhouse, a small table sat surrounded by potted jasmine. Two chairs. A teapot and cups already waiting, steam curling upward.
"Staff prepared tea," Aveline said, gesturing for Yuki to sit. "Green tea. Antioxidant properties. Minimal caffeine."
Yuki sat, still clutching her strawberry. "Where's Adrian?"
"Unconscious. Observed him sleeping at fourteen-hundred hours. Estimated wake time: eighteen-thirty hours minimum." A pause. "He snores."
Yuki giggled.
Aveline poured tea with precise movements. Handed Yuki a cup.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping tea, eating fresh strawberries and sliced figs.
The afternoon sun filtered through the glass, warm and golden.
Yuki looked at her watch, Aveline's watch, connected to Aveline's, and felt that warmth again.
"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly.
Aveline's eyes flicked up. Guarded. "Proceed."
"Why are you doing this? Really?"
"Witness protection. Operational necessity."
"No. I mean..." Yuki gestured around them. "The training. The watch. The tea. You don't have to do any of this."
Aveline set down her cup. Stared at it for a long moment.
When she spoke, her voice was softer. Clinical mask slipping. Just slightly.
"I've terminated forty-seven hostile targets in seven years. Successful mission completion rate: ninety-six-point-three percent. Asset preservation: optimal."
She paused. "But witnesses under my protection: three. Survival rate: thirty-three percent."
Yuki's breath caught.
"The first died during extraction. Sniper. I miscalculated trajectory angles." Aveline's fingers tightened on her teacup. "The second: car bomb. I cleared the vehicle. Missed the secondary device underneath."
Silence.
Heavy.
"You're the third," Aveline said quietly. "And you will not die. Unacceptable outcome. Statistically and..." She stopped. Looked away. "Otherwise."
Yuki's eyes burned.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Aveline didn't respond.
Just poured more tea.
And they sat together in the greenhouse, surrounded by growing things, until the sun began to set
6:30 PM | Aveline's Walk-In Closet
"This," Yuki breathed, "is not a closet. This is a boutique."
She wasn't exaggerating.
The walk-in closet was the size of her old living room. Rows of dresses, organized by color gradient. Shelves of shoes that probably cost more than a year's rent. Drawers of jewelry behind glass. A three-way mirror in the center, surrounded by soft lighting.
Aveline stood near the entrance, arms crossed. "Select what you need. Dinner attire. Formal-casual spectrum acceptable."
Yuki ran her fingers along silk and satin and fabrics she couldn't even name. "I don't know where to start."
"Begin with structural preferences. A-line, sheath, wrap, empire waist. Color palette: jewel tones suit your complexion."
Yuki pulled out a deep emerald dress. Held it up. Too formal.
Then a burgundy one. Too short.
A midnight blue number with delicate beading. Perfect.
She disappeared behind a privacy screen to change.
When she emerged, the dress fit like it was made for her. Sleeveless. Modest neckline. Fell just below the knee. Elegant without being ostentatious.
She turned to the mirror. Stared.
She looked... beautiful.
Aveline's gaze swept over her once. Clinical assessment.
Then: "Suitable."
Yuki's shoulders dropped slightly. "Oh. Okay."
A pause.
Aveline tilted her head. "The color complements your skin tone effectively. The cut emphasizes your frame without excessive exposure. Overall aesthetic result: significantly elevated compared to baseline presentation."
Yuki blinked. "Was that... a compliment?"
"Objective observation."
"That was totally a compliment."
Aveline's expression didn't change. But her lips twitched. "Dress shoes. Second shelf. Size seven."
Yuki grinned and grabbed a pair of black heels.
She felt like Cinderella.
6:42 PM | Adrian's Room
Yuki knocked enthusiastically. "Adrian! You need to wake up!"
Muffled groaning from inside.
She knocked again. "Come on! Dinner's in an hour!"
The door opened.
Adrian stood there looking like death warmed over. Hair sticking up in seventeen directions. Sleep lines creased across his face. Eyes bloodshot. Still wearing his wrinkled clothes from earlier.
He blinked at Yuki. Blinked again.
Then burst out laughing.
"Where'd you," he wheezed, "where'd you pick that from? Aveline's closet? You look ridiculous. Like one of those Disney movie princesses."
Yuki's smile faltered. "What? I thought—"
A voice. Cold. Flat. Deadly.
"Say that again."
Adrian froze.
Aveline stood directly behind Yuki, perfectly still. Eyes locked on Adrian like a predator sighting prey.
His face went pale. "I... uh... I'm... sorry?"
"Say that again," Aveline repeated, voice dropping lower, colder, "and I'll make sure you can't speak for another year. Or two."
Silence.
Adrian's mouth opened. Closed. No sound emerged.
Aveline's gaze swept over him. Head to toe. Clinical. Merciless.
"You need to take a bath," she said, voice shifting to authoritative command. "And change. You look ridiculous. Honestly, scarecrows could be jealous of how much capability you have to scare off practically anyone."
Yuki burst out laughing. Hand flying to her mouth.
Adrian just stood there, speechless, looking between them.
Aveline turned and walked away without another word. Perfectly composed. Completely deadpan.
Yuki patted his shoulder, still giggling. "She's not wrong."
"I hate both of you," Adrian muttered.
"No you don't. Now go shower. You smell like a gym sock."
She left, laughter echoing down the hallway.
Adrian closed the door and looked at himself in the mirror.
"...Fair point."
7:15 PM | Downstairs
The kitchen had come alive.
Sounds of chopping. The sizzle of something in a pan. The rich aroma of butter and garlic and herbs filling the air. Staff moving with choreographed precision.
Yuki sat at the kitchen island, watching in fascination as the chef worked.
Aveline had changed as well. Black dress. Simple. Elegant. Hair pulled back. Minimal jewelry. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover.
She glanced at Yuki. "Adrian?"
"Showering. Finally."
"Estimated time to presentability: fifteen minutes."
"That's generous."
Aveline's lips curved. Almost imperceptibly.
7:35 PM | Adrian Emerges
Adrian descended the stairs looking significantly more human.
Hair combed. Face clean-shaven. Wearing a tailored charcoal suit that fit perfectly because of course the staff had already provided one. Black shirt underneath. No tie.
He looked... good.
Really good.
Yuki whistled. "There's the detective we know."
Adrian tugged at the collar. "I feel like I'm going to a funeral."
"You look appropriate," Aveline said without looking up from her phone. "Marginal improvement over previous state."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome."
Caruso appeared in the doorway. "Dinner is served."
7:47 PM | Dining Hall
The table could seat twenty.
There were three of them.
Aveline sat at the head. Adrian and Yuki on either side, close enough to talk but far enough that the space felt vast.
Candlelight. Crystal glasses. Silver cutlery.
The staff brought out dinner in courses.
First: lobster tail, butter-poached, garnished with microgreens.
Second: caviar on blinis with crème fraîche.
Third: champagne, Dom Pérignon, chilled to perfection.
Yuki stared at her plate. "This is..."
"Excessive?" Adrian offered.
"I was going to say 'amazing,' but yeah, also that."
Aveline ate with mechanical precision. Fork. Knife. Controlled movements. No wasted motion.
Adrian watched her. "Do you eat like this every night?"
"Negative. Typically: protein shakes, meal-replacement bars, tactical nutrition optimized for operational efficiency."
"Then why..."
"Guests. Social protocol dictates elevated presentation standards."
Yuki smiled. "You're trying to impress us."
Aveline paused mid-bite. "Incorrect. I'm adhering to hospitality conventions."
"That's the same thing."
"It is not."
Adrian grinned. "You are trying to impress us."
Aveline's eye twitched.
She took a sip of champagne. "Incorrect assessment."
"Sure."
For a moment, silence. Comfortable. Easy.
Then Yuki spoke. "Do you have any hobbies? Like, actually? Besides training and reading psychology papers?"
Aveline set down her fork. "I write."
Both Adrian and Yuki looked up.
"You write?" Yuki's eyes lit up. "Like, fiction? Essays? What?"
"Philosophy. Analysis. Theoretical frameworks for behavioral patterns and tactical applications. Poems, sometimes."
"That sounds... intense."
"It's precise."
"Can I read it?"
Aveline hesitated. Just for a second. "It's in Russian."
"Oh." Yuki's face fell slightly. "Could you... translate it? Maybe?"
Aveline looked at her. Really looked. Her expression softened, barely perceptible, but there.
"I'll think about it."
Yuki beamed.
Adrian hid his smile behind his champagne glass.
9:34 PM | Goodnight
They returned to their rooms.
Adrian collapsed onto his bed, God, it was comfortable, and stared at the ceiling.
His phone buzzed.
Messages. Dozens of them. From Captain Ward. From other NPU agents. News alerts about the "gas explosion."
He turned it off.
Tomorrow. He'd deal with it tomorrow.
Tonight, he just needed to sleep.
Yuki stood in her room, staring out the window.
The gardens were beautiful at night. Lights illuminating pathways, fountains glowing softly.
She felt safe.
For the first time in weeks, she felt safe.
She climbed into bed, sheets cool and soft, and closed her eyes.
Sleep came quickly.
---
Aveline sat at her desk, laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard.
Russian text filled the screen. Paragraphs. Pages. Analysis. Theory. Structure.
Her cats lay curled on the desk beside her. Bruno's head resting on her arm. Meowly purring against her side.
She paused. Glanced at them. Scratched behind Bruno's ears.
He purred louder.
Her lips curved. Just slightly.
Then back to work.
Always work.
12:47 AM | Yuki's Bedroom
Yuki woke to pain.
Sharp. Cramping. Familiar.
Oh no.
She sat up, heart sinking.
Period.
Of course. Of course.
She checked. Leaked through her underwear, onto her pajama pants, but thank God, not onto the sheets yet.
She needed pads. Tampons. Something.
She looked around the room. Checked the bathroom. Nothing.
Damn it.
Okay. Options. She could... wait till morning? No. She'd bleed everywhere.
Ask the staff? It was almost 1 AM. There was no staff.
Ask Aveline?
"Don't disturb me during my sleep."
Aveline had said that. Specifically. With that cold, flat tone that meant I will hurt you if you wake me.
So.
Adrian.
She crept out of her room, down the hallway, down the grand staircase, every step feeling too loud, too obvious, until she reached the east wing.
Room seven.
She knocked. Soft. Hesitant. "Adrian?"
Silence.
She knocked again. Harder. "Adrian, please, I..."
The door opened.
Adrian stood there, bleary-eyed, hair a mess, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. "Yuki? What..."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I need help and I didn't know who else to..."
"Whoa, hey, slow down. What's wrong?"
She took a breath. "I'm on my period. I don't have any pads. And I, I leaked, and I don't want to stain Aveline's sheets, and the staff is gone, and I don't know where anything is, and..."
"Okay. Okay, it's fine." Adrian rubbed his face, waking up fully. "Uh. Aveline probably has... stuff. Somewhere. We can just... go ask her?"
"She said not to disturb her."
"She'll understand. It's an emergency."
"Are you sure?"
Adrian hesitated. "...Sixty percent sure."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's the best I've got. Come on."
---
12:53 AM | Second Floor Hallway
They climbed the stairs together. Quiet. Tense.
Reached the second floor. Hallway dark except for faint ambient lighting from the windows.
Room four.
Aveline's door.
Adrian knocked. "Aveline? Hey, uh, sorry to bother you, but..."
Nothing.
He knocked again. Louder. "Aveline?"
Silence.
Yuki whispered, "Maybe she's a deep sleeper?"
"Maybe."
Adrian tried the door handle.
Unlocked.
He pushed it open slowly. "Aveline? We're coming in, don't, don't freak out, okay?"
The room was dark. Curtains drawn. Faint outline of a bed. A figure lying still beneath the covers.
Adrian stepped inside. Yuki followed, staying close.
"Aveline," Adrian said softly, moving toward the bed. "Hey. Wake up. Yuki needs..."
He reached out.
Touched her shoulder.
Gently.
And noticed.
Her hand. Under the pillow.
Oh.
---
Aveline moved.
Fast.
In one fluid motion, she sat up, hand emerging from beneath the pillow, gun, arm extending, eyes open and sharp and cold, and:
CRACK.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.
Muzzle flash lit the room for a split second, blinding, white-hot, and Adrian felt.
Pain.
Sharp. Burning. His right cheek.
He stumbled backward, hand flying to his face, feeling wetness, heat, blood.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
Yuki screamed.
Aveline froze. Gun still raised. Eyes wide.
Staring.
At Adrian.
At the blood streaming down his face.
At what she'd just done.