Second burner.
Third burner.
Fourth burner.
Click-click-click. Click-click-click. Click-click-click.
The hissing intensified, creating a low chorus of escaping gas that filled the room with white noise. The smell became overwhelming thick, cloying, making eyes water.
Oven door.
She yanked it open with both hands. More gas flooded out, turning the enclosed kitchen into a death trap.
Ten seconds of buildup. Fifteen. Twenty.
The concentration climbed toward critical mass.
Aveline pulled her keys from her pocket. Metal. Conductive. Simple. Effective.
She opened the microwave and placed them inside, positioning them carefully so the metal prongs would arc when the magnetron activated.
One spark. That's all it would take.
The operators reached the hallway. Boots pounding. Weapons raised. Shadows moving fast.
Five seconds. Maybe less.
Aveline grabbed Yuki by the collar grip firm, bruising and pulled her toward the window.
"Brace."
Yuki's eyes went wide. "Brace for WHAT?!"
The operators appeared in the doorway massive, armored, weapons coming up.
The lead operator's eyes widened as the smell hit him. "GAS—"
Aveline's hand shot out and pressed the microwave's start button.
The machine hummed to life. The metal keys began to spark electrical discharge arcing in brilliant flashes of blue-white light.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"
She grabbed Yuki and threw them both backward through the open window.
BOOM!!
The kitchen detonated.
Fire exploded outward in all directions a massive fireball consuming everything. The gas-saturated air ignited instantaneously, temperatures spiking to over a thousand degrees in the blast zone.
The two operators didn't even have time to scream. Flesh incinerated. Bones blackened and cracked. Metal armor melted into slag.
The blast wave punched through the walls, bulging them outward before they disintegrated into flying debris. Windows shattered in every direction. The ceiling cracked and collapsed inward. The stairwell gave way, support beams snapping like matchsticks.
The entire second story folded in on itself walls buckling, roof sagging, everything collapsing into the inferno below.
Heat washed over the exterior in a scorching wave paint bubbling, siding melting, grass withering brown.
Aveline and Yuki hit the hay pile twelve feet below.
The impact was brutal. The hay cushioned the fall but didn't eliminate it bones jarred, joints compressed, breath driven from lungs.
Yuki lay there stunned, unable to move, unable to process. Her ears rang. Her vision swam. She tasted blood.
Aveline landed in a controlled roll. She was on her feet in seconds, already scanning for threats, checking for injuries.
None. Optimal outcome.
She stood and brushed hay from her clothes with methodical precision.
Behind them, the house burned.
Flames roared skyward. Smoke billowed black against the morning sky. The heat was intense waves rolling off the inferno.
Aveline turned to watch, silhouetted against the flames.
And then she laughed.
Deep. Genuine. Amused.
The sound was rich and full, carrying across the burning wreckage with the kind of genuine pleasure that only came from authentic enjoyment. Not the warm, gentle laugh she'd used with Yuki earlier. This was real.
"Such stupid fools," she said fondly, almost affectionately, like she was talking about children who'd made an endearing mistake. She shook her head, still smiling. "Walking into a gas-filled room with tactical lights and electronic equipment."
She brushed another piece of hay from her sleeve, still chuckling to herself.
Yuki stared at her from the ground, horror blooming cold in her chest.
She's laughing. She just killed five people and she's LAUGHING.
The warmth was gone. The gentle protector who'd listened to her talk about romance novels, who'd seemed vulnerable and kind that person had never existed. It had all been performance. Lies.
And underneath was something Yuki couldn't recognize. Couldn't understand.
Someone who found destruction amusing. Who laughed at death like it was a particularly clever joke.
Yuki's stomach turned. She scrambled backward in the hay, putting distance between them on pure instinct.
Then Aveline's expression shifted the amusement fading, replaced by that neutral, clinical emptiness.
"Threat neutralized," she said flatly, as if discussing completed paperwork. "Extraction required."
Aveline pulled Yuki upright with a grip that left finger-shaped bruises on her arm not cruel, just efficient, functional, unconcerned with comfort or fear or the fact that Yuki was looking at her like she was a stranger.
"Run."
But Yuki couldn't run. She was frozen, trembling, staring at this woman she thought she knew.
No time for processing.
Aveline hoisted Yuki over her shoulder in a fireman's carry efficient, impersonal, treating her like cargo that needed moving and ran.
Yuki couldn't even cry. She was numb, shock settling over her like a blanket, her mind refusing to process what she'd just seen. That smile. That laugh.
Aveline's face remained expressionless. Focused. Operational.
"Breathing," she said flatly, voice devoid of emotion. "Maintain it."
Like she was giving instructions to a malfunctioning piece of equipment.
Safehouse burning behind them. Flames licking skyward. Smoke billowing black. Sirens distant but growing closer.
Aveline set Yuki down carefully in the middle of the street still no emotion, just calculated movement, positioning her away from debris and potential collapse zones.
Yuki's legs immediately gave out. She collapsed to her knees, shaking, arms wrapped around herself not reaching for Aveline, not seeking comfort from the person who'd just laughed over corpses.
She stayed exactly where she was, several feet away, staring at the burning house with wide, traumatized eyes.
Aveline stood over her, scanning the perimeter, weapon ready, completely unbothered by the distance Yuki was maintaining.
Asset mobile. Breathing stable. Distance: acceptable. No immediate threats detected.
She didn't reach out. Didn't offer comfort. Didn't seem to notice or care that Yuki was looking at her like a monster.
The silence stretched between them not comfortable anymore. Not safe.
Terrifying.
Yuki hugged herself tighter, trying to process what she'd witnessed. The explosion. The deaths. That laugh. The fondness in Aveline's voice when she called trained killers "stupid fools."
Who is she? What is she?
Yuki stared at her, something breaking inside. "You... you laughed. They're dead and you laughed."
Aveline looked down at her, head tilting slightly. "Outcome was optimal. Technique was efficient. Satisfaction at successful execution is normal psychological response to achievement."
She said it like it was obvious. Like Yuki was being irrational for being disturbed.
"They were people."
"They were hostiles. Variables requiring elimination. Status: eliminated." Aveline's expression didn't change. "Emotional attachment to enemy combatants is counterproductive."
Yuki's laugh came out broken, horrified. "Oh my god."
"Your reaction is within normal parameters for civilian exposure to combat situations," Aveline continued, still in that same clinical tone. "Shock, moral dissonance, trauma response all expected. Processing time required: approximately forty-eight to seventy-two hours depending on psychological resilience factors."
She was diagnosing her. Like Yuki was a case study instead of a terrified human being.
Yuki stared at her, truly seeing her for the first time. The mask was gone. The performance had ended.
And underneath was something cold and empty and utterly alien.
She pulled her knees to her chest, making herself smaller, unable to stop shaking.
Aveline watched her with detached interest for a moment, then returned to scanning for threats.
Asset experiencing expected psychological distress. Non-critical. Continue perimeter monitoring.
The warmth was gone. Had never been real.
Yuki sat in the street, alone despite Aveline standing right there, and tried not to fall apart completely.
The Lamborghini Vision GT screeched around the corner, tires smoking, engine roaring, moving far too fast for residential streets.
Adrian leapt out before it fully stopped, door swinging open, face pale with terror. "Are you—"
He stopped.
Took in the scene:
His safehouse fully engulfed in flames, second story collapsed, inferno raging, smoke billowing hundreds of feet into the air.
Yuki on her knees in the middle of the street, covered in hay and soot, shaking violently, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing.
Aveline standing several feet away, perfectly composed, brushing hay from her clothes with visible distaste, expression neutral, looking personally affronted by the debris clinging to her tactical gear.
The distance between them was obvious. Deliberate.
His brain tried to process. Failed.
"What the fuck happened?!"
Fire trucks. Police. Ambulances. Red and blue lights flashing in the distance, growing brighter, converging on the scene.
Getting closer fast.
Adrian's face shift shock draining away, replaced by cold professionalism. "We need to move. Now."
"Agreed," Aveline said immediately, already transitioning back to operational mode. "Remaining at scene invites complications. Law enforcement response time: ninety seconds maximum. Media coverage: imminent. Witness protection protocols: compromised."
"Where do we go?" Adrian looked at Aveline. "Your place?"
Aveline paused. Her eyes flickered calculating, assessing variables, running probability matrices, weighing operational security against tactical necessity.
Then: "Acceptable."
"Everyone in the car," Adrian commanded. "Let's go before—"
They piled into the Lamborghini. Yuki squeezed awkwardly into the back barely room for her legs in the cramped space designed for aesthetics over practicality but she didn't complain. She pressed herself into the corner, as far from Aveline in the passenger seat as physically possible, arms still wrapped around herself.
Engine roared to life powerful, aggressive, built for speed.
They pulled away just as fire trucks turned the corner, sirens wailing.
In the rearview mirror: Adrian's safehouse burning. Flames consuming everything. Smoke rising like a monument to destruction.
Adrian sighed quietly, watching it disappear. "I liked that house."
"Structures are replaceable," Aveline said without emotion, eyes forward, already focused on the next objective. "Operational security supersedes property value. The asset was preserved. Outcome: optimal."
"Easy for you to say. You didn't blow up your house."
"If tactical necessity required it, I would." No hesitation. Statement of fact.
Adrian glanced at her, really looked at her. She meant it. Completely. Without hesitation. She'd burn down her own home if the situation demanded it, probably with the same fond amusement she'd shown at the safehouse.
"I believe you," he said quietly.
Silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the engine's purr and distant sirens fading behind them.
Then Adrian's professional mask cracked slightly. "What the hell happened back there? Start from the beginning."
Aveline responded immediately, her voice flat and clinical, like reading from an after-action report.
"Hostile contact at zero-eight-forty-two hours. Six operatives. Vehicle classification: unmarked SUVs, no registration plates. Personnel assessment: professional contractors, likely Nexo or La Sangre Nera affiliation. Breach attempt: biometric lock bypass failed, electronic intrusion failed, physical breach via battering ram successful. Engagement: three hostiles neutralized via firearm, close quarters blade work for efficiency when ammunition conservation became tactically optimal. Two remaining hostiles: heavy armor, special forces training, direct engagement probability unfavorable. Alternative solution implemented."
She paused, not for dramatic effect, but to organize the next segment of information.
"Kitchen converted to improvised explosive device. Four gas burners plus oven: full saturation, approximately thirty seconds to critical concentration. Ignition source: microwave-induced electrical arc via metal object insertion. Blast yield: sufficient for complete target elimination and structural compromise. Asset extraction via second-story window, landing cushioned by hay bale placement—prior reconnaissance identified optimal emergency egress route. Injuries: minor contusions, no fractures, full mobility maintained. Threat status: neutralized. Asset status: secured."
She delivered it like a weather report. Temperature, precipitation, chance of explosions.
No emotion. No acknowledgment of what she'd done. Just facts.
Adrian's hands tightened on the steering wheel. He'd heard Aveline's mission debriefs before, but this was different. This was Yuki's near-death experience being reduced to tactical bullet points.
"Jesus Christ, Aveline."
"Outcome was optimal," she repeated, like that explained everything. Like that justified everything.
From the back seat, Yuki's voice came out small, shaking, barely above a whisper.
"She... she smiled."
Adrian's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "What?"
"When she killed the first one. When the—when his—" Yuki's breath hitched. "She smiled. Like she was... like it was satisfying."
Aveline didn't turn around. Didn't deny it. "Successful execution of technique under pressure produces positive psychological response. Normal neurological reaction to achievement."
"It's not normal!" Yuki's voice cracked, rising with hysteria threatening to break through again. "You laughed! After they—after you—you laughed and called them 'stupid fools' like it was funny!"
"Their tactical approach was objectively flawed," Aveline said, still without turning, still without emotion. "Entering gas-saturated environment with electronic equipment and potential ignition sources. Poor threat assessment. Inadequate environmental awareness. Fatal operational error. Observation of preventable failure is... notable."
"Notable?" Yuki's laugh was broken, edging toward hysteria. "Five people died and you think it's notable? You—you were so kind to me. You listened about my books and you smiled and you—but it was fake. All of it was fake. You're not—you're not even human."
Aveline finally turned slightly, looking back at Yuki with those flat green eyes.
"I am human. Biologically. Genetically. Functionally." Her tone remained clinical, like she was correcting a factual error. "Psychological variance does not negate species classification. Your emotional response is understandable but irrelevant to objective reality."
Yuki pressed herself harder into the corner, as far from Aveline as the small space allowed. "Don't—don't talk to me. Don't look at me."
Aveline held her gaze for another moment studying, cataloging the fear response then turned back to face forward.
"Acknowledged."
Adrian's jaw was tight. "Aveline."
"Yes."
"When we get to your place, you're going to give Yuki space. Understood?"
"Optimal for psychological recovery. Agreed."
"I mean it. No tactical assessments. No clinical observations. You stay away from her until she's ready."
"Understood." A pause. "Though statistically, civilian trauma bonding with protector figure typically occurs within forty-eight to seventy-two hours following life-threatening event. Avoidance may prolong—"
"Aveline."
"...Acknowledged."
She fell silent, returning her attention to the road ahead, scanning for threats, already moving past the conversation like it had never happened.
Yuki spoke again, quieter now, almost to herself.
"You said you forgot how to live. That you spent so long being good at your job that you forgot to be good at being human." Her voice cracked. "That was a lie too, wasn't it? You never knew how. You were never... you were just pretending."
Aveline didn't respond.
Didn't confirm or deny.
Just sat there, perfectly still, perfectly composed, staring straight ahead as the city blurred past.
And somehow, the silence was confirmation enough.
Adrian's voice was quiet, careful. "Yuki. You're safe. That's what matters right now."
"Am I?" Yuki's laugh was hollow. "Am I safe with her?"
"Yes." Adrian's voice was firm, certain. "Whatever else Aveline is, she's effective. And right now, effective is keeping you alive."
"But she's—"
"I know." Adrian met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "I know what she is. I've known for a while. But she won't hurt you. You're her objective. Her mission. And Aveline always completes her missions."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"It's supposed to keep you alive long enough to testify." His voice softened slightly. "I know it's not comfort. But it's truth. And truth is all I've got right now."
Yuki fell silent, processing, trying to reconcile the warm, understanding woman who'd listened to her talk about romance novels with the hollow thing sitting in the passenger seat who'd laughed over corpses.
Trying to understand how both could exist in the same person.
Or if they ever had.
"Where are we going?" Yuki asked finally, voice still shaky but steadier.
"Ironcliff City," Aveline replied without looking back. "My residence. Forty-seven minutes at current traffic patterns. Secure location. Multiple egress routes. Defensible position. Optimal for temporary asset housing."
"Or thirty if I drive like I normally do," Adrian added, and there was a ghost of his usual humor trying to break through the tension.
Aveline's lips twitched that almost-smile, barely visible. "Acceptable."
He floored it.
The Lamborghini launched forward, acceleration pressing them back into their seats, speedometer climbing rapidly as they left the burning safehouse behind.
Behind them, smoke continued to rise into the morning sky a black pillar visible for miles, marking the spot where everything had changed.
Where Yuki had learned what Aveline really was.
Where the mask had finally, completely, fallen away.
And in the passenger seat, Aveline sat perfectly still, perfectly composed, already running calculations for the next objective.
Asset secured. Threat neutralized. Complications: psychological trauma, trust metrics decreased to 23.4%, recovery time extended. Acceptable losses. Mission parameters: maintained.
Outcome: optimal.
She didn't look back at Yuki.
Didn't need to.
The performance was over.
And the viper had never needed an audience anyway.