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. She'd pressed herself into the far corner, as far from Aveline in the passenger seat as the cramped space allowed, arms wrapped protectively around herself.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it. That smile. That deep, genuine laugh. The fondness when Aveline had called trained killers "stupid fools."
Like it had been amusing.
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.
The silence was suffocating.
Then.
"Ironcliff City," Adrian said finally, breaking the oppressive 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 made a sound small, broken, somewhere between disbelief and something darker. "She just blew up your house and now you find out she's richer than God."
Her voice was hollow. Empty. Like she was observing from very far away.
"Significantly richer," Aveline corrected matter-of-factly, completely missing or ignoring the trauma bleeding through Yuki's words. "Deities lack quantifiable net worth. I possess liquid assets totaling—"
"I don't want to know," Adrian interrupted, laughing despite himself, despite everything. The sound was strained, edged with hysteria he was trying to suppress. "I really, really don't want to know."
Aveline's lips twitched. Almost imperceptibly.
Not quite a smile.
Just acknowledgment.
Yuki pressed herself harder into the corner, watching that micro-expression with something like horror. Even that even the smallest gesture felt calculated now. Performed. Empty.
Everything is fake. All of it.
10:07 AM | Still Driving
The silence returned, heavier now.
Adrian adjusted the mirror, glancing back at Yuki. She looked smaller somehow, curled into herself. "You okay?"
She didn't answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "No."
Adrian's expression softened with something like pain. "You will be. I promise."
Yuki didn't respond. Didn't nod. Just kept staring out the window at the blurred landscape trees, buildings, road signs, all meaningless.
She could still hear that laugh. Deep. Rich. Genuine.
The only real thing she'd heard from Aveline all morning.
And it had been about death.
Adrian tried again, voice careful, like approaching a wounded animal. "Do you... do anything for fun? Like, ever?"
He was trying to fill the silence. Trying to make things normal.
It didn't work.
Aveline's gaze remained fixed forward. "Previously addressed. Recreation is inefficient."
"But you have a mansion," Adrian pressed, desperate now. "What do you even do with all that space?"
"Tactical training. Firearms maintenance. Strategic analysis. Physical conditioning."
"Those aren't hobbies."
"Purpose supersedes entertainment."
The flatness in her voice made Yuki's stomach turn. No hobbies. No recreation. No joy. Just... function.
Adrian kept trying. "What about social media? You on Instagram? Twitter? Anything?"
Aveline's expression shifted just barely. A flicker of something cold and sharp, genuine distaste bleeding through the neutral mask.
"Social media," she said slowly, voice flat and clinical but carrying an edge of contempt that sounded almost real, "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. "You sound like Wednesday Addams."
Aveline turned to look at him, expression genuinely confused. "I don't understand the reference."
"Of course you don't," Adrian muttered.
From the back seat, Yuki said nothing. Just stared at Aveline's profile, seeing the performance in every calculated word now that the mask had slipped.
She hates social media but performs humanity. What else is fake? What else is calculation?
Adrian was still trying to lighten the mood. "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.
No digital footprint. No family. No friends. No existence beyond killing and accumulating wealth, Yuki thought, and the realization settled over her like ice water.
She's not human. She's just... optimized.
Adrian tried one more time. "But what about family? Friends? Don't they—"
"No family. No friends. Operationally optimal."
The words were delivered with such clinical detachment that even Adrian fell silent.
Yuki felt something crack inside her chest. She said it like an advantage. Like being alone is... efficient.
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. Empty.
"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, something like horror dawning in his eyes.
"I should not have asked."
"Correct."
Yuki felt bile rise in her throat. She just admitted to betraying her own blood for money. And she doesn't care. She doesn't feel anything.
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.
In the back seat, Yuki started shaking again not from cold, but from the crushing weight of understanding.
They won't stop. They can't stop. Because if the government is involved, there's nowhere to hide. No one to trust.
Except maybe the monster in the front seat who laughs at death and calls it efficiency.
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. Adrian looked bewildered. Yuki looked haunted, hollow.
They 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 single-minded focus.
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.
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 heard 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 stared, and something twisted painfully in her chest.
She can love. She just... chooses not to. For people.
Ormaybe she can't. Maybe cats are simple enough. Predictable enough. Safe enough.
Maybe we're too complicated. Too messy. Too human.
Aveline looked up, cats still in her arms. "Problem?"
"They're beautiful," Yuki heard herself say, the words automatic, hollow. She didn't move forward. Didn't reach out. Just stood there, frozen.
"Bruno Meows." Aveline nodded to the black one. "Meowly Cyrus." The white one.
Adrian choked on a laugh surprised, genuine.
Yuki's mouth moved into something that might have been a smile. "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 moved toward Yuki, headbutting her leg. Meowly Cyrus rubbed against her shins, purring.
Yuki looked down at them, then back at Aveline.
The warmth was already gone from Aveline's face. Mask back in place. Neutral. Clinical. Controlled.
She can turn it on and off. Like a switch. Love for thirty seconds, then nothing.
"Can I..." Yuki's voice came out small. "Can I pet them?"
"It seems they've already made the decision for you."
Yuki knelt slowly, mechanically. The cats swarmed her Bruno flopping onto his back, Meowly climbing into her lap, both purring frantically.
She pet them because they expected it. Because it would be strange not to. Because Adrian was watching.
But her eyes kept drifting to Aveline, standing there brushing fur from her clothes with brisk efficiency.
She was capable of warmth for exactly as long as it served a purpose. Then it was just... gone.
Like everything else.
Adrian watched the exchange, and something settled in his expression understanding, maybe, or resignation.
He'd seen it too.
She was capable of love.
She just chose not to show it.
Except for cats.
Who couldn't betray her. Couldn't judge her. Couldn't see what she really was.
Interesting.
And deeply, profoundly sad.
The Tour
Caruso led them through the mansion.
It was obscene.
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.
Yuki followed in a daze, barely processing.
"First floor," Caruso announced. "Living quarters, kitchen, dining hall, library, gym, indoor pool."
"Indoor pool?" Adrian's voice sounded distant to Yuki's ears.
"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 shook his head. "Unbelievable."
She has everything, Yuki thought distantly. And nothing. All this space and no one to share it with.
By choice.
"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. Everything categorized. Everything separated. Everything controlled.
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 didn't laugh. Didn't smile. Just stood there, watching them interact, feeling like she was observing from behind glass.
Aveline's lips twitched.
That almost-smile. Calculated. Performed.
Everything is performance.
Adrian's room was ridiculous.
King-sized bed with sheets that probably cost more than his car. Ensuite bathroom with shower and bathtub. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens. A desk. A chair. A television.
And his bag sitting neatly on the dresser.
Unpacked.
Clothes folded and put away.
Toiletries arranged in the bathroom.
"How..." Adrian stared.
Caruso appeared. "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, looking dazed.
What the hell is my life right now.
Yuki's room was identical.
Her things arranged with meticulous precision.
She stood in the doorway, staring at her belongings organized, categorized, controlled.
Like everything else in this house.
"They organized my underwear," she whispered.
Aveline walked past without stopping. "Staff efficiency. Standard."
"But, how?"
"They're professionals."
Yuki looked at the organized drawers, the perfectly arranged toiletries, the bed made with hospital corners.
This is what her life is. Control. Efficiency. Nothing out of place. Nothing unexpected.
Nothing human.
12:15 PM | Adrian's Room
Adrian had collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed, when a knock sounded.
He groaned. "What?"
The door opened. Yuki peeked in, Aveline standing behind her.
"We're going to the gym," Yuki said quietly, voice flat. "Aveline's going to teach me some self-defense stuff. Want to come?"
Adrian turned his head, eyes bloodshot. "Do I look like I want to come?"
"You look like you need coffee."
"I need sleep. Eight hours minimum." He buried his face in the pillow. "Wake me for dinner."
Yuki glanced at Aveline.
Aveline stared at Adrian's prone form, her expression unreadable. Then she gave a slight nod.
"Understood," she said. "Rest period optimal."