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 with determined persistence. Strawberries spilling over wooden boxes like they were trying to escape.
It smelled like earth and growth and life.
Yuki followed Aveline down the central pathway, eyes wide, taking in the impossible abundance. "You grow all this?"
"Staff maintains cultivation. I provide specifications." Aveline plucked a strawberry from a nearby plant, inspected it with the same analytical precision she applied to everything, 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."
Of course. Even strawberries are a tactical decision.
They walked slowly, Aveline pointing out varieties, heirloom tomatoes, rainbow chard, three types of basil each with specific culinary applications.
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 in lazy spirals.
"Staff prepared tea," Aveline said, gesturing for Yuki to sit. "Green tea. Antioxidant properties. Minimal caffeine. Optimal for evening consumption without sleep disruption."
Yuki sat, still clutching her strawberry. "Where's Adrian?"
"Unconscious. Observed him sleeping at fourteen hundred hours. Estimated wake time: eighteen thirty hours minimum based on observed sleep debt accumulation." A pause. "He snores."
Despite everything, the fear, the confusion, the lingering trauma, Yuki giggled.
Aveline poured tea with precise movements, each gesture controlled and deliberate. Handed Yuki a cup.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping tea, eating fresh strawberries and sliced figs that appeared on a small plate.
The afternoon sun filtered through the glass, warm and golden, turning everything soft.
Yuki looked at her watch, Aveline's watch, connected to Aveline's, and felt that warmth again.
Complicated.
Confusing
But there.
"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 greenhouse, the tea, the care in small gestures. "The training. The watch. This. 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. The 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 by point seven degrees." Aveline's fingers tightened on her teacup, barely visible, but there. "The second: car bomb. I cleared the vehicle. Missed the secondary device underneath the chassis. IED placement: non standard. Should have anticipated."
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
"You're the third," Aveline said quietly. "And you will not die. Unacceptable outcome. Statistically and..." She stopped. Looked away, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Otherwise."
Yuki's eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall.
She cares. Maybe not the way normal people care. Maybe not in a way I understand. But she cares.
"Thank you," Yuki 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 and the light turned everything gold.
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, a rainbow of fabric that probably cost more than Yuki's car. Shelves of shoes that looked like art installations. Drawers of jewelry behind glass, glinting under perfect lighting. A three way mirror in the center, surrounded by soft illumination that made everything look flattering.
Aveline stood near the entrance, arms crossed, expression neutral. "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, textures that felt like wealth made tangible. "I don't know where to start."
"Begin with structural preferences. A line, sheath, wrap, empire waist. Color palette: jewel tones suit your complexion. Skin undertone analysis suggests emerald, sapphire, burgundy optimal."
Yuki pulled out a deep emerald dress. Held it up. Too formal. Too much.
Then a burgundy one. Too short. Too revealing.
A midnight blue number with delicate beading caught her eye. She lifted it carefully, half afraid it would disintegrate under her touch.
Perfect.
She disappeared behind a privacy screen to change, fingers trembling slightly as she pulled the dress on.
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, eyes tracking lines, fit, proportion.
Then: "Suitable."
Yuki's shoulders dropped slightly. "Oh. Okay."
A pause.
Aveline tilted her head, something shifting in her expression. "The color complements your skin tone effectively. The cut emphasizes your frame without excessive exposure. Fabric drape: optimal. 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, barely, there and gone. "Dress shoes. Second shelf. Size seven."
Yuki grinned and grabbed a pair of black heels, delicate and perfect.
She felt like Cinderella.
No. Actually, scrap that. She felt like Cinderella on steroids.
7:42 PM | Adrian's Room
Yuki knocked enthusiastically. "Adrian! You need to wake up!"
Muffled groaning from inside.
She knocked again, harder. "Come on! Dinner's in an hour!"
The door opened.
Adrian stood there looking like death warmed over and then microwaved poorly. Hair sticking up in seventeen different directions. Sleep lines creased across his face like topographical maps. 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 who-"
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, calculating exactly how much force it would take to remove his larynx.
His face went pale. "I... uh... I'm... sorry?"
"Say that again," Aveline repeated, voice dropping lower, colder, each word precisely enunciated, "and I'll make sure you can't speak for a year. Possibly two. Vocal cord damage: reversible but extremely uncomfortable."
Silence.
Adrian's mouth opened. Closed. No sound emerged.
Aveline's gaze swept over him, head to toe. Clinical. Merciless. Cataloging every flaw.
"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 within visual range."
Yuki burst out laughing, hand flying to her mouth to muffle the sound.
Adrian just stood there, speechless, looking between them like he'd wandered into an alternate dimension.
Aveline turned and walked away without another word. Perfectly composed. Completely deadpan. Devastating.
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 that gave up on life."
She left, laughter echoing down the hallway.
Adrian closed the door and looked at himself in the mirror.
Disheveled hair. Wrinkled clothes. Sleep creased face.
"...Fair point."
7:15 PM | Downstairs
The kitchen had come alive.
Sounds of chopping, rhythmic, precise. The sizzle of something in a pan, butter, garlic, herbs. The rich aroma filling the air, making Yuki's stomach growl. Staff moving with choreographed precision, each person knowing exactly where to be, what to do, when to move.
Yuki sat at the kitchen island, watching in fascination as the chef worked, knife moving in a blur, vegetables transforming into perfect uniform pieces.
Aveline had changed as well. Black dress. Simple. Elegant. Hair pulled back in a low chignon. Minimal jewelry, just a watch, the twin to Yuki's. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. Or ruling a small country.
She glanced at Yuki. "Adrian?"
"Showering. Finally."
"Estimated time to presentability: fifteen minutes."
"That's generous."
Aveline's lips curved. Almost imperceptibly. "Factoring in his observed grooming inefficiency, yes."
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 in his exact measurements. 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, fingers moving across the screen with practiced efficiency. "Marginal improvement over previous state."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome."
Caruso appeared in the doorway, impeccable as always. "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, excessive, almost absurd.
Candlelight. Crystal glasses. Silver cutlery that probably cost more than Yuki's monthly rent.
The staff brought out dinner in courses.
First: Lobster tail, butter poached, garnished with microgreens that looked too delicate to be real.
Second: Caviar on blinis with crème fraîche, arranged with artistic precision.
Third: Champagne, Dom Pérignon, chilled to exactly forty five degrees Fahrenheit.
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. Each bite measured.
Adrian watched her. "Do you eat like this every night?"
"Negative. Typically: protein shakes, meal replacement bars, tactical nutrition optimized for operational efficiency and caloric density."
"Then why..."
"Guests. Social protocol dictates elevated presentation standards." She paused. "Hospitality conventions require demonstration of resource availability and care allocation."
Yuki smiled despite herself. "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, the only sign of irritation breaking through her control.
She took a sip of champagne. "Incorrect assessment."
"Sure," Adrian said, clearly enjoying himself.
For a moment, silence settled.
Comfortable.
Easy.
Almost normal.
Then Yuki spoke, curiosity overriding lingering wariness. "Do you have any hobbies? Like, actually? Besides training and reading psychology papers about yourself?"
Aveline set down her fork with careful precision. "I write."
Both Adrian and Yuki looked up, genuinely surprised.
"You write?" Yuki's eyes lit up, trauma momentarily forgotten. "Like, fiction? Essays? What?"
"Philosophy. Analysis. Theoretical frameworks for behavioral patterns and tactical applications. Comparative ethics. Moral philosophy." A pause. "Poems, sometimes."
"That sounds... intense."
"It's precise."
"Can I read it?"
Aveline hesitated. Just for a second, vulnerability flickering across her face before the mask returned. "It's in Russian."
"Oh." Yuki's face fell slightly. "Could you... translate it? Maybe? Sometime?"
Aveline looked at her. Really looked, not the clinical assessment, but something deeper, more human.
"I'll consider it."
Yuki beamed, and something warm flickered in Aveline's eyes before disappearing.
Adrian hid his smile behind his champagne glass, watching the exchange with quiet satisfaction.
Progress. Actual progress.
9:34 PM | Goodnight
They returned to their rooms, footsteps echoing in the vast hallway.
Adrian collapsed onto his bed, God, it was comfortable, like sleeping on a cloud made of money, and stared at the ceiling.
His phone buzzed. Vibrated. Demanded attention.
Messages. Dozens of them. From Captain Ward. From other NPU agents. News alerts about the "gas explosion" and "structural failure" and "investigation ongoing."
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 at gardens that looked like something from a fairytale.
The gardens were beautiful at night. Lights illuminating pathways, fountains glowing softly, everything peaceful and protected.
She felt safe.
For the first time in weeks, she felt safe.
She climbed into bed, sheets cool and soft, expensive enough to make her feel guilty, and closed her eyes.
The watch on her wrist felt solid. Real. Connected.
Sleep came quickly.
And for once, she didn't dream of explosions or blood or that terrible, beautiful smile.