Allison's Point of View
I kept my mouth shut when I saw Zein on the sofa. I thought I'd be waking him from a nap, but he was already up, staring into space. I went to the kitchen for some milk and caught Aunt Mira chopping vegetables. She looked away, so I just shook my head and finished my drink.
When I returned to the living room, Zein hadn't moved. He was clearly deep in thought. I cleared my throat to get his attention. His eyebrows shot up, looking annoyed that I'd interrupted his trance.
"Ready?"
He nodded and walked out without a word. I planned to take him to our training facility—the place where we teach self-defense, proper gun handling, and tactical use. I expected him to complain when I brought out the motorcycle, but he just climbed on.
I was curious. What happened to make him this quiet?
"Wha—"
"Don't talk to me," Zein said coldly.
I felt a sting at the dismissal. He was staring into the distance, his expression serious and dark. *Quiet but dangerous,* I thought. I pushed the bike to max speed until the scenery was a blur, but Zein didn't flinch. This was getting boring.
When we reached the facility, he walked inside as if he owned the place. He'd been here years ago as a high schooler, but a lot has changed since then. He survived Hell University—he was part of the group that brought that place down. That was a mission I had actually refused. I hate being trapped in one place; I'd rather blow it up and move on.
"Let me in," Zein said to the guard at the entrance. His voice was like ice.
The guard stopped him, not recognizing him, and started to laugh. I stepped in and nodded, as the staff here knows me, but it was too late. I closed my eyes as Zein kicked the guard's table, flipping it completely upside down. I grabbed his shaking hand and pulled him away.
I don't know what happened, but I knew it was because of a man. It's amazing how much Zein has changed for love.
We passed the self-defense mats. "Zein, want to try?" I offered. I signaled a trainer to attack him, but Zein just turned his back and walked away. The trainer scratched his head, and I laughed at the sheer rudeness of it.
I followed Zein to a room enclosed in transparent, bulletproof glass. Inside, people were practicing long-range shooting. Zein watched them with an intense focus. Since he already knew the basics but seemed interested, I led him inside to the open field. The air was filled with the sound of gunshots and simulated explosions.
"Ally? You here to practice?" Jazz Clarkson asked with a smile.
I rolled my eyes. "I don't need practice. I'm the best. I'm here for my brother."
Jazz looked at Zein, who was watching the trainees miss their targets with a look of pure boredom. "Your twin?" Jazz asked.
"Nah," I replied, getting irritated. "Why do you ask so many questions?"
Jazz laughed. He's one of my toughest competitors; he's never happier than when he has a gun in his hand. He approached Zein, who looked entirely uninterested. Jazz didn't give up, though. He pulled a gun from his holster, checked it, and handed it to Zein. He even reached out to fix Zein's hair—Jazz's one rule: mess with anything but the hair.
Jazz walked out toward the targets to act as a spotter. He froze when Zein suddenly leveled the gun directly at him. Jazz turned pale and swallowed hard.
"Damn it!" Jazz yelled as Zein pulled the trigger.
Jazz dove for cover. Zein wasn't aiming at him, but the bullets were screaming past him, hitting the targets in rapid succession. For the first time all day, I saw Zein smile. It was a chilling expression. Everyone in the facility stopped to watch. The precision was staggering.
When the clip was empty, one target remained. Instead of reloading, Zein threw the heavy handgun with such force that it smashed into the target, sending it flying.
Silence fell over the field. All targets were down. Jazz walked back to me, trembling as he drank his water. "He's dangerous... you really are siblings," he whispered.
An idea struck me. I whispered a suggestion to Jazz. His eyes widened. "Are you serious? He might get hurt!"
"No buts," I said.
I led Zein to a pitch-black room. "Zein, you can do this," I said over the speaker system once we were safely behind the monitors.
I had to do this. I needed to see how far his skills went. I needed him to be ready for anything so he wouldn't need my protection anymore. I pressed a button, and the room lit up with high-tech illusions.
Zein's grip on the gun tightened.
"It's your fault if something happens," Jazz muttered, watching the screen.
I watched as Zein began to fire at the illusions. He was fast, but the simulation was designed to be overwhelming. He fell once, and Jazz yelled for me to stop, but I refused. Zein wouldn't give up.
"Sister! Get me out of here!" Zein shouted into the room.
I shook my head. He needed to find the exit on his own. He took down more illusions, his movements becoming more erratic and violent.
"You won't like what I'm going to do if you don't get me out of here!" he screamed.
I frowned. What did that mean? My jaw dropped as I saw him reach into his pocket and pull out something small and metallic.
"FUCK!" Jazz screamed.
I didn't hit the stop button. I couldn't move. It was too late.
The explosion from the bomb Zein was carrying ripped through the room. The monitors shattered, the glass in the observation deck imploded, and the entire building rumbled as if an earthquake had hit.
*Fuck... just fuck.*