Her silver eyes flickered faintly again.
"Is simple."
She flipped the photograph back into her pocket.
"Observation. Evidence. No unnecessary killing."
A small pause.
"Unless necessary."
Her gaze hardened.
"You'll come with me."
She turned away.
Walking back toward the broken church.
"Your PBV responded."
She didn't look back.
"But it's fragile."
The wind passed through the grass again.
"If you lose control during the job…"
Her voice drifted back to him.
"I won't save you."
Kal slowly pushed himself upright.
His stomach still burned in a perfect red circle.
His limbs still shook.
Kal forced himself up.
The world tilted instantly.
His knees buckled.
He collapsed again.
Dirt scraped his palms.
He tried once more.
The same result.
The red mark on his stomach throbbed like something alive beneath his skin. His vision swam. The sky spun in slow circles.
Clare had already begun walking away.
Then she stopped.
Not hurried.
Not worried.
Just… stopped.
She turned slowly.
Like a commander noticing a fallen soldier.
Kal pushed himself to his elbows.
The grass blurred.
He fell again.
Clare didn't move to help.
"Follow me, brat. Quickly."
Her voice carried no sympathy.
Kal's breath came ragged.
"Miss… please… I can't stand now. Go ahead. I'll follow."
Silence.
She walked back toward him.
He thought , maybe she would help.
Instead,her hand shot forward and grabbed his hair.
Long strands wrapped tight around her fingers.
She yanked upward.
Pain exploded across his scalp.
"Ahhh, Miss Clare! It hurts! Please let go!"
His body rose against his will.
His neck strained.
Tears sprang instantly.
He grabbed her wrist desperately, trying to ease the pressure.
Her grip did not loosen.
"Let's go."
She dragged him upright.
"I don't have time."
Then she shoved him forward.
Hard.
Like pushing livestock.
"Walk."
The pain forced movement.
Each step sent needles through his scalp.
His stomach burned.
His legs trembled.
But he walked.
Behind his eyes,another memory surfaced.
Thomas.
Fingers buried in long hair.
Yanking.
Dragging.
Teeth clenched.
Breathing hot and angry.
The same helpless pull.
The same humiliation.
Kal's jaw tightened.
Through the pain, one thought cut clear:
"I'll cut this damn hair."
They reached the abandoned building again.
Clare released him abruptly.
He nearly collapsed but caught himself against the wall.
"Rest for a few hours," she said flatly. "Take a proper bath."
She walked toward the hallway.
"After lunch, we're going shopping."
Kal blinked.
"Shopping…?"
The word sounded foreign.
Clare opened her door.
"You can't go to a party dressed like a corpse, can you?"
The door shut.
The hallway swallowed the sound.
Kal stood for a moment, swaying.
Then crawled.
Literally.
His arms pulled him across the dusty floor toward his room.
Each movement heavy.
Each breath shallow.
He reached the bed.
Gripped the bent metal frame.
Pulled himself upward with the last fragments of strength.
The moment his body touched the cold steel, his mind shut down.
No dreams.
No thoughts.
Just darkness.
Sleep swallowed him whole.
In the other room, steam filled the washroom.
Water struck tile in steady rhythm.
Clare stood beneath the shower, eyes closed.
Heat rolled down her shoulders.
Water traced the gentle lines of her shoulders and waist, gliding down in shimmering paths.
She turned off the water.
Wrapped a towel around her body.
Steam clung to her skin as she stepped into the room.
On the scraped concrete wall opposite the bed, numbers were carved.
Crude.
Uneven.
Written in something dark.
Dry.
Almost black.
1,2,3,4,5...
Up to 23.
Each number scratched violently into the surface.
Every single one crossed out.
The lines over them deeper than the numbers themselves.
The clock ticked.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Time passed.
The light outside shifted.
The clock's hand dragged toward two.
Tick.
Tick.
Two.
The hallway floor creaked.
Slow footsteps.
Kal's door burst open with a dull thud.
The sound echoed in the empty building.
Kal did not stir.
Exhaustion wrapped around him like chains.
Breathing deep.
Unaware.
The door remained open.
The light from the hallway stretched across the floor.
Crawling.
Slowly inching toward the bed.
The clock continued ticking.
Kal barely registered the door opening before a kick.
Sharp.
Precise.
It struck his side and he rolled, elbow slamming hard against the concrete.
Pain shot up his arm.
He grabbed it instinctively.
Clare stood over him.
"Quick. Take a bath. Wear something decent. Eat with me."
Her tone was command, not request.
Kal blinked up at her, mind still fogged.
Then he remembered.
The hole.
He looked down at his torn shirt, the giant red-burn circle stretched across ripped fabric.
His jacket was stained and stiff.
"I'm sorry, Miss… I don't have clothes. What will I wear?"
Clare crouched beside him.
Her eyes scanned the damage clinically.
The shirt.
The burn mark beneath.
The jacket.
Then,without warning.
She grabbed the hem of his shirt and tore it straight down the middle.
Fabric ripped apart.
Cold air hit his chest.
Kal yelped instinctively and crossed his arms over himself.
Like shielding something fragile.
"Ah...!"
For half a second, he forgot.
Forgot the body he was in.
Forgot the flatness of his chest.
Forgot the broader shoulders.
He covered himself like a girl protecting her dignity.
Then realization struck.
He slowly lowered his hands.
Looked down.
Male.
This is male.
Clare stood.
"I still can't understand why you behave like a little teenage girl."
Her voice held irritation.
"Behave like a man, damn it."
She turned toward the door.
"Wear the jacket and your pants. Don't wear the shirt."
And left.
The door shut.
Silence.
Kal sat there for a moment, staring at the torn cloth in his hands.
Then he stood and walked into the washroom.
He undressed fully.
The cracked mirror reflected him in fragments.
Shoulders lean but defined.
Waist narrow.
Muscles not bulky, but drawn tight over bone ,like a runner's build. Long limbs. Sharp collarbones. Skin pale where the shirt had covered it.
Not fragile.
Not delicate.
But not heavy either.
Balanced.
Functional.
He stared at his chest.
Flat.
Firm.
He hesitated before raising a hand.
Touched.
Warm.
Solid.
Different.
The sensation wasn't alien anymore.
But it still wasn't familiar.
He slid his hand down his abdomen, feeling the shape of muscle, the curve of hip, the unfamiliar weight lower.
He pulled the skin taut and studied it carefully under the light, but curiosity overtook him when he slowly slid his finger across it. A chilling sensation spread through him, as if countless unseen fingers were brushing against his body from within.
His breath tightened slightly.
This body responds without asking.
This body reacts without permission.
It feels wrong.
And yet,It is mine now.
He lowered his hand.
Turned on the water.
Let it wash over him.
Lunch passed in quiet.
The clock struck three.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The afternoon light shifted through the broken windows.
Clare stood.
"Let's go."
Smoothly, without drama, the abandoned building faded behind them as they stepped into the functioning parts of the city.
The streets grew cleaner.
The air smelled less like rust.
Cars hummed past.
Glass towers reflected sunlight.
Soon they stood before a large shopping mall , bright, polished, artificial.
Kal felt out of place immediately.
Clare did not.
Inside, the floor gleamed.
Music drifted from hidden speakers.
People walked with purpose.
Clare moved confidently through racks of clothing and selected a suit without hesitation.
Dark charcoal.
Slim cut.
Clean lines.
She handed it to him.
"Try it."
In the fitting room, she stepped in with him without asking.
The small space suddenly felt too small.
She helped adjust the collar.
Straightened the shoulders.
Fastened buttons.
Her fingers brushed his neck.
His pulse jumped violently.
Goosebumps spread across his arms.
His heart pounded.
"Don't react."
"Don't react."
His bladder tightened from nervous tension, but he stood still.
She stepped back and examined him.
"No talking," she muttered.
Satisfied, she fixed the cuffs and exited.
Outside, she had changed as well.
Gone were the combat clothes.
Now she wore a soft cream-colored dress modest, elegant. It hugged her waist and flowed gently down to her knees. The fabric moved lightly when she walked. Her hair was tied back neatly, a few strands framing her face.
She looked harmless.
Innocent.
No one would see a killer.
No one would see the shimmer of death behind silver eyes.
By the time they left the mall, the sun had begun sinking.
The sky turned orange, then deep gold.
Evening air cooled the city.
And then,they stood before a luxury bar.
Glass doors.
Valet parking.
Soft jazz drifting from inside.
Kal adjusted his suit jacket nervously.
Clare stepped closer.
Her voice changed.
Soft.
Sweet.
Almost affectionate.
"Don't reveal your real identity."
She adjusted his tie gently, like a lover.
"Don't trust anyone."
Her fingers brushed his wrist.
"If there's an emergency, contact me through the watch phone."
Her eyes hardened slightly.
"Don't activate your PBV randomly."
She leaned closer, lips near his ear.
"Some guards here… some guests too… are ability users."
Her tone dropped to a whisper.
"You are nobody in front of them."
A pause.
"If you sense one, avoid fighting. Escape."
Her gaze locked into his.
"Gather as much information about our target as possible."
Kal swallowed.
"Understood."
She slipped her hand into his.
Her fingers interlocked with his naturally.
Like a couple.
The transformation was seamless.
She smiled warmly.
He mirrored it.
The doors opened.
Lights spilled out.
Music grew louder.
And together,they stepped into the party.
The guard stepped forward as they approached the entrance.
Tall. Earpiece. Black suit.
"Invitation, please."
Clare didn't hesitate. She pulled out a sleek metallic card from her purse , embossed with a golden insignia , and handed it over. The guard scanned it on a handheld device. A soft beep confirmed it.
He stepped aside.
"Enjoy the evening."
The doors opened.
Warm golden light spilled over them.
Inside, the place was nothing like a normal bar.
It felt like a palace disguised as indulgence.
Crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling painted with faded Renaissance-style murals. Gold-trimmed pillars stretched upward, reflecting soft amber lights hidden within their edges. Velvet drapes framed tall windows. The marble floor gleamed beneath slow, rotating lights.
Music floated through the air , smooth jazz layered with low electronic beats.
Couples danced near the center under shifting lights. Women in shimmering dresses. Men in tailored suits. Laughter drifted like perfume.
To the right stood a long curved cocktail bar carved from polished dark wood. Bottles shimmered in glass cabinets behind it, illuminated from below like jewels.
Servers moved gracefully between guests, carrying silver trays with flutes of champagne.
Kal's breath shortened.
He kept his gaze low.
Shoes.
Marble.
His reflection in it.
Don't look at anyone.
Don't stare.
Don't panic.
Clare squeezed his hand.
Not hard.
Just enough.
"Focus."
He straightened slightly.
They approached a hostess podium.
Clare spoke softly, gave their names , false ones , and confirmed their reservation.
They were guided to a semi-private cocktail table near the dance floor but partially shielded by decorative lattice panels.
Clare sat elegantly.
Kal copied her movements.
A waiter approached.
"Wine for the lady? Whiskey for the gentleman?"
Clare smiled politely.
"Sparkling water."
She glanced at Kal.
He hesitated.
"Water is fine."
The waiter nodded and left.
Kal observed carefully how Clare held the glass , by the stem. How she crossed her legs. How she nodded when spoken to. How she used the napkin.
He tried copying everything.
When the appetizers arrived , small plated bites arranged artistically , Kal froze slightly.
Fork.
Knife.
Which one first?
Clare noticed.
Without looking obvious, she adjusted his hand subtly under the table.
Then, casually, she picked up a small piece and brought it toward his mouth.
He blinked.
"Open."
Her voice was light.
To outsiders, it looked intimate.
He obeyed.
She fed him smoothly and continued scanning the room like nothing happened.
A man approached them.
Tall.
Sharp jawline.
Perfectly styled hair.
Cocktail glass in hand.
He smiled at Clare.
"May I have this dance?"
His tone confident but respectful.
Clare looked up as if just noticing him.
A gentle smile curved her lips.
"Of course."
She stood.
Before leaving, her eyes flickered toward Kal.
One second.
Clear message.
"Observe."
Kal watched her walk away with the man.
They blended into the dance floor.
Her body language changed ,softer, relaxed, slightly playful.
Kal felt suddenly exposed.
Alone.
He forced himself not to stare.
Instead he scanned the room.
Men laughing loudly.
Women leaning close.
A couple whispering against a pillar.
Someone slipping toward a darker hallway.
His gaze dropped.
Up again.
Don't look suspicious.
He stood up slowly and moved toward the bar, choosing a seat at the far corner.
He needed something to hold.
Ground yourself.
"Orange juice," he said quietly.
The bartender raised an eyebrow.
"Rare to see someone sober in a pleasure house."
Pleasure house.
The words made his chest tighten for a moment.
Blood.
Screams.
"Don't freeze."
Kal ran his fingers back through his hair casually.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"I only get drunk when my company is worth it," he said smoothly, meeting the bartender's eyes. "And I see no one yet."
The bartender laughed softly.
"Fair enough."
He poured the juice into a clean glass and slid it across.
Kal lifted it.
Slow sip.
Control your breathing.
Then,a presence behind him.
Soft fabric brushing against the seat.
A woman sat beside him.
Her dress shimmered deep crimson, cut low at the waist, revealing toned skin and a delicate diamond piercing at her navel. A subtle tattoo curved just beneath it, disappearing under fabric.
Her perfume was heavy.
Sweet.
Almost suffocating.
Her finger traced the rim of his glass slowly.
"How about me?" she asked.
Her voice was velvet.
"Can my company make your night a little more pleasurable?"
Kal's pulse jumped.
Her scent invaded his lungs.
His vision blurred slightly from nerves.
Stay calm.
Stay in character.
He turned toward her.
"I'm sorry, Miss," he said evenly. "I don't dance with people I don't know."
Then he really looked at her face.
And something clicked.
The photo.
The woman in the cocktail bar.
The party dress.
The same jawline.
The same eyes.
The only difference,in the photo, she wasn't speaking.
Now she was.
And she was smiling at him.