The office was too bright.
Ethan stood by the floor‑to‑ceiling windows, the city stretched beneath him in sharp lines and slow‑moving traffic. Everything looked normal. Ordered. Predictable. It wasn't. The door opened behind him.
""Suicide, Ethan," Rowan said, his gaze locked on Ethan. "That's how our attacker chose to go down. No struggle, no escape attempts. Just a deliberate choice to end his own life rather than face capture."
Ethan's gaze shifted slightly, focusing on a point far beyond the glass.
"Poison?"
Rowan nodded, moving further into the room.
"Yeah, poison. A fast-acting toxin, judging by how quickly he went down. A molar implant."
A pause. "Professional."
"Internal breach?"
"Still checking," Rowan said. "But there's more." He opened the file in his hand and flipped it toward Ethan.
Photos. Clinical. Precise.
"Clothing unmarked. No tags. No fibres we can trace yet. "Gloves—standard tactical, wiped clean. "No prints anywhere."
Ethan scanned the images once. That was enough.
"Weapon?"
"Custom," Rowan said. "Close‑quarters blade. Balanced for speed, not intimidation." A slight pause. "He wasn't there to send a message."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "He was there to succeed."
Rowan watched him carefully. "Yes."
Silence settled.
"The interesting part," Rowan added, "is what we didn't find." Ethan looked up. "No secondary comms. No earpiece. No tracking device." A pause. "No support."
Ethan frowned. "That doesn't make sense."
"It does," Rowan said calmly, "if he didn't expect to leave."
Ethan walked toward the desk, movements deliberate.
"A ghost operation."
"Exactly." Rowan closed the file.
"No identity. No digital footprint. No affiliations in any of our systems." He pauses again "It's like he didn't exist until the moment he stepped into your path."
Ethan exhaled slowly.
"That kind of erasure takes resources."
"And intent."
Silence again. Tighter this time.
Rowan studied him. Something was off.
"You're not reacting to this."
Ethan's eyes stayed on the file, but he wasn't seeing anything.
He saw her. The way she moved just out of reach. The way she chose not to be seen.
"No identity," Rowan had said. His fingers flexed slightly. "You come every time."
"Ethan."
He blinked. Looked up. "I am reacting," he said. But the words lacked weight. Rowan didn't call it out. He shifted instead.
"The strike was precise," Rowan said. "He went for your blind angle. Adjusted mid‑engagement...which means he studied you."
Ethan nodded once. That part held his attention. "For how long?"
"We're pulling footage from the last two weeks," Rowan said. "Traffic cams, private security, building surveillance within a two‑kilometre radius."
Ethan leaned against the desk. "Anything yet?"
"One possible hit," Rowan said. "Three nights ago. Same build. Same gait."
He slid another image forward. Grainy. Distant.
Ethan glanced at it. Dismissed it. "Too unclear."
"Agreed," Rowan said. "But the movement pattern matches, he was patient."
Ethan's gaze drifted again.
Patient. Waiting. Watching. Like her.
"She feels real." His hand moved unconsciously to the back of his neck. The exact point where everything had gone dark.
Rowan's eyes sharpened. He noticed. Of course he did.
"Why do you keep touching your neck? I thought you said you were not injured?"
Ethan stilled. A fraction too late. The room shifted. Subtle. Undeniable.
"It's nothing," Ethan said.
Rowan didn't move. Didn't speak. Just waited. Worse than any accusation.
Ethan exhaled, forcing control back into place. "It's… unrelated."
Rowan's voice lowered. "There is no 'unrelated' right now."
That irritated him. More than it should have. "I said it's nothing."
Rowan hesitated then nodded once. But he didn't believe it.
"Fine," he said. "Then we proceed with what we do know." He returned to the file.
"Forensics is running blood trace comparisons," Rowan said. "Not for identity—for origin."
Ethan frowned. "Explain."
"Electrolyte balance, toxin exposure, micro‑contaminants," Rowan said. "You can sometimes narrow geography based on what a body's been exposed to."
Ethan's attention sharpened. "That'll take time."
Silence. Rowan studied him again. Longer this time.
"You're somewhere else."
Ethan didn't answer. Because he was. A dim room. City light. Her voice. Soft. Controlled. "Do you ever stay?" "No." His jaw tightened.
Rowan spoke again, slower now. Measured.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Ethan closed the file. For a moment— he considered it. Then— "No." Final.
Rowan watched him. Then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"Alright." But his eyes said something else entirely. He turned toward the door.
Paused. "If this was a single operator," Rowan said, "then whoever sent him didn't need a second attempt."
That lingered. The door closed. Silence. Ethan stood alone. His hand rose again. Rested lightly against his neck. Not the wound. The other place. The one no one saw. Her voice echoed in the quiet. "Sorry, Ethan."
His eyes darkened. Next time he wouldn't let her control the moment. The attack wasn't the only thing he intended to solve.