Luke left the conference room alone.
Behind him, the new strike team slowly broke apart. Victor stayed to speak with Felix about equipment access. Nadia and Marcus exchanged a few quiet words and then headed out. Rowan left without looking back, shoulders tight, like the room had been too small for him.
Luke understood it.
They weren't friends. Not yet.
They were pieces the corporation had put in the same box and labeled team.
Outside the building wing, the same secretary was waiting, as if she had been standing there the entire time.
"Mr Luke," she said, voice calm. "Your vehicle is ready."
At the entrance, a sleek black private car was already waiting for him.
Another gift from the corporation.
Or another leash.
A driver in a dark uniform stepped out, opened the rear door, and said respectfully, "Mr. Luke. This vehicle has been assigned for your personal use from now on. For today, I have been instructed to take you home."
Luke looked at the car for a moment, then got in without comment.
The inside was warm.
Quiet.
Too comfortable.
As the car pulled away from Silver Moon, Luke leaned back slightly and looked out through the tinted glass.
The city moved past him in winter silence.
Snow gathered on railings, signs, rooftops, and the edges of sidewalks. Streetlights turned the falling flakes gold in some places and ghostly white in others. Pedestrians kept their heads low and shoulders tucked in, hurrying through the weather. Most shops had already lit their windows against the growing dark. The whole city looked colder, cleaner, and more distant beneath the storm.
Luke watched it all in silence.
Winter really did suit him.
It always had, though not like this.
Before transmigration, snow had been something to endure. Cold had been discomfort. A season to tolerate.
Now it felt different.
Now the air outside the glass seemed almost inviting.
The deeper the winter pressed into the city, the more natural it felt to him. The snow no longer looked harsh. It looked quiet. Familiar. Almost gentle.
Luke exhaled slowly.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
He had entered a world of danger, conspiracies, and hidden death traps.
And yet the first thing that truly felt like home—
was winter.
By the time the car reached his neighbourhood, the daylight had almost fully faded.
This part of the city was older and lower than the corporate districts. The buildings were simpler. Narrow streets ran between blocks of aging apartments, convenience stores, laundries, shuttered workshops, and family-run markets. Snow had gathered unevenly along the sidewalks and in the corners of alleyways, where the wind had piled it into crooked white banks.
The driver stopped in front of Luke's building.
"If you need anything, Mr. Luke, you may contact the assigned number in the vehicle system."
Luke gave a short nod and stepped out.
The cold reached him immediately.
Not painfully.
Naturally.
He watched the black car pull away, then turned and went upstairs.
The apartment greeted him with silence.
Cold had long since stopped bothering him, but emptiness was still emptiness.
He put down the secure case from Silver Moon, took off his coat, and looked around the kitchen.
Not much.
A few basic things. Some stale bread. Half a bottle of water. Almost nothing worth calling a meal.
Luke opened the cupboard, checked again, then closed it.
He could order something.
The corporation had already given him enough money that food would no longer be a problem.
But after spending most of the day inside Silver Moon's polished towers and quiet traps, he found he didn't want another enclosed service delivered to his door.
He wanted to walk.
To see the neighbourhood.
To get a better feel for the area around him.
And more than that—
he wanted to think.
So after a short rest, Luke put his coat back on and headed outside again.
He did not take the new car.
The market was a little far, but not far enough to matter.
The streets were quieter now than they had been earlier.
Heavy snow always did that.
People stayed inside when they could. Windows glowed warm behind curtains, and most of the movement outside came from the few who had no choice but to keep going. The city was not empty, but it was thinned out. Sound carried strangely in weather like this. Footsteps came and went beneath the soft crush of snow. A distant engine might be heard for a moment, then swallowed by the storm.
Luke walked at an easy pace.
He kept his hands in his coat pockets and let his gaze move over the neighbourhood.
Old convenience signs. Bicycle racks half-buried in snow. Closed shutters. Thin power lines. Frost crawling along metal fences. The occasional cat slipping under a parked van for warmth. A corner noodle shop still open. A pharmacy with blue light behind fogged glass. The smell of soup drifting from somewhere unseen.
Nothing looked especially threatening.
Still, after everything that had happened since waking in this world, Luke had no intention of moving carelessly.
His senses had changed.
That was becoming more obvious by the hour.
After the second awakening, he noticed things differently. Not in some magical all-seeing way. Just sharper. Cleaner. Distances, movement, temperature shifts, pressure in the air—his awareness caught them faster now.
By the time he reached the market, snow had begun piling thickly on the awning outside.
It was a modest local place, the kind people in the neighbourhood used because it was close and familiar. Warm light spilled onto the street through the glass front. Inside, only a few customers wandered the aisles.
Luke bought what he needed without taking long.
Basic groceries.
Rice.
Eggs.
Some vegetables.
Frozen meat.
A few canned goods.
Water.
Nothing excessive.
He packed the bags, paid, and stepped back outside.
The snow was heavier now.
The world beyond the market lights looked pale and muted.
Luke adjusted the bags in his hands and started walking home.
The streets were emptier now.
Much emptier.
The kind of empty that came when heavy snow drove every living person behind closed doors and left the city to the cold and the silence. It wasn't threatening — not on the surface. Just quiet in the way winter nights always became quiet when the snow fell hard enough to bury sound itself.
Luke kept walking.
His footsteps pressed into fresh snow with soft crunching sounds. The buildings on either side of him grew darker as he moved further from the market. Some streetlights were broken or flickering. Others were spaced too far apart, leaving stretches of road lit only by the faint glow of distant windows.
He turned onto a smaller street.
Then a narrower one.
This was the shorter route home — a path that cut through a series of tight alleyways between older apartment blocks. The original had used it many times. It saved about five minutes compared to walking along the main road.
The alley ahead was narrow. Just wide enough for two people to walk side by side if they didn't mind brushing shoulders. The walls on either side were brick and concrete, stained with age and damp. Snow had gathered in thin lines along the ledges and pipes. A single overhead light buzzed weakly at the far end, casting a dim yellow glow that barely reached the ground.
Luke stepped into the alley.
It was darker here. Quieter. The buildings on both sides blocked the wind but also blocked whatever light remained from the main streets. The snow fell straight down between the walls, undisturbed, piling softly on the ground.
There was no one else around.
Not a voice. Not a footstep. Not a shadow moving in the distance.
He was halfway through the alley when it happened.
High above, crouching on a rusted fire escape, a figure watched him.
The assassin breathed slowly through his mask. He wore a full-body black robe that blended perfectly into the dark corners of the alley.
He looked down at his target.
Luke. Former Bureau agent. Ice attribute power.
The assassin knew the target's profile. He was just an ordinary awakener who had recently signed with Silver Moon. He was not a high-priority threat. The assassin himself was a physical-speed power user. His speed was his greatest weapon, and in a narrow space like this, it was an absolute death sentence for a mid-range elemental user like Luke.
The assassin raised his right hand. A set of metallic, razor-sharp claws extended from his gloves. The metal hummed with a faint, dark energy—an offensive artifact designed to easily tear through flesh and bone.
Fast and clean, the assassin thought. He won't even have time to blink.
The assassin pushed off the metal grate.
He dropped down like a shadow, completely silent. The moment his boots touched the snowy ground behind Luke, his speed power activated. The world blurred. He lunged forward, thrusting the glowing claw directly toward the back of Luke's skull.