I wasn't sent to kill him.
That's the problem.
I was supposed to bring Leon Archer back alive.
And so far—
I've failed.
He stands at the end of the corridor, just a few meters away. Not running. Not closing the distance either. Like the space between us is something he's choosing to keep.
"Agent Hart, secure the target."
The voice on my comm is calm. Too calm. Like this is routine.
I don't move.
My weapon is already up—but I'm not aiming to shoot.
I'm watching.
Waiting.
For him.
Funny.
I'm supposed to be the one taking him in.
Not the one bracing.
"Leon."
His name slips out quieter than I mean it to.
He looks at me.
The same.
Almost nothing has changed.
That's what makes this harder.
"It doesn't have to go like this."
Even as I say it, I know it's wrong.
He doesn't answer.
Just a slight shake of his head.
One step back.
That's enough.
No.
It's always no.
"Agent Hart, execute containment."
I step forward.
He moves first.
He always does.
Always one step ahead.
And just like that—he's gone.
Like he was never there.
I stare at the empty space he leaves behind.
"Target escaped."
My voice doesn't shake.
It sounds like a report.
Like this doesn't matter.
It does.
This is the third time.
And I'm running out of reasons they'll accept.
—
Before all this…
I didn't think I could fail at something this simple.
Bring one person back.
—
I remember my first day at Directorate V.
The room is cold. Too clean. The kind of place that makes you want to leave before you've even sat down.
White walls. No windows. A metal table. Two chairs. A light overhead that feels just a little too bright.
I sit straight.
Across from me, a man reads my file without looking up.
"Livia Hart."
I don't respond.
He finally lifts his gaze. His eyes are flat. Not curious. Not impressed.
"Clean record."
He closes the file.
"No violations. No attachments. High evaluation scores."
A pause.
Longer this time.
"Why are you here?"
Simple question.
Not a simple answer.
I let the silence sit.
"I passed selection."
A faint shift at the corner of his mouth.
"That's not what I asked."
I take a breath.
"I don't have a reason to say no."
Silence.
Then a nod.
Like that's enough.
He opens a drawer and slides a black card across the table.
"Welcome to Directorate V."
I take it.
Cold.
No name. Just a small symbol in the corner.
No explanation.
None needed.
"Training starts at 0500. One minute late, you're out."
I nod.
"No questions?"
"No."
He stands.
That's it.
I stand too.
No handshake.
No closing words.
I walk out.
The door shuts softly behind me.
—
The corridor is long. Gray floors. Footsteps echo in a steady rhythm.
No one talks.
No one looks at anyone else.
Everyone already knows where they're going.
I follow the line on the floor.
Black. Thin. Straight.
Like instructions no one ever bothers to explain.
The training room doors slide open.
Wide space. A few people are already inside. Some talk quietly. Some don't.
I take a spot near the side.
Close enough to see.
Far enough to stay out of it.
The instructor stands at the front.
"From this point on, you are no longer candidates."
No one moves.
"You are assets."
A few people adjust their stance.
"Assets can be replaced."
Silence.
"Make sure you're worth keeping."
Good.
No reaction.
I listen.
Take what matters.
Then my attention shifts.
To the side of the room.
He's there.
Not with anyone. Back against the wall. His hands are in his jacket pockets.
Still.
But his eyes move.
Watching.
Not nervous.
Not unsure.
More like… calculating.
I don't know why I keep looking at him longer than the others.
Maybe because he doesn't look like he's trying.
Or because he looks like he doesn't need to.
Names are called.
Pairs form.
People move, talk, and close distance.
"Livia Hart."
I step forward.
"Leon Archer."
He moves immediately.
Calm. Unhurried.
He stops close to me.
Close enough.
But he says nothing.
Neither do I.
A few seconds pass.
Then I notice it.
He's standing slightly to my left.
Not directly in front.
Just off.
Like it's intentional.
I don't ask.
Doesn't matter.
"Simulation starts now."
We move at the same time.
No signal.
I take the right.
He covers the left.
No discussion.
No need.
I stop at a corner. Two patrols.
I signal.
He's already moving before I finish.
Perfect timing.
Too perfect.
I hesitate for half a second—
then follow.
We clear both sides almost at the same time.
No overlap.
No correction.
Like we already understand the space between us.
Mission complete.
Fast.
We step out of the simulation zone.
The instructor watches us for a second longer than the others.
"Fastest time."
That's all.
I give a small nod.
Leon doesn't react.
We return to position.
He stays on the left.
I face forward.
Say nothing.
—
Training ends when the sky turns dark.
I leave without waiting.
The corridor sounds the same as this morning.
Steady.
Controlled.
Some people are talking now.
Looser.
I don't join them.
I walk alone.
Until footsteps fall into place beside mine.
In sync.
I glance.
Leon.
He doesn't look at me.
We walk in silence.
"I'll take the left side tomorrow."
Flat. More statement than suggestion.
"Fine."
No hesitation.
No questions.
We reach a split.
I stop.
So does he.
"0500."
A slight nod.
I turn away.
—
That night, I don't sleep right away.
I sit on the edge of the bed.
Small room. Empty. Functional.
Shoes on the floor.
Jacket still on.
I stay there for a while.
Running through the day again.
The room.
The instructor.
The simulation.
And one small detail that keeps coming back.
Position.
Left.
I exhale slowly.
Probably nothing.
Just coincidence.
I stand. Take off my jacket. Fold it neatly.
Lights off.
Dark.
I lie down.
Close my eyes.
Tomorrow will be the same.
Training.
Simulation.
Routine.
Nothing changes.
…
But for some reason I can't explain—
I already know one thing.
This isn't the last time we end up on the same side.