He was in the hospital again.
White ceiling. Something beeping. A hand holding his so carefully it made his chest hurt even in sleep.
He tried to hold on to it.
His fingers twitched, he tried to reach for it.
And then
He woke up.
His hand was closed around nothing.
5 AM. Same ceiling. Same crack in the plaster. Outside a truck went by, then another. Someone's dog lost its mind about it.
He lay there waiting for the dream to leave something behind.
A face. A name. Anything.
It didn't.
It never did.
Fine.
He bolted upright. His hand flew out, catching the glass and sending it flying.
It hit the floor with a hollow thud without shattering.
He threw himself off the mattres but got down on his knees and fished it out.
His hand closed around the rim dust clawing at his fingers.
He needs it for medication for the voices in his head were screaming but the pill would make them stop.
5:07 AM. Suppressants.
One little white pill. Same as every morning for six years. It kept his scent flat. It kept his true nature a secret.
He swallowed the pill. He didn't think about the truth. There was no point thinking about stuff you couldn't change. Especially not before coffee.
He'd learned this four years ago just swallow it and move on.
He finished the coffee halfway. Black, cold, and no sugar the only consistent thing about his life.
The phone vibrated against the wood.
SUPERIOR.
He picked up.
"My exit papers are cleared."
"Page seven. Paragraph three. Sub-section C. You initialed it."
He had initialed it.
Busan, 2 AM.
He'd been covered in someone else's blood and three days short of a full night's sleep. He would have initialed a confession for a crime he didn't commit just to close his eyes.
"Come in," she said. "Now."
"How long is the job?"
The silence on the other end lasted half a heartbeat. He was aware it was a sign of warning.
"Come in, Null."
She hung up and the line went dead.
He put the coffee down and looked at his right hand.
The silver ring at his second finger has become scarred and dull but warm from his skin the way it always was.
He grabbed his jacket and about to left.
But the memory hit him again.
Who are you? The ghost in his head didn't answer. It never did.
The elevator was still broken.
Nineteen steps from the stairwell to Room 304. He ran upstairs. Once he got on the top floor
He knocked only once but with strong thud.
"Come in."
The first thing he smelled was stale smoke and expensive perfume.
The second thing he noticed was that she was standing.
In six years, she had never stood. She was a a permanent obstacle fixture of that mahogany desk .
Now, she was at the window, staring at the grey skyline. Her coffee sat untouched, with her favourite filming forming over the top.
Null sat without any permission from his superior
"How long?" he said with glum tone.
"How's the knee?" she asked, ignoring him.
"Fine."
"You've been favoring the left for three weeks. The limp is subtle, but it's there."
"I favor the left when I'm pissed off. Turn around."
She turned towards him, the lines on her face looked deeper today. She looked like a woman who had just finished reading the final chapter of a very long, very tragic book.
She slid a thick manila folder across the desk.
He didn't touch it. "How long?"
"Open it."
"How long..."
Before he could finish he was cut off.
"Null. Open the damn folder."
He flipped it.
A photograph. A kid, maybe six years old. Dark, messy hair and eyes the color of burnt amber. He was crying.
A jolt went through Null's chest.
A physical ache, like a phantom limb being kicked. He turned the page before he could overthink it.
He saw the number.
"Twenty-five million," Null stated.
"Upfront. Already in the offshore account."
"For a kid?"
"Six months," she said, her voice dropping an octave.
"Residential protection. Be his shadow You eat where he eats. You sleep where he sleeps."
"So you want me to become his nanny"
"You do not leave him until the clock hits zero. After that? You're a free man. No strings. No 'one last job.' You disappear."
Null stared at the kid's amber eyes. Twenty-five million was a ticket to a life where he didn't have to kill people for a living. It was the "Quiet" he'd been chasing.
"Who's the target?"
"The client will brief you at the handoff."
"You're sending me in blind?"
"I'm sending you in with enough money to buy an island that you wanted and my word that it's doable."
She leaned forward, her eyes boring into his.
"Have I ever burned you?"
"No."
"Then take the job."
Null picked up the folder. The kid felt heavy in his hands. "Fine."
He stood to leave.
The air in the room felt thin. Null's lungs stopped working for a second.
"But who is the client?"
She reached for her cold coffee, her hand trembling just enough for him to see.
"Everything you need is in the file."
"That's not what I asked?"
"Forty-eight hours. Coordinates are on page four."
She wouldn't look at him. She was already back to work.
"Be careful," she whispered. It was the first time he'd heard her use that tone.
"Yeah," he said.
Nineteen steps.
He doesn't remember.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from an unknown sender.
48 hours. Coordinates attached. Come alone. Sender: —H
A second message followed a second later.
Welcome home.
Null stood in the cold stairwell, the word echoing in his head. Home.
He had an apartment with a mattress and a bag packed by the door.
He didn't know who sent the message ,Who was this 'H.'
But he knew, with a terrifying certainty, that something in his life was about to change after this mission.
He put his head in his hands and finally let out the breath he'd been holding.
He headed for the exit, not looking back.