"She didn't carry a gun that night.
She carried his shirt, his necklace, and a look that said—"You came back. That's enough."
But the city had other plans. A name was whispered. A target chosen. And someone out there… wanted her to fall.
He wouldn't let them."
BGM Recommendation: "Magnetic" – Rain & Jackson Wang / "Play with Fire" – Sam Tinnesz ft. Yacht Money
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She stood barefoot in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his white shirt.
The collar hung loose, sleeves rolled to her elbows. The soft cotton brushed the tops of her thighs, revealing just enough to remind him—she wasn't carrying a weapon tonight.
Just trust.
For years, it was Lucian in this kitchen.
After the kind woman who once looked after them passed, he took over.
But now, watching her at the stove in his shirt… something in him just froze.
He didn't say a word—just wished time would slow down for once.
He stepped forward.
She didn't turn, but he knew she felt him.
Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a small box.
Inside—an understated platinum necklace.
He reached up, brushed her hair aside, and fastened it around her neck.
She glanced at the pendant, then let out a soft laugh.
"If this is another quarter's tribute, you're going overboard."
"This one's different," he said. "It's like me. You're meant to wear it."
She paused. Then whispered, "You coming back... is already the best protection I could ask for."
—
Just before sunset, she looked over at him one last time from across the rooftop.
"There's work tonight. Not your job, technically—but the air around it feels… off."
Her voice was cool as always, but her eyes stayed on him a beat too long.
"They asked for you. By name."
She tossed him a silver lighter.
He caught it easily.
Inside was a folded slip of paper:
Target: Bruno Y
Location: East Industrial District
No contact. No sound.
No questions.
He simply turned, and vanished into the night.
—
The East District was long dead.
Once a steel empire—now a graveyard for trafficked bodies, black market trades, and quick burials.
Lights went out fast here. So did lives.
Lucian moved with Cassian and Dane.
Black gear, no comms. Just signs and instinct.
They slipped in through a shattered second-story window like ghosts that knew the floor plan.
Third floor.
Bruno Y was mid-deal, surrounded by drifting muscle—guns half-raised, mouths louder than sense.
Cassian met Lucian's gaze, raised two fingers, then tapped his chest.
No words.——Seven. Center target.
Lucian gave a single nod.
Signal blue. No spark.
They dropped silent.
First shot—clean through the sniper's forehead.
Second—Bruno, straight to the left eye.
Before anyone screamed, Dane blew through the side window, Cassian sealed the exit, and three more dropped in silence.
Two minutes.
No noise. No survivors.
—
As they moved down the back stairwell, Cassian muttered under his breath,
"You feel that, right? Someone's been testing the waters."
Lucian didn't answer.
He was staring at Bruno's empty eyes.
He already knew.
Someone out there wanted Lilith to fall.
And he'd die before letting that happen.
—
By the time he made it back to the villa, she was already on the rooftop.
Framed by city light. Phone in one hand, hair pulled back tight. Face unreadable.
"It's done?" she asked.
He nodded.
She ended the call, turned, and descended the stairs—her heels tapping like a slow countdown.
"Someone's in a rush to climb the ladder," she murmured.
Then, as she passed him without pause:
"There's a dinner tonight. Wipe the blood off your face."
—
It was a dinner hosted by some of the city's more powerful names.
One seat remained empty.
The man they called Icewater didn't show— but somehow, he was the only one on everyone's mind.
"He's tearing up the rules."
"More deals crashed because of him this quarter than any gang war."
"This has to stop."
Some called him bold.
Others called him insane.
But none of them dared say what they were really thinking:
Why the hell is she the one in charge?
She was young. No clear origin.
But somehow—untouchable.
They were waiting for her to slip.
But instead, she just lifted her spoon, stirred her soup, and smiled.
"Alright," she said softly.
"Then let's send him a bowl of something sweet."
——————————————————————————————————————
"Lucian didn't speak. He just stood there, fingers still wrapped around the lighter she gave him.
The metal was cold. But the fire—it was hers."