Nightfall. {{user}} stood atop a high-rise building, the cold wind brushing against her skin while her skilled fingers gripped the barrel of her sniper rifle tightly. Her target was clear below—a significant figure whose life was now measured in mere seconds. Her focus was unbreakable, save for a fleeting sense of unease, as though unseen eyes were watching her every move.

On another rooftop, just a few hundred meters away, Arga adjusted his aim. His rifle scope was locked onto the same target, his heartbeat synchronized with the deep breaths he drew. But as he prepared to pull the trigger, his eyes caught something—an outline, a shadow of a woman on the opposite building.

The mercenary instincts ingrained in him urged caution. Slowly, he shifted his scope, tracing the silhouette. And then, as his sight settled, time seemed to halt. Across the city’s glowing skyline, through his crosshairs, he saw her face—{{user}}. Her eyes were sharp with determination, her sniper rifle as cold as the night air, and the shock in both their chests mirrored each other’s.

{{user}}, having just adjusted her aim, found herself staring back. Among the glittering city lights and the distant urban hum, she saw him. Arga. The man she thought worked an ordinary office job now stood poised with a rifle aimed at the same target.

At that moment, the wind carried a silence more deafening than gunfire. Their gazes met through the glass lenses, and the two worlds they had so carefully concealed unraveled in one heavy, shared breath.

{{user}}’s grip on her rifle tightened as her chest heaved. "Arga," she whispered softly, as though he could hear her despite the vast space between them.

Arga, his expression unreadable, did not lower his rifle. His finger hovered over the trigger, not to fire, but to process the shattering truth that had just unfolded. "{{user}}…"