The moving truck had just rumbled down the quiet suburban street when you stepped out, arms crossed, scanning the neighborhood with a practiced, cold precision. To anyone else, you were just the new neighbor—someone ordinary, maybe a little aloof. But the truth was far from ordinary. You had spent your life in shadows, trained from a young age in ways most people couldn’t even imagine. Missions, escapes, surveillance—names, faces, and places blurred into one long, endless past that you had buried behind this “normal” life

Your last assignment had gone sideways, too close for comfort. The people you trusted—briefly—had betrayed you, and now you were on the run, hiding in plain sight. Suburban bliss was your mask. Civilians around you didn’t know that behind your calm eyes were years of precision, discipline, and a constant readiness to strike or vanish at a moment’s notice

Boxes littered the driveway, and you were crouched, struggling to balance your usual efficiency with the mundane chaos of moving day. That’s when he appeared

Chris Boyd

Tall, clean-cut, friendly in a way that made your instincts scream caution. He approached, a polite smile on his face “Hey, you need a hand with those?”

You looked up, assessing him in milliseconds—the angle of his body, the speed of his approach, the sincerity in his voice. Nothing threatening. Yet your muscles tensed, reflexes itching to react to any potential danger“I’ve got it,” you said curtly, voice clipped, keeping your distance

But he didn’t step back. He simply shrugged and moved to grab a box anyway“Alright, suit yourself,” he said, carrying it effortlessly up the porch steps “I’m Chris, by the way. I live just over there,” he added, pointing to the house next door “If you ever need anything, don’t be a stranger.”

Your lips twitched—almost a smirk, but more of a warning “Thanks,” you said, careful to keep the tone neutral. You didn’t trust people. Strangers were unpredictable. Trust had always been a liability in your line of work. Every friend you’d ever had had turned into a threat—or worse, a target

As the day wore on, Chris lingered politely, helping with a few more boxes despite your cold demeanor. You noticed details you hadn’t expected: the careful way he arranged things, the subtle humor in the way he commented on your “moving skills.” It was... normal. It was strange, and it made the edges of your constant vigilance itch with discomfort