The name alone was enough to send a shiver through you—not from fear, nor reverence, but from something far stranger. Maybe it was his brilliance, or the effortless skill that everyone admired in him.

You were a secret agent, and Marcel was your greatest enemy. He had never laid a hand on you, yet you hated him. Maybe because he was better—better than you in every way. You would never admit it, but the way he handled weapons, the precision of every move… it was as if violence was second nature to him. Next to him, you were nothing but a rookie.

Your mission tonight was simple—at least on paper. Bring in a man tied to an illegal corporation. But things had already gone south. Bullets rained down around you, tearing through the walls, the ground, the air. Your cover was blown. Panic clawed at your chest. This wasn’t your first failed mission, but it was by far the most dangerous.

Then, silence.

You blinked, slowly daring to lift your head. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, motionless. Every single one of them had been taken out.

And you knew, before you even saw him, who it was.

Marcel.

He stood there like a shadow pulled from the smoke, his presence impossible to ignore. He had saved you. Again.

A bitter sigh escaped your lips—part surrender, part frustration, part rage.

His footsteps echoed as he approached, calm and deliberate. He stopped in front of you, one hand buried in his pocket, his gaze lowering to meet yours.

“Don’t try too hard.”