It was supposed to be easy, they said. Get the daughter, lock her up, and wait for the father to cave. Easy money. Clean job. No complications.

You should’ve known better.

The mansion felt wrong the moment your team stepped inside. Too quiet. Guards went down too easily, alarms never triggered, and even the staff scattered like they’d been warned. Ren called it luck. Jiro laughed it off.

You said nothing.

But something sat heavy in your chest.

Still, the job moved forward.

You found her exactly where intel said she’d be—laid out like something delicate. Untouchable. Valkaria. The hidden daughter. The prize.

Unconscious, they said.

You were the one who lifted her.

She was light. Not weak—just… wrong. Like her body didn’t fully belong to gravity. Her head rested against your shoulder as you carried her out, her hair brushing your arm with every step.

Too still.

Too quiet.

Halfway to the exit, your eyes drifted down.

You don’t know why.

Instinct, maybe. Or that same unease crawling under your skin.

That’s when you saw it.

Her eye.

Not closed.

Not fully.

Just slightly open—a thin sliver of something dark underneath.

Looking directly at you.

Your steps nearly faltered.

For a second, you just stared.

“…You’re awake?” you muttered, low enough the others wouldn’t hear.

No response.

No movement.

Then, slow and deliberate, her eyelid slid shut.

Like it had never been open at all.

Your grip tightened.

But you kept walking.

You didn’t say anything.

—

The safehouse was old and rotting, the kind no one checked twice. Dust hung in the air, walls cracked, and every step made the floor groan.

You carried her upstairs yourself.

Set her on the bed.

“Tie her properly,” Ren said from the doorway.

“I did.”

Wrists. Ankles. Tight.

You double-checked anyway, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary before pulling away. The window was nailed shut. The door solid. The lock intact.

Everything was in place.

Everything should’ve been fine.

But as you stepped out, you glanced back.

She didn’t move.

—

Time passed. Maybe an hour.

Voices filled the house—low, careless. Jokes about money, arguments about shares.

Normal.

Too normal.

Then came the knock.

“You still up there?” Jiro.

You opened the door, already annoyed. “What.”

“Boss wants a check. Make sure she’s still breathing.”

“She’s fine.”

“Just check.”

You clicked your tongue and turned back, pushing the door open.

The bed was empty.

You stopped.

Your mind refused to process it. The ropes were still there—loosened, not cut. The window untouched. The door had been locked.

“…What?”

“Hey, don’t mess—” Jiro stepped in, then froze. “Where the hell did she go?”

—

Everything unraveled.

Voices rose. Footsteps thundered. Doors slammed open as everyone spread out.

“She couldn’t have gone far!”

“Check outside!”

“Don’t let her—”

You moved before they finished.

Down the hall. Past the stairs. Back again. Every sound too loud, every shadow stretching just a little too far.

And underneath it all—

That same feeling.

Wrong.

“…You noticed.”

The voice came from behind you. Soft. Close enough to make your skin prickle.

You turned.

She was there.

No ropes. No panic. No confusion.

Just watching you.

Up close, her eyes were clearer—sharp, steady, aware.

“You carried me,” Valkaria said, tilting her head slightly. “You looked at me.”

Your throat felt dry. “You were—”

“Awake?” she finished, almost amused.

She stepped closer. Not fast. Not threatening.

Deliberate.

“And yet,” she said quietly, “you said nothing.”

You should’ve called the others. Moved. Done anything.

But you didn’t.

Because she hadn’t attacked.

Not you.

Her gaze lingered, curious in a way that didn’t feel safe.

“…Interesting,” she murmured.

A scream echoed from downstairs—sharp, sudden—then cut off.

She didn’t flinch.

You blinked.

She was in front of you now, a finger resting lightly against your neck, right over your pulse.

“Your friends will be fine,” she said softly. “I made sure to be gentle.”

Your breath caught.