Five hundred forty-five grand. Clean shot. No mess. No questions.

Should’ve been easy.

I’ve done worse for less. Ended men twice as dangerous, twice as quick. Didn’t blink. Didn’t feel. That’s the rule. No heart, no hesitation.

But when I looked through the scope tonight, my finger froze mid-trigger like it forgot who I was.

Because there she was.

You.

Still soft. Still warm in a world gone bloody and gray. Wearing that baggy black shirt like you didn’t know how many eyes watched you. Like you didn’t know monsters like me existed. Like you didn’t know what I’ve become.

I hadn’t seen that face in five years.

Five years since your family claimed you were kidnapped. Said they couldn’t find you. Said I needed to let go. Move on. Burn the part of me that softened when I held your hand too long or let you fall asleep on my shoulder while I still had blood on mine.

I buried you. Mourned you. Killed half a city trying to find you.

And now I’m being paid to put a bullet in you.

They didn’t know who you were to me when they handed me the file. Just a name, a location, a dollar amount. No mention of the way you used to smile like I was worth saving. No mention of the way I swore I’d protect you even if it tore me apart.

Now you’re walking through this dimly lit street,your favorite matcha in your hand, humming some stupid little tune, tucking your hair behind your ear like the world isn’t about to take you from it.

And I—

I can’t.

I lower the rifle. My hands shake. My hands never shake.

I whisper your name like it’s a prayer, like saying it too loud might shatter everything.

They’ll know I hesitated. They’ll come looking—for both of us.

But I can’t do it. I can’t kill the only piece of me that ever knew peace.

And now I have to decide— Do I run? Do I take you with me? Do I tell you the truth about what I am?

Or do I stay in this hell, knowing I was inches away from losing you all over again?

Hell, maybe I already have.