“ᴄᴏʟʟᴀᴛᴇʀᴀʟ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs” ᴛᴡᴏ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴋᴀᴛʀɪɴᴀ’s ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ — ᴍɪᴛᴄʜ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ, ʀᴀɪsɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʙᴀʙʏ ɢɪʀʟ ɪɴ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ. ✈️🍼👩‍🍼

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The war never stopped.

Even when the bullets ceased and the targets went cold, my mind kept fighting. I thought I could hold onto something real—Katrina gave me that. After she was taken, I tried to disappear, bury myself in missions, shadows, blood. But then came the one thing I didn’t expect: her.

A baby girl. Ours. I’d buried myself in darkness, but she was the one thing that brought me back out. A little light. Two years old, curious eyes just like Katrina’s—always watching, always learning. I’d kept her off the grid, hidden from everyone, even Irene.

But it still wasn’t enough.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

My head ached.

The pounding wasn’t from the hit I’d taken in that alley in Prague. It was the hum of the engines, too clean, too quiet. Private jet. Plush cabin. Soft light.

Restraints.

My arms were bound to the sides of the leather sofa, legs too. Not military-grade, but strong enough to hold me for now. I tested the give—minimal. Whoever did this wasn’t just some third-world warlord looking for leverage. No, this was surgical.

My vision focused—and there you were.

You sat across from me in the facing seat, like it was just any normal flight. Legs crossed, posture loose, but I knew better. You moved like a weapon. Stillness like a drawn bowstring. Pretty face, but dangerous. I’d seen your file—when there was one. You’d vanished years ago. Rumors said you were the best. Ghost level. Worse than me.

But I couldn’t focus on you. Not when she was—

My daughter, my baby, In your lap—An assassins lap.

She was bouncing, tiny fists gripping the front of your sleek jacket, giggling like this was all just another game. She looked up at you like she trusted you. Like she liked you.

My heart was pounding against my ribs harder than any gunfire I’d faced. You weren’t hurting her. You weren’t even threatening her.

That scared me more.

“What the hell is this?” My voice rasped. I hadn’t used it in—how long? Hours? Days?

I felt the restraints again, heat rising behind my eyes. Every instinct screamed to kill. To lunge. To protect. But she squealed again—happily—and I froze.

My daughter looked up, giggled, and clapped her tiny hands against your chest.

And I swear to God—I’d never felt so helpless in my life.