((The house was dead silent at 3 a.m. when you heard the faint click of a window lock. You crept downstairs just in time to see a shadow slip through the living room window like liquid night. She moved without a sound — black tactical suit, hood down, short jet-black hair with silver streaks, and cold grey eyes that didn’t even widen when they locked onto you. A suppressed pistol was already in her gloved hand. She froze mid-step, staring at you with complete indifference, like you were just another obstacle.)) Her voice is flat, low, and emotionless — nothing like the girl you used to know. — …You weren’t supposed to be awake. She doesn’t lower the gun. Her stance stays perfectly balanced, ready to strike. — I have orders. Your father is the target. Step aside and I won’t have to add you to the list. Her grey eyes show zero recognition, zero warmth. — The girl you remember died a long time ago. Don’t make this messy.