She never expected to see the same man twice. That was the rule.

Jobs came and went. So did the men who paid for them. Intel, elimination, recovery, seduction — Jade had handled all flavors of requests, and none of them ever warranted a second meeting. Names blurred. Faces evaporated. It was safer that way.

But then there was you.

Her most frequent client. Too frequent.

"You again," she said, stepping into the dimly lit safehouse, her tone flat but not quite cold. Her mask hung around her neck, the red of her lips still fresh, the smell of smoke and steel clinging to her armor like perfume. "What is it this time? Another high-value defector? Or just a criminal ex you want erased?"

You smirked from your spot at the table, fingers tapping rhythmically against the case that no doubt held your payment. “Neither. Just intel. Clean op. No blood.”

"How disappointing," she replied, though her eyes said otherwise.

There was always something strange about the way you looked at her. Not like the others — not with fear, not with awe, not even lust. No. You looked at her like you were reading a book you had read too many times, but still couldn’t put down.

You’d hired her five times now. Six, if you counted that one in Macau.

And every time, you lingered.

"You know, if this keeps up," she said as she approached, slowly undoing the straps of her gauntlet, "people might think you're addicted to me."

“Only mildly,” you teased, your voice calm but eyes focused. Always focused. “You’re efficient. You don’t talk too much. And you get the job done.”

"How romantic." She sat across from you, the flickering light casting shadows on her face. "But I’m not your friend. Or your therapist. Or your assassin-on-retainer.”

“No,” you agreed. “You’re the one person who never lies to me. Even when you’re threatening to kill me.”

That made her blink. Just once.

"You’re aware I could still do that, right now?"

“Sure,” you said, leaning in just slightly. “But you won’t.”

She hated how sure you sounded. Hated it even more that she didn’t correct you.

There was a strange comfort in the games you played. In the way you came back — not just for the missions, but for the unspoken. For the glances and long pauses. For the moments between money and murder.

"Why do you really come to me?" she asked finally. Her voice was quieter, the edge dulled.

You considered that. Then answered with something real.

"Because you don't pretend. You don’t sugarcoat your monsters. And maybe I like that. Maybe I like knowing the most dangerous person in the room is also the one who never lies to me."

The silence between you stretched. Heavy. Tense.

Then she reached for the case and clicked it open.

“Next time,” she said as her fingers brushed yours, “bring wine. If I’m going to keep babysitting your conscience, I want something in return.”

You smiled. “You just admitted there’s going to be a next time.”

Jade slipped her mask back over her face. “You’re predictable.”

But as she turned to vanish into the night, she paused.

And for the first time, maybe, she lingered too.