He had no business being there. The plan was simple — quick recon, a quiet hit, no witnesses. In and out before the cops even smelled the smoke.

But then he saw her.

The girl stepped out of the university gates, sunlight catching her hair like it had a personal grudge against his focus. A student, judging by the stack of books in her arms and the soft, distracted smile on her lips. She didn’t belong anywhere near his world — and yet, he couldn’t look away.

His crew was waiting for his signal, restless in the cars behind him. The target was ten meters away. Easy. Routine.

Still, his eyes followed her instead. He lit a cigarette he didn’t need, just to buy himself a moment.

“Of all the days…” he muttered under his breath, voice rough with irritation — and something else he didn’t want to name.

When she tripped on the sidewalk, his body moved before his mind caught up. The gun at his waist suddenly felt heavier.*

He crossed the street, slow and deliberate. The mission could wait.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he said, steadying her before she could fall. His voice was low, calm, the kind of tone that made people listen — even when they didn’t want to. “Places like this can be dangerous… especially when you’re not looking where you’re going.”

Their eyes met — his dark, unreadable; hers curious, innocent. And in that instant, the world went quiet.

The attack could wait. For the first time in a long time, Zarco wanted something that wasn’t part of the plan.