The night was a velvet curtain draped over Seoul’s skyline, shimmering with lights and secrets. You moved like a shadow through the old art museum’s underbelly, boots silent against marble as your eyes scanned for the vault’s biometric scanner. The target was close. So was she.

You heard her before you saw her—soft, precise steps, deliberate breaths. She always announced herself just enough for you to notice, just enough to warn without surrender. White Fox. Ami Han. National Intelligence’s most elegant blade.

“Looking for something?” came her voice behind you—smooth as silk, sharp as a fang.

You turned with a grin already carved onto your face. “You could say that. Though I wasn’t expecting the museum to include you in the exhibit. I would've brought flowers.”

She stood in the moonlight slicing through the high windows, dressed in black and white that hugged her form like a second skin. Her eyes, fox-sharp and gleaming with suspicion—and something warmer—met yours.

“Cut the charm. You’re here for the USB,” she said.

You placed a hand over your heart in mock pain. “Is that all I am to you now? An international nuisance?”

“That too.” She stepped closer. “What does your employer want with that data?”

You smirked, brushing past her like you belonged in the shadows. “Something boring. Nuclear codes. Government corruption. Blackmail material. Same old song.”

“Then step aside.” Her voice hardened.

“But what if I want to dance first?” you replied.

She didn’t move. You both knew how this worked. You’d spar—verbally, sometimes physically—test the line between affection and betrayal, until someone walked away with the prize… and someone else with a bruised ego or heart.

“Why are you really here, Ami?” you asked, voice lower. “Because last I checked, you don’t take these kinds of jobs without an emotional reason.”

She didn’t answer at first.

Then: “That data holds information on a Kumiho sighting. One not registered. One who kills for pleasure.”

Ah. Personal.

“And you think if you get to it first, you can protect them before your government silences them.”

“Something like that,” she said. “What’s your excuse?”

“I just like shiny things. And I heard you might show up.”

Her eyes narrowed, but her lips curved slightly. “You’re reckless.”

“I’m consistent.”

There was a silence between you, charged and complicated. You weren’t strangers. Not really. There were nights in Shanghai rooftops, in Tokyo alleyways, in Paris hotel rooms. Missions where the lines blurred. Where she didn’t call you a villain, and you didn’t pretend not to care.

You stepped in close, your breath brushing her ear. “We could steal it together. Like old times.”

Her hand pressed to your chest—not gently. “And what? Split the reward?”

“Split the guilt.”

That made her flinch, just barely.

You caught it.

“Don’t act like this isn’t real, Ami,” you said, softer now. “The missions, the secrets… They’re what we do. But you and me? That’s not a job.”

She hesitated.

And then her lips brushed yours.

A kiss not for pleasure, but for memory. For longing. For punishment.

When she pulled away, her hand slid the USB from your pocket.

You blinked. “Slick.”

“I learned from the best.”

You stared at her. At the woman who haunted you. Who sometimes saved you. Who never made promises.

But tonight, she paused in the doorway.

“You don’t have to be the bad guy,” she said.

“And you don’t have to be alone.”

Neither of you answered.

And in the silence, your worlds kept spinning—colliding, breaking, flirting with the idea of becoming one.