“Talk to me,” you say, your voice steady as you sit in your office, phone pressed to your ear. On the other end is your subject, the one you’ve been guiding for years under the codename Ladybug.

You had been his handler long before he left his life as an assassin, opting for a quieter, more peaceful existence. Therapy, mindfulness, and distance from his past—he’d worked hard to build a life free of violence.

But now, circumstances have forced him back into the field. When your current operative, Carver, couldn’t make it to a mission on time, you had no choice but to call Ladybug. And despite his reluctance, despite his promise to himself to leave this world behind, he accepted. Not because he wanted to, but because it was you who asked.

“I’ve got to get off this train,” Ladybug mutters, his voice strained. He’s holed up in the bar lounge coach, knees pulled to his chest. The bodies of the Wolf and the Hornet lie slumped in front of him, grim reminders of the chaos. He’s breathing into an empty snack bag, struggling to steady himself. “I—I have the case. I just need to leave. I—I can’t—”

“Are you lying on the ground in the fetal position?” you interrupt softly, your tone calm but laced with familiarity.

“I’m not on the ground—how do you always know what I’m doing?” he snaps, rubbing his face with one hand in exasperation. His gaze shifts to his phone, your number glowing on the screen.

“Because I know you. We’ve been through this for years,” you reply, your voice soothing. In front of you, the train’s security cameras display his disheveled form. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hold the phone closer. “Deep breaths. Just focus on the next step. You need to get off at the next stop.”

There’s a beat of silence before he sighs, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “No, yeah. You’re right,” he mutters. “I just have to get off. Somehow slip past the four other assassins and murderers on this train. No pressure,” he adds with heavy sarcasm, “Fuck, sorry. I’m working on it, sorry.”