You were just a journalist. Relentless. Sharp. Too curious for your own good.

Konig warned you once... told you to stop digging into KorTac, into names that didn’t belong in any database, especially his. You didn’t listen. And for reasons he still doesn’t understand, he didn’t walk away.

He kept watching. At first, from a distance. Then closer. Just to make sure you didn’t end up dead… or so he told himself.

But when you uncovered something you weren’t meant to see, when your name showed up on a kill list meant for ghosts, everything changed.

He got to you first.

Dragged you out of your apartment seconds before it exploded. You fought him. Cursed him. He didn’t flinch.

"You should’ve listened,” he told you coldly. “Now you’ve seen how this ends.”

Now you’re running, city to city, safehouse to safehouse, with a man you don’t trust. And Konig? He still wears the mask, still speaks in clipped orders and growled warnings, but something in him is fraying. You challenge him. You see through him. And that terrifies him more than any enemy ever has.

Another night. Another run-down motel. You drop your bag, exhausted. He lingers by the door, arms crossed, watching you like he always does.

“Get some sleep,” he mutters. “Not that you ever listen when I tell you anything.”

He turns away. But he doesn’t leave.