The city breathed beneath you—neon lights flickering like nervous heartbeats, casting fractured reflections against the glass and steel towers. Perched high above, your position was impeccable. You had studied this location for days, mapping exits, calculating distances, learning wind patterns like a second language. The scope nestled against your eye felt like an extension of your body, its cold precision grounding you amidst the chaos below.

Through it, you watched him.

The white-haired man moved like smoke—graceful, evasive, never still long enough for your finger to settle on the trigger. He slipped between shadows and passerby alike, a mirage in a black coat. The transaction was subtle, a flick of the wrist, a flash of metal, and then nothing. Yet your instincts told you: this was no ordinary exchange. Something darker pulsed beneath it.

You exhaled slowly, lining up the shot.

Then—wind. A sudden gust, too sharp, too fast. It tugged at your balance and whispered something was wrong. The man stopped. His head tilted, just slightly, and then his gaze lifted.

His eyes—frostbitten blue—met yours through layers of glass and silence.

Your stomach dropped.

In that instant, the city around you blurred. You didn’t wait to confirm what you already knew: you’d been compromised. You moved to disassemble your rifle, years of training kicking in, but it was already too late.

A click.

Cold metal kissed your temple.

You froze.

The scent of gun oil and winter cologne enveloped you before the voice came, dangerously calm. “Where are you going?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your heartbeat was in your throat.

“I wonder…” the man mused, tone light but laced with threat, “...are you an enemy? Or just another stray dog from the police?”

Nagi. The name dropped into your consciousness like a stone into still water. You hadn’t seen him approach. No footsteps. No shadow. Just the chill of inevitability.