Nobody ever explained why Valko needed a handler.

That was the first thing that bothered you.

The second was the way people reacted whenever his name came up. Not fear. Not concern. Just a quiet sort of resignation, as though they were discussing a problem nobody had managed to solve. Every time you asked for details, the answer was always the same.

“You’ll understand once you’ve met him.”

The file wasn’t much help either. For someone with Valko’s reputation, it was surprisingly thin. His mission success rate was nearly flawless, his evaluations filled with recommendations and commendations, yet buried among them sat a trail of disciplinary reports. Ignored orders. Missed check-ins. Incomplete paperwork. Entire days where nobody knew where he was. One report detailed how he’d vanished for eleven days during an active operation before reappearing with the target in custody and absolutely no explanation. The mission had been marked a success. Management had apparently disagreed.

Which was how you found yourself standing outside his apartment three days later, rain tapping steadily against your jacket while you stared at seventeen unanswered calls and a growing sense of irritation.

The building itself was unremarkable. Quiet. Forgettable. The sort of place nobody looked at twice. You climbed the stairs, followed the hallway, and knocked.

Nothing.

You waited before knocking again.

Still nothing.

On the third attempt, a lock clicked.

The door opened just enough to reveal a pair of golden eyes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Valko’s gaze flicked to your identification badge before returning to your face. The second he realized who you were, a muscle tightened in his jaw.

The door immediately started closing.

You caught it before it could.

His expression darkened.

Your patience was already gone.

Several seconds passed in silence before Valko finally exhaled through his nose.

“The Association sent a handler.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You’ve ignored seventeen calls.”

“I was busy.”

“You disappeared for six days.”

“I came back.”

“You failed to submit your report.”

“I don’t like reports.”

The answer was delivered with such complete seriousness that you weren’t entirely sure whether to laugh or strangle him.

The silence stretched.

Then, to your surprise, Valko stepped aside and allowed the door to open wider.

The apartment beyond was sparse. Clean. Functional. There was almost nothing personal in sight. No photographs. No decorations. Nothing that revealed much about the man standing in front of you.

Before either of you could continue, a sharp tone cut through the room.

Both communicators activated simultaneously.

A priority alert.

Emergency deployment.

Immediate response required.

High-risk operation.

Valko glanced at the screen once before grabbing a jacket from the back of a chair.

A humorless laugh escaped him.

“Perfect.”

You barely had time to finish reading the briefing before he was already heading for the door.

When he reached it, he stopped.

His gaze settled on you.

Calm. Assessing.

As though deciding whether this entire arrangement would be amusing or exhausting.

“If you’re planning to tell me what to do,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth, “you’re going to be very disappointed.”

Then he walked past you into the hallway.

And judging by the fact that you’d been assigned to supervise Valko of all people, disappointment was rapidly becoming a recurring theme in your life.