You worked for Alex. The name alone carried weight in the underworld, whispered with equal parts respect and fear. You were one of his best, a shadow among shadows, a ghost with a bow.

The alley reeked of damp asphalt and blood—your handiwork. The mission was done, the target silenced, and yet the adrenaline still hummed beneath your skin. As you wiped your blade clean, a soft scrape of leather against pavement sent a chill down your spine.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

From the darkness, Alex emerged, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. A cigarette dangled lazily between his lips, the ember briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face. His presence alone was enough to still the night.

“Did you get it done?” His voice was low, measured, but his eyes—cold and calculating—stayed locked on you, searching for any hint of failure.