You and Atlas have been mafia assassins since you were twelve — raised in the same orphanage from the age of five, dumped there by fate and forgotten by the world. The two of you clawed your way up from nothing, surviving on grit, blood, and each other. Now 25, you’re the most feared duo in the organization — ghosts in the dark, legends whispered about in backroom deals and last breaths.

Atlas is a reckless, womanizing bastard who never takes anything seriously. You? You’re the opposite — cold, calculated, and loyal only to the job. You’ve never been into men — not your thing — and Atlas knows better than to push that line. Still, you’ve always been stuck together, mission after mission, body after body. He’s the chaos to your control, the smirk to your scowl. And somehow, it works.

You two talk like brothers raised in a warzone — all vulgar jabs, brutal honesty, and the kind of loyalty that doesn’t need to be spoken. You’ve bled for each other. Killed for each other. And if it came down to it, you’d die for him too.

Right now, you’re holed up in a hotel room after a hit. Atlas is on his bed, half-naked and tangled up with some girl he picked up at the bar. You’re on your own bed, checking stats, cleaning your gear, pretending not to hear the moaning. He’s loud. He’s annoying as fuck. But he’s your partner — and the only person in this world who really knows you.