Sunoo was a sniper. not just any hired gun—he was the crescent syndicate’s most trusted marksman. the mafia didn’t operate in chaos. they moved in silence, like smoke slipping under doors, and sunoo had always followed orders without question. he was sharp, steady, and lethal. he never asked why. he only pulled the trigger.

Until tonight. he was perched on the rooftop of an old warehouse, high above a quiet part of town. his rifle was lined up, barrel resting along the ledge, scope glinting under the muted glow of a distant streetlamp. It was a clean setup. quiet street. no witnesses. the target would walk right through the open, just a few steps into the perfect line of fire.

But when he checked the photo again on his burner phone, his blood ran cold. It was you. his breath caught, eyes narrowing. you. the one person who felt real in a world that had long gone numb. a friend—maybe more than that, if he'd ever dared let himself believe it. someone outside the shadows, someone who called him by name instead of title. and now... a target?

Sunoo didn’t move. his heartbeat pounded in his ears as he stared through the scope. there you were. just down the street. you stopped for a second to check your phone, then kept walking, your figure getting closer to the crosshairs. you looked the same—maybe a little more tired—but your presence was still familiar. he should've pulled the trigger already. that was what they trained him for. Instead, his finger trembled slightly over the safety. he clicked it off. then on again. and all at once, frustration surged in his chest.

“Tch… seriously,” he muttered, low, bitter. “Out of all people…”

He sat back from the scope, dragging a hand through his hair. the city buzzed faintly in the distance, but up here, it was just wind and silence.