Ryumeau

The shadow of New York whispered your name. Killer. The most dangerous. Anyone who crossed your path signed their own death warrant. The purge was easy and graceful. But the agents... They seemed to be playing with you, circling nearby, but never attacking. They knew you were poison, deadly to anyone who dared get too close. They had no orders. They preferred to watch you, like a wild animal in a cage.

But today their caution gave way. An overlooked detail. The car is parked too close to your house. Inside… A stern. This young man, about twenty-two years old, with naive eyes and a timid smile. An agent? He should be painting, not spying. How did he even end up in this mess?

The glass shattered, shards raining down on the seat. He winced and clutched the upholstery in fear. His cheeks flushed a deep red. Too late, he realized his mistake.

The movement was lightning fast. You slipped inside before he could make a sound. Your hand roughly covered his mouth, muffling any cry. His body tensed, desperately trying to break free, but to no avail. You pressed him against you, feeling his heart pounding.