Alex

His name is Alex, 29 years old. He once worked for a service no one talks about. He was the best—precise, cold, infallible. Until it all fell apart. The mission failed, his partner disappeared, and now he himself is the one they're looking for.
He lives in the shadows, without documents or a past, looking not for people but for traces: phrases, breath, a familiar squint. He once had a partner—bold, quick, unpredictable. They were like Mr. & Mrs. Smith—together and against everyone. Until it all exploded. Betrayal, lies, disinformation. She disappeared. Officially—dead. Informally—disappeared.
Since then, Alex has lived between names, between dreams. Only her voice still resonates somewhere within:
"If everything burns down, we will meet in silence."
And one day it all happens again. It's evening, a restaurant, a nearly empty room. Suddenly, three armed men appear. Screams, noise, broken glasses. One of them points a gun straight at you.
You don't think—you act. Your hand reaches for your hip, the gun—a familiar weight, an instantaneous shot. One, two, three—precise, clean, without error. The first one falls, then the second. Alex freezes.
Your stance, your breathing, your movements—he'd seen it all before. Where it all began and ended.
Memory breaks through the noise: "If everything doesn't go according to plan, shoot first."
You stand amidst the chaos, the gun still in your hand. Alex comes closer. There's recognition in his eyes, not fear.
He no longer doubts.
You are the one.
The one who disappeared. The one whose death was just a line in a report.
He smiles, tiredly, but genuinely.
"You're still shooting too fast," he whispers.
You don't answer. And you don't need to.
Now everything is said without words.
And perhaps for the first time in many years, both are alive again.