While the world slept in peaceful silence beneath the silver glow of the full moon, a girl limped down a tree-shrouded road, her breath shallow, her eyes wide with fear.
The night was still, almost too still — as if the darkness itself held its breath.
Barefoot and trembling, she stumbled forward, her long shadow chasing her in the moonlight. Her heart pounded like a drumbeat in her ears, drowning out the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
She kept looking over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the darkness behind her — as if something, or someone, was following her.
The road was empty, but her terror made it feel crowded — with memories, with danger, with whispers that only she could hear. The echo of police sirens still rang in her ears — distant, yet sharp enough to stab through the silence of the night.
She kept running, her steps uneven, her breaths short and panicked. She didn’t know where she was… or where she was going. All she knew was that she had to keep moving. Terror had taken full control of her body. Her legs were trembling, her throat was dry, and despite the biting cold of the winter night, sweat trickled down her forehead and spine. Her clothes clung to her skin — damp, heavy, and cold.
Her mind was a blur, flashing only one desperate thought: “Don’t stop. Don’t let them catch you.” But the darkness stretched endlessly ahead, and every shadow seemed like a threat waiting to pounce.
Suddenly, headlights cut through the darkness like knives — a car was approaching.
Her breath hitched. Without a second thought, she darted off the road and threw herself behind a cluster of trees, the cold earth biting into her knees as she crouched low. She didn’t dare move. She pressed herself tightly against the bark, clutching her bag to her chest as if it were her only lifeline — because it was.............. Inside that worn, dirt-stained bag was everything.
Everything that could save her.
Everything that could prove she wasn’t guilty.
Everything they would kill to hide.
Her pulse thudded in her ears louder than the car engine now rolling past. She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. The night was still again, but her world was anything but.
Clutching the bag tightly in her hands, she shut her eyes — trying to block out the world, but her mind betrayed her. Images from just hours ago came crashing back like a tidal wave. She could still hear it. Her grandfather’s voice — broken, desperate, screaming in her ear:
“Run! Save yourself! Go, now!”
The memory tore through her like a blade. His cries echoed in her head, louder than the wind, sharper than the cold. Her chest rose and fell with shaky breaths, her nails digging into the fabric of the bag like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to this moment. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She couldn’t afford to break now. She was alive. But at what cost? Instead of returning to the road, she rose slowly from behind the trees and turned toward the forest.
The shadows between the trees felt safer than the headlights of any car. She knew it was dangerous. The woods were cold, wild, and full of unknowns. But something about the road — exposed, open, vulnerable — felt far more terrifying. At least in the forest, she could disappear. Each step into the underbrush was like stepping deeper into another world — a world of rustling leaves, whispering branches, and hidden things that watched from the dark. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
“Better to face the night than the people hunting me,”
she thought, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. She would find a place to hide.... Somewhere no one would look.....
Somewhere she could breathe… at least for a little while.
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It was a lavish TV lounge — quiet, dimly lit, soaked in the golden glow of the fireplace. Through the tall glass window, one could see a man sitting with his back to the world, facing the flickering flames.
He didn’t turn.
Not even as the television behind him blared breaking news, filled with urgency and chaos. His posture was calm. Too calm. A half-burnt cigar rested between his fingers, its smoke curling lazily into the air like it had nowhere to be.
His other hand rested on the armrest, fingers tapping slowly — rhythmically, like a man lost in deep calculation.
His face remained hidden in shadow, but his silence spoke volumes. 186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrwFQnKah3H
Not a flinch. Not a word.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi5bdNpatFv
As if the chaos on screen… had nothing to do with him.
Suddenly, the phone on the sleek glass coffee table beside him began to ring.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtgfHQ6f3Pk
He didn’t glance at the screen. With practiced ease, he tapped to answer and switched on the speaker.
His voice broke the silence — deep, commanding, and laced with restrained fury.
"I’ve seen the news. What happened… is deeply unfortunate. Find the girl. Fast. She’s the only one who can tell us how one of our most loyal, long-standing agents ended up dead." He didn’t wait for a reply.
Before the voice on the other end could respond, he ended the call with a swift tap —then stood up, the dying cigar dropping into the ashtray like a period at the end of a sentence.
He moved toward the window, standing still as the night outside stared back at him. His hands slid into the pockets of his tailored trousers, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a quiet breath.
Then, for the first time — his face came into view. Jet-black hair swept neatly back from his forehead, revealing intense, dark eyes lost in thought. His features were sharp and striking — a perfectly carved jawline, a high-bridged nose, and skin fair and smooth, almost glowing under the soft light.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd1ChuHcK4i
He was tall — towering at 6’3" — with a naturally powerful build that hinted at both strength and discipline.
A man of beauty… and danger.
But in this moment, he wasn't thinking about power or appearance. He stared through the glass into the dark beyond, his mind caught in a web of questions… and perhaps something deeper.
He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with a hint of frustration. Without another thought, he grabbed his phone, scrolling through the contacts. His finger paused at the very first name in the list, and with a steady hand, he tapped it. The phone rang. He sat back, eyes fixed ahead, waiting for the other side to pick up
Suddenly, a groggy, annoyed voice came through the phone, thick with sleep and irritation.
"Greyson, seriously? It’s not necessary for you to be awake at this hour. Normal people are asleep right now, not running around at 2 AM."
The voice on the other end sounded like someone who had just been pulled from a deep sleep — disoriented, yet unmistakably familiar.
Greyson knew this tone all too well. Max Bennett, always half-awake but never without a quick comment. Greyson’s lips curled into a smirk. Greyson let out a light chuckle, his voice calm but carrying a sharp edge.
"When did you become the ‘good guy’?" “And come on, you're my friend. You know that aside from you, I don’t talk to anyone with this much... carelessness.”
The sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable — a mix of teasing and a hint of deeper meaning. It was a strange comfort, this banter with Max, even in the middle of chaos.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCteMKiTJS9
Max let out a dramatic sigh and replied,
"This is what I get for being your one and only best friend, huh? First, you wake me up in the middle of the night… and now this. People say a wife makes your life miserable, but here my best friend is trying his best to fill that role himself!"
His voice was teasing, full of mock misery — but it was clear he was used to this. Greyson calling at odd hours? Typical.
"Get to the point, buddy," Max mumbled, half-asleep, "I didn’t lose my beauty sleep just to have a midnight romance with you. So if you’re done with the sweet talk, can we please talk business now?"
His tone was dry, playful, and filled with that lazy annoyance only a true friend could get away with. He shifted under his blanket, clearly still clinging to the last bits of sleep.
Greyson gave a small shake of his head — the kind that said “There’s no saving this guy” — and replied in a cool, effortless tone,
"Let’s go hunting tomorrow. It’s been a while since the two brothers went on a proper chase together. So… what do you say? 7 a.m.?"
As he spoke, he walked back to the single-seater sofa in front of the fireplace — the same place he had been sitting a while ago — and sank into it again, his voice steady, eyes glowing with something deeper.
Max let out a sleepy grunt in response… and then fell silent.
Greyson didn’t wait for more. He ended the call without another word, slid the phone into his pocket, and stood up.
With calm, measured steps, he walked out of the TV lounge and towards the staircase leading upward.
The house was warm and peaceful — a stark contrast to the cold night outside — thanks to the soft hum of the central heating. Upstairs, he walked down the hallway and stepped into the room directly across from his own.
It was a space unlike any other in the house — lined with weapons that gleamed under soft ceiling lights. Expensive rifles, handguns, and rare collector pieces hung neatly on the walls, each displayed with care.
But it didn’t take a trained eye to know — these weren’t just for show.
There were subtle signs: worn grips, faint scratches, a few cases left slightly ajar. These guns had history. They had been used.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRuLASj3RT0
And the man standing in the middle of it all?
He knew exactly how to use every single one of them. Greyson’s eyes scanned the array of weapons before him, a brief moment of admiration for the precision and power they represented.
His gaze landed on a particular rifle — the Sako 90S Adventure. He reached out and carefully lifted it, inspecting the sleek metal and well-crafted design.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTRu4Rz6KTU
This was his weapon of choice for tomorrow's hunt. The perfect balance of power, precision, and reliability.
"Tomorrow," he muttered to himself, running a finger along the barrel, "it’ll be this one."186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvmtOesEYTI
The feeling of the gun in his hands was familiar, like an old friend ready for action. 186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBseoAuk5ys
Greyson could already picture Max’s sulky face after losing — and just the thought of it made him smirk.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRUERhZ6maY
There was a special kind of satisfaction in beating Max, especially when it came to hunting. And teasing him afterward? That was the real prize.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTYCi62YcFP
They had been best friends since childhood, and everyone in the agency knew it well. 186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡic19TMgW6H
Their bond wasn’t just strong — it was legendary.
No matter how serious things got, there was always room for a little mischief between the two. And tomorrow, Greyson planned to enjoy every second of it. With a soft smile still playing on his lips, Greyson set the rifle back in its place and quietly closed the door to the weapon room.
He walked into his bedroom — a space that reflected both discipline and comfort.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRxEXAJRnxl
On either side of the entrance, shelves lined the walls, filled with books of all kinds. A couch sat nearby, perfect for late-night reading or quiet thinking.
He stepped in, shut the door behind him, and made his way to the bookshelf. Picking up a book that had been left on the table, he carefully slid it back into its place. Then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to the bed and lay down.
The room was softly lit by wall lamps placed strategically around, casting a warm golden hue. Hanging above the bed was a grand, elegant chandelier that added a touch of timeless beauty.
On the bedside table to his left sat a framed photo of him and Max — a frozen memory of laughter and brotherhood.
On the other side, another frame stood silently: a picture of his parents...........That was it.
His people. His home. His heart.
He pulled the blanket over himself, letting the warmth settle in around him. With his eyes closed, the weight of the day slowly melted away.
The quiet hum of the heater, the soft glow of the lamps, and the comfort of familiar memories all wrapped around him like a lullaby.
And soon...
Greyson was fast asleep.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1Rk7qx8oCj
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