"Stupid gear feels extra heavy tonight..." I whispered under my breath, adjusting the weight on my shoulders as I moved through the darkness. 

Every step felt just a little more deliberate, the quiet of the night pressing in around me. There was no one else out—no voices, no passing cars—just the faint sound of my own movement and the distant hum of a city that had already gone to sleep.

The air was cooler now, biting just enough to keep me sharp.

I slowed as the apartment building came into view, its outline rising out of the shadows like something waiting. Most of it was dark, lifeless at this hour—windows black, curtains drawn, no sign of movement.

Except for one.

A single window, lit.

I stopped for a moment, eyes locking onto it, studying the faint glow spilling into the night. It stood out too much, like a signal... or a warning.

My grip tightened slightly as I exhaled, steadying myself.

"...has to be it," I murmured, quieter this time, as I shifted my stance and kept my focus fixed on that lone light.

I approached the building, keeping my steps measured as I slipped inside. The door gave way with barely a sound, and the stillness that greeted me felt almost unnatural—like the place itself was holding its breath.

From the intel Carla's people had gathered, I knew exactly where to go. Top floor. End of the hall.

Simple.

The stairway was dark, the kind of darkness that swallowed detail and made every shadow feel deeper than it should be. My hand brushed lightly along the railing as I moved upward, step by step, each one careful, controlled. No voices. No footsteps. Not even the hum of a TV behind a door.

Nothing.

The silence pressed in, but I was used to it.

By the time I reached the top floor, it felt like I'd been climbing for hours, even though I hadn't. I paused just before stepping out, letting the quiet settle around me again as I exhaled slowly.

Then I shifted.

It was subtle, almost unnoticeable from the outside—but inside, everything changed. The hesitation, the wandering thoughts... gone. Pushed aside. Replaced with something colder, sharper. Focused.

This was the mindset I used for jobs like this.

No distractions. No second-guessing.

Just the task ahead.

"Clean and easy..." I whispered under my breath as I moved down the hallway, each step quiet and controlled. The floor beneath me barely made a sound, and the dim overhead lights flickered just enough to make the shadows stretch longer than they should. 

At the very end, the door stood still and unassuming—just another apartment to anyone else.

But not to me.

I stopped in front of it, letting a slow breath out through my nose as I centered myself. This was it. No more walking. No more waiting.

My hand moved smoothly, pulling the suppressed pistol free while the other retrieved the lock pick. The metal felt familiar in my grip, steadying. I crouched slightly, bringing the tools to the lock, my movements precise and practiced. It didn't take long—just a few seconds of careful pressure, a faint click breaking the silence.

I paused.

Listened.

Nothing.

Slowly, I turned the handle, easing the door open just enough to slip inside. The air was different immediately—warmer, lived-in. The faint glow from deeper inside the apartment stretched into the entryway, casting soft light along the floor.

I stepped in, closing the door behind me with controlled silence.

Everything was still.

A faint hum from somewhere in the apartment. The subtle shift of air. No sudden movement, no immediate threat.

My grip tightened slightly on the pistol as I adjusted my stance, eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, taking in the layout piece by piece.

This wasn't over yet.

But so far... it was exactly what I expected.

I moved carefully through the apartment, each step placed with intention, my weight shifting slowly to avoid even the slightest creak. The place felt lived in—faint traces of someone's routine scattered in small details—but right now, it was wrapped in a heavy, unnatural stillness.

I passed by an open bathroom, the light inside dim and cold, casting a pale glow into the hallway. I didn't stop, just let my eyes flick across it for a second before continuing forward.

Then I saw it.

A door, slightly cracked open at the end of the hall.

I froze.

'This is it,' I thought, the realization settling in with a quiet finality.

My breathing slowed, controlled, as I crept closer. Each step felt louder than the last, even though I knew they weren't. 

The silence made everything sharper—the faint hum of electricity, the almost imperceptible shift of air as I moved.

My grip tightened around the pistol, the metal pressing firmly into my palm. I adjusted it slightly, steadying myself, my finger resting just outside the trigger as I approached the door.

Closer.

Closer.

The thin line of light spilling through the crack stretched across the floor, just enough to outline the frame. I stopped just beside it, pressing myself lightly against the wall, listening.

Nothing obvious.

No voices. No movement.

But something felt... off.

I shifted slightly, positioning myself, every muscle tense and ready as I prepared to make the next move.

I exhaled slowly, releasing every last thread of hesitation with the breath, and stepped inside.

She was asleep. 

Still. 

Oblivious —one arm draped over the edge of the mattress, her chest rising and falling in the easy rhythm of someone who had no idea tonight was different from any other night.

'This was going to be easier than I thought.'

The gun felt heavier than usual in my hand, or maybe that was just the silence making everything louder—the creak of the floorboard beneath my boot, the distant hum of a refrigerator somewhere down the hall, the sound of my own pulse in my ears.

I raised it. Steadied. 

Fired.

Once.

Twice.

The shots cracked through the quiet like something being permanently broken. She lurched beneath the blanket—a single violent twitch, as if her body had tried to protest and thought better of it—and then she was still. 

Completely, finally still.

The kind of still that doesn't come back from.

I stood there a moment longer than I needed to, smoke curling from the barrel, the smell of it sharp and acrid in the stale air of the room.

She was gone. Not sleeping anymore. Just... gone.

Forever is a strange word until you're standing inside it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Just as I was about to leave the apartment. I looked to the side...

"What the—" I muttered under my breath, instantly lowering my weapon as I stepped closer, the tension in my body shifting into confusion.

I holstered my pistol without thinking, my focus snapping entirely to the small crib in front of me.

A baby.

Blue crib. Blue onesie. Small, steady breathing.

My voice dropped to a whisper. "Who are you..."

There was no threat here. No movement, no danger—just the quiet rhythm of sleep filling the room. The kind of silence that didn't feel like fear... just stillness.

I glanced around quickly, scanning the space again, my mind trying to recalibrate. This wasn't what I was expecting. Not even close.

My eyes caught something on the side of the crib.

A sticky note.

I reached for it slowly, pulling it free and reading the words under the light.

Doctor's appointment for Isabelle tomorrow.

My expression shifted.

"...Isabelle?" I repeated softly, the name landing heavier than it should have.

I looked back at the baby again, something in my chest tightening—not alarm this time, but realization building piece by piece.

"No way..." I whispered, almost disbelieving.

My hand lowered slightly as I stood there, frozen between confusion and understanding, the entire situation suddenly twisting into something I hadn't prepared for at all.

——