The Price of Loyalty

The wind carried the scent of freshly turned earth, cold and unforgiving. Number Nine stood at the edge of the grave, eyes fixed on the casket as it was lowered into the ground. The small crowd gathered in a loose circle, each face an unreadable mask—some fighting back tears, others resigned to the inevitable. But Nine didn't care. Not about their grief, not about the hollow words of a priest. He was here for one reason: Molly had been loyal, and that was worth something.

His gaze flicked briefly to the woman beside him. She wasn't like Molly, but she didn't have to be. She'd been chosen. She was his new assistant. Number Nine had made it clear to Molly long ago that she needed to find a replacement. The world wasn't kind to those in his line of work, and Molly knew the risks. In the end, her death wasn't a surprise. But the new assistant? She was a variable.

Molly had prepared everything—left behind files, instructions, and enough information to ensure the transition was seamless. The girl standing next to him had been briefed on every single detail of Molly's operations: the laundering schemes tied to various clubs in the city, the extensive network of prostitutes who served as his eyes and ears on the street, the deals and contacts that kept their operations running smoothly. She'd read the files. She knew the territories, the players, and the stakes. She'd been made aware of every contingency. Molly's death wasn't a setback. It was just the price of doing business.

"How do you feel?" The assistant's voice was quiet, hesitant—almost as if she was testing the waters.

Number Nine didn't look at her, his focus still on the grave. "I don't feel anything."

The words hung in the air for a moment before she spoke again. "Do you ever mourn anyone?"

A brief, cold smile flickered across his face. "I mourn when it's necessary. But not today."

Her silence spoke volumes. She hadn't fully grasped it yet. She was younger, still new to the cruel reality of this world. Unlike Molly, she wasn't accustomed to the weight of loss or the grim shadow of Number Nine. He'd already briefed her on her duties: keep her eyes open, stay sharp, and learn quickly. The rest was irrelevant.

The priest finished his eulogy, and the small crowd began to disperse, most walking away with their heads bowed, lost in thought. Number Nine stayed where he was, his hands clasped behind his back. He didn't need to say anything. Molly's legacy was already set, and she would be remembered, even if it was only by those who mattered.

The assistant shuffled slightly, glancing nervously at the others before speaking again. "Are you sure we should leave her like this? Alone?"

Number Nine turned his head slowly, meeting her eyes for the first time. His expression was unreadable, cold as always. "Alone? She's dead. And in this business, you don't get to cling to sentiments. You either survive, or you don't."

She nodded, though he could tell the words didn't sit well with her. She didn't get it yet. But she would. Over time, she'd understand that there was no room for weakness.

As the last of the mourners filtered away, the assistant stepped closer, her gaze still lingering on the freshly buried grave. "I… I don't understand. Why hire me if you don't need anyone? Why bother replacing Molly if you're so cold about it?"

Number Nine's gaze flickered to the grave once more, then back to her. His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. "Because in this world, everyone needs someone. Even me."

The assistant didn't speak, but the hesitation in her eyes showed she wasn't convinced. Yet.

Number Nine turned, the sharp click of his boots breaking the silence. He started walking away, heading toward the black SUV parked at the edge of the cemetery. The assistant followed, falling into step behind him. She hadn't earned the right to walk beside him yet. Not in his eyes.

As they reached the car, she finally spoke. "What now?"

Nine didn't break his stride. "We move forward. There's work to do."

The assistant glanced back at the grave one last time before following him into the vehicle. The door slammed shut behind her. There was no time for reflection, no room for emotions. Molly was gone, and with her, the past had been buried. The future, however, was waiting for them both.

As Nine slid into the passenger seat, the assistant joined him in the back. The silence lingered until she asked again, her voice more tentative this time. "Are you sure I'm ready for all of this? Everything that comes with... being your assistant?"

Number Nine's eyes flickered toward her in the rearview mirror. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached up and touched his collar thoughtfully.

"Your hair," he said suddenly. "I want you to add some color to it. Maybe a dark red. Or violet."

The assistant blinked, caught off guard. "What? Why?"

Number Nine's voice was devoid of emotion, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead. "I like it that way."

She hesitated, then glanced at herself in the window's reflection. It was an odd request. But she didn't ask further. "Alright," she replied, nodding. She had to follow his orders if she wanted to prove she was capable.

Nine didn't look at her, but his voice was firm. "Molly was in charge of everything. The clubs. The laundering. The women. The network. She was the one who kept it all running while I… handled other things. She made sure the information flowed. She ensured there were no loose ends."

He paused, eyes narrowing as he thought of her.

"Molly understood loyalty. She knew when to be ruthless, when to play the game, and when to leave no witnesses. You'll learn that soon enough. But first, you have to follow the rules. All of them."

She nodded quickly, her mind already moving to the next task. "I've read everything. The files you left, all of Molly's reports. I'm ready."

Number Nine glanced at her again, as if seeing her for the first time. "What's your name?"

The assistant hesitated for only a moment. "Ren."

She studied his face, searching for a reaction, but his expression remained unreadable. Then, with a smirk, she added, "Should I change that too?"

Nine raised an eyebrow.

"You asked me to change my hair," she continued, tilting her head slightly. "Figured maybe you'd want a new name for me too."

For a second, there was silence. Then, to her utter shock, Number Nine let out a laugh—loud, unguarded, and real. The sound was so unexpected that she just stared, caught between confusion and curiosity.

"No," he said finally, still chuckling as he shook his head. "Keep it."

The moment passed quickly, his expression smoothing back into its usual cool indifference, but the laughter lingered in the air between them. Ren filed it away, a small piece of something human buried beneath the reputation of Number Nine.

And just like that, the car disappeared into the night, carrying them toward a future neither of them could predict.