The silent girl?

I opened my eyes to the usual quiet in my room.

Glancing at the clock, it was 3:00 AM.

I got up slowly from my bed, stretching my body.

Man, I hated waking up in the middle of the night. Ethan straightened up from his bed, headed to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face.

Looking in the mirror, he noticed his facial hair starting to grow back.

"Damn, it's already growing? I just shaved not too long ago," Ethan thought.

He went downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. Sitting on the comfy Italian-designed couch, he started thinking about what went down yesterday.

"What if I'm not ready?"

He got up slowly after finishing his coffee, pacing around the house. His hand slipped into his pocket, gripping the key to his training room—a room reserved for him for a long time, tucked away in the basement. It was packed with weapons and shooting gear.

Walking down the stairs to the basement, his footsteps echoed in the still air. His hand landed on the cold, metal handle of the door that separated the training room from the rest of the house.

As he opened it, the smell of metal and leather hit his nose. The dim lighting revealed targets lined up along the walls, neatly organized weapons on shelves, and protective gear from past training sessions.

Ethan walked over to the worktable where his favorite pistol lay—a carefully customized piece that he treated like a part of himself. He picked it up with one hand, inspecting it closely. The cold metal felt almost comforting under his fingers, like a sword waiting for its next battle.

Holding the gun, he walked over to the targets on the wall. Planting his feet firmly, he focused his gaze on the first target. He aimed with precision, finger steady on the trigger... but hesitated as flashes of yesterday's events ran through his mind.

He wasn't used to killing someone.

He could still vividly remember the blood... and the shattered remains of the truck driver's skull.

"Hhh..." Ethan let out a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

"Killing... it's gotta be done," he whispered to himself.

He took aim again and fired a precise shot at the target.

The sound of gunfire echoed through the room, bouncing back into his ears as he focused on the next target. Every hit was dead-on. He tried to tune out everything else—his thoughts, his emotions—relying only on the calm logic of technique amidst chaos.

Ethan's eyes grew colder and more focused as he kept firing at the targets, imagining them as enemies pointing guns at him.

He kept shooting rapidly, reloading quickly, losing track of time, consumed by the rhythm of the shots.

Hours later, Ethan sat on the floor of the training room, his features tense, sweat dripping down his forehead. He'd spent hours shooting, switching between different weapons, firing at the targets relentlessly. But now, he felt... different. Exhausted—physically and mentally. The gunfire, once a source of power, now felt hollow. Just empty noise filling the room.

Time felt heavier, like it was slipping through his fingers. At first, it had felt good, but now? Now he realized he wasn't accomplishing anything. The targets he hit brought him no sense of pride, no satisfaction.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and walked toward the neatly arranged weapons on the shelves. He thought about every bullet he'd fired, every perfect shot he'd landed... and how none of it mattered.

He placed the pistol back on the table and stepped back, looking around the room filled with weapons, targets, and memories. Something inside him had shifted.

As he approached the door, he glanced back at the room one last time. This time, he knew he wouldn't be coming back.

Ethan let out a sigh.

He turned off the lights, closing the door behind him.

"I need to evolve," he muttered.

At dawn, Ethan stepped outside to water the plants.

He walked quietly toward the small garden beside his house, where flowers and little trees he'd planted himself grew. He loved this spot. Here, he felt like he had control over something—something that grew slowly, with care.

Picking up the garden hose, he started watering the vibrant flowers. Droplets splashed gently onto the dry soil, giving life back to it. The flowers swayed softly in the morning breeze, refreshed by the water.

As he watered the flowers, he stopped to light a cigarette, staring off into the distance. Suddenly, he heard a loud crash.

Ethan turned toward the hill below Vinewood Hill.

He saw a house—once one of the finest in Rockford Hills—collapse before his eyes. Only the back portion of it remained standing.

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his lips parted slightly as he whispered, "Fuck..."

"Damn, rough luck for the owner," Ethan muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to his garden, resuming his watering.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Quickly, he dropped the hose and pulled it out. "Michael" lit up the screen.

Ethan answered, and Michael's voice came through the speaker.

"Ethan, I need your help," Michael said.

"What happened?" Ethan asked, turning off the hose.

"Let's just say I owe someone... two mill—"

"Don't get your hopes up. My old man doesn't give me more than fifty grand a month," Ethan interrupted, already guessing where the conversation was headed.

Michael sighed on the other end. "Looks like I've got no choice. I'll do it."

"Do what?" Ethan asked, curiosity creeping into his voice.

"I'm coming out of retirement," Michael said vaguely. "I'll explain later."

And with that, he hung up.

"...Great," Ethan muttered.

Heading back inside, Ethan put on his best designer clothes, grabbed his keys, and stepped out into his luxury car.

As he drove through the city, passing towering buildings and crowded streets, he didn't have a specific destination in mind.

Eventually, he stopped at a beautiful park, parked the car, and stepped out.

Ethan walked slowly through the park, enjoying the fresh air. Trees surrounded him, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze was oddly calming. He wore casual jeans and a light shirt, strolling along the stone path winding around a small lake. Kids were playing nearby, and couples were walking hand in hand.

He found a wooden bench near the lake and sat down, staring at the serene view. Just as he closed his eyes for a moment of peace, he heard the chirping of a bird flying overhead. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the sky.

Leaning back on the bench with a bored expression, he stood after a while and walked toward the lake.

Standing by the calm water, the surface was like a natural mirror. The soft sunlight reflected off it, creating warm hues.

Looking down, Ethan saw his reflection clearly. His face appeared steady, his pale blue eyes faintly glowing in the sunlight, carrying a mysterious look. His sharp eyebrows gave his face a serious, enigmatic edge. Black strands of his hair drifted lazily in the wind, messy but in a way that suited him.

For a brief moment, he seemed to enjoy the calmness of it all. But it didn't last.

"Beep! Beep! Beep!"

The annoying sound of a car alarm shattered the quiet.

Ethan cracked his eyes open lazily, furrowing his brows before turning his head toward the noise.

His car.

A woman in a leather jacket and cargo pants was messing with the door, trying to break in like it was hers.

Ethan didn't move right away. He just stared for a few seconds, like he was trying to process the sheer audacity of it. Then he let out a slow breath and got up, walking over at a steady pace.

When he got close enough, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave her a sideways look.

"You want the keys too? Or maybe a coffee before you finish stealing it?"

The woman barely glanced at him before going back to work.

Ethan tilted his head slightly.

"Okay… not the talkative type, huh?"

A second later, the door popped open, and she slid into the driver's seat.

Ethan didn't rush to stop her. Instead, he moved fast enough to hop in beside her before she could slam the door shut.

She looked at him, stone-faced.

He looked back, then leaned into the seat and closed the door smoothly.

"If you're planning to carjack me with me inside, you might wanna rethink your strategy." He said, half-serious, pulling out his gun and resting it on his thigh—not pointed at her, but making a silent statement.

She didn't respond. Just started the engine and hit the gas.

The car shot forward, but Ethan stayed relaxed, watching the road more than he watched her.

"Well, at least you know how to start it." He said, voice laced with mild sarcasm. He flicked his eyes toward her. "But can you actually drive?"

Right then, she swerved hard to dodge another car.

Ethan grabbed the door with one hand, while the other stayed loose on his leg.

"Oh, great… a car thief with driving issues."

A semi-truck loomed up ahead at an intersection. She didn't slow down.

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

"If you're tryna kill us both, at least let me buckle up first."

When she still didn't brake, he finally moved, reaching over and yanking the wheel.

The car jerked hard, narrowly missing the truck before screeching to a stop on the side of the road. The engine whined from the sudden impact.

Silence.

Ethan looked at her, then nodded toward the road with a blank expression.

"See that? That was a truck. A big-ass one. Next time, maybe think before slamming the gas like a lunatic."

The woman said nothing, but she took a deep breath, like she'd just realized what almost happened.

Then, without a word, she pushed the door open and ran.

Ethan didn't bother chasing her. Just watched as she disappeared, then pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up with a sigh.

"If you're gonna steal a car, at least learn how to drive first." He muttered before taking a deep drag.

Then, like nothing happened, he sat there for a few more seconds, restarted the engine, and drove off.