The Photograph...

The chandelier's dim glow flickered as Elena exhaled sharply, frustration tightening her grip on the gun.

"You don't know what you're doing, Kian," she said, stepping closer, her voice tense but laced with something almost desperate. "You shouldn't be working with these criminal organizations. There's something important you don't know yet—something that could change everything."

Kian leaned back in his chair, his smirk still in place but his eyes colder now. "And let me guess—you're the one who's going to enlighten me?"

Elena hesitated. For a fraction of a second, something unreadable crossed her face, but she quickly masked it.

"Let me arrest you, Kian," she said, her voice steady. "I can take you to—"

The doors slammed open with a deafening crash.

A gust of cold air rushed in as a tall figure strode through the entrance like he owned the damn place.

Marhavva.

Dressed in his usual dark attire, he moved with an effortless arrogance, a smirk curling on his lips as he took in the scene—the bound Kian, the furious Elena, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

His sharp eyes landed on Elena, and for the first time, his smirk turned into something… amused.

"Ohh, Elena," Marhavva drawled, his deep voice like velvet over steel. "What a lovely name for such a bold, beautiful face."

Elena instinctively tensed, raising her gun, but marhavva was way faster, he wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her close, his lips just inches from her ear.

"Too bad you're on the wrong side, sweetheart."

Elena barely had time to register the warmth of his breath before—

With a forceful twist, Marhavva flung her across the room.

She hit the corner hard, but landed with a sharp roll, already on her feet again, glaring daggers at him.

Kian sighed, rolling his shoulders as Marhavva cut through the ropes binding his wrists.

"You took your sweet time," Kian muttered.

Marhavva scoffed. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

Kian grabbed the files, every single one.

Elena's eyes widened. "No—!"

But they were already moving.

Kian and Marhavva bolted for the exit, adrenaline kicking in. Elena recovered fast, reaching for her gun, but they were faster.

Outside, Kian's motorcycle roared to life. He barely had time to swing his leg over before Marhavva jumped on behind him, arms locked around the files.

Then they were gone—tires screeching against the pavement as they disappeared into the night.

They arrived at a dimly lit hideout on the outskirts of the city, where their partner, Havva, was already waiting.

She leaned against the worn leather couch, arms crossed. "Took you both long enough."

Kian tossed the files onto the coffee table with a dull thud, running a hand through his dark hair. "Ran into some… complications."

Marhavva dropped onto the couch with a dramatic groan. "Damn, God, man. Better you take some rest. I want to rest too—"

Without warning, he grabbed Havva and lifted her into his arms.

Her sharp glare could have cut through steel. "Put me down, you son of a—"

Kian smirked. "Marhavva, you lifted that investigator Elena exactly like this. Looked right into her eyes, too. Oh my, what a lovely couple you two could be."

Havva's glare darkened.

"Put. Me. Down."

Marhavva grinned but obeyed, gently setting her onto the couch. "My dearest Havva, let me rest in your arms for an hour. I swear I'll explain everything."

Havva just stared at him.

Silence.

Then Marhavva, grinning like a fool, let himself sink into her lap.

Kian shook his head, chuckling as he picked up the files.

Without another word, he went to his chamber, washing his face before stepping into a cold shower. The icy water did nothing to wash away the weight pressing on his mind. After dressing, he stood before the mirror, staring at his own reflection—silent, motionless. His expression was unreadable, even to himself.

Then, he turned away and reached for the stack of files on his desk. His fingers hovered over one—the file Marhavva had arranged for him to get. But the moment he touched it, something inside him urged him to put it down. Instead, he picked up another file. Elena's file.

As he flipped through its contents, his gaze landed on a photograph. His chest tightened.

The face in the image… It resembled his own.

"What… is this?" he muttered under his breath.

A criminal? A person he once knew? Or—his father?

A scoff left his lips. Family? For someone like him? The very thought was ridiculous. He had been raised by criminals, molded into a heartless assassin. His life had no room for familial bonds or sentimental attachments. And yet, he found himself gripping the edges of the paper tighter.

"What was she trying to tell me…?" he whispered.

Just then, a loud scream pierced through his thoughts.

"Havva, why did you hit me?!" Marhavva's voice echoed from outside.

"Because you have to tell her she's beautiful!" Havva yelled back.

Kian heard Marhavva chuckle. "Because she was beautiful. Oh, my Havva, trust me, she looks so adorable when—"

A loud smack cut him off. Kian sighed. Those two never changed.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, ignoring their voices as his focus returned to the file in his hands.

What was she trying to tell me?

Elena wasn't someone he fully trusted. But so far, she hadn't tried to harm him. Could she actually be helping him? If so… why? What was her motive?

Kian's grip on the file tightened. He needed answers.

And he needed them now.

Kian exhaled sharply, his fingers lingering on the photograph. His mind cycled through endless possibilities, each more frustrating than the last. Why would Elena show him this? Why did it matter?

He tossed the file onto his desk, pacing the room. The air felt thick, pressing down on him. No, this wasn't just some random case. There was something deeper here—something meant for him to uncover.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Marhavva stepped inside, rubbing his jaw where Havva had punched him.

"That woman is brutal," he said, before eyeing Kian's expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's going on?"

Kian remained silent for a moment before nudging the file toward him. Marhavva raised a brow and picked it up. As his eyes scanned the contents, his amused smirk vanished.

"Shit…" He flicked his gaze back to Kian. "You think it's your old man?"

Kian folded his arms. "I don't think anything. I don't care."

Marhavva snorted. "Yeah, sure. That's why your veins are popping out of your fists."

Kian flexed his fingers, forcing himself to relax. "Whoever this man is, he's got nothing to do with me."

"And yet you're obsessed with figuring it out," Marhavva pointed out, tossing the file back onto the desk. "Look, if Elena showed you this, she either wants you to question your past or she's leading you to something bigger. Either way, you can't ignore it."

Kian clenched his jaw. That was the problem—he didn't want to care, but he did.

A knock at the door interrupted them.

"Kian," Havva's voice came from the other side, her tone unusually serious. "Elena is here."

His head snapped up.

Elena.

"Bring her in," he said without hesitation.

Marhavva whistled lowly. "Guess we're getting answers tonight."

Kian ignored him, his gaze fixed on the door as it slowly opened.

Elena stepped inside, her expression unreadable. Her usual confident demeanor was intact, but there was something different in her eyes—something calculating, yet hesitant.

She met his gaze and tilted her head slightly.

"You looked at the file," she stated. It wasn't a question.

Kian didn't answer. Instead, he stepped closer, the air between them tense. "Tell me why you gave it to me."

Elena held his gaze for a moment before exhaling softly.

"Because, Kian… he's alive."

The room fell into silence.

Marhavva stiffened. Havva, standing by the door, sucked in a quiet breath.

But Kian—he didn't move. His heart didn't race. His face remained cold.

Still, the weight of her words settled deep inside him.

Alive.

He's alive.

His brows furrowed. Who is he?

If Elena knew about this man, why hadn't she said anything before? Why was she, an investigator tasked with capturing him dead or alive, standing in front of him now—feeding him riddles instead of putting a bullet through his skull?

He exhaled sharply, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. What the hell is her game?

His thoughts twisted, trying to make sense of it. He's not my father. Not my brother. Not some long-lost family member. Then why does he look like me?

"Elena," he said, voice low, measured. "Why are you showing me this? Who is he to me?"

Elena studied him for a moment before a slow smirk tugged at her lips.

"That's what I want you to figure out, Kian."

A trap. A mind game. A puzzle designed to sink into his thoughts and refuse to leave.

Kian clenched his jaw. "Tch. You're enjoying this."

She tilted her head, unfazed. "Maybe."

Kian let out a humorless chuckle. "This isn't some damn movie, Elena. Don't mess with me."

Her smirk remained, but her eyes held something deeper—something unreadable.

"You'll find out soon enough."

And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving him standing there, staring at the photograph that had just rewritten the rules of his reality.

Havva said, "hmm, movie you say? Should I call her?"

They both nodded.