The Next Target...

The dimly lit office buzzed with tension as Havva, Marhavva, and Kian sat across from Kathleen, the renowned historian. She was a woman of few words, her piercing green eyes revealing more than her lips ever would. Lavender hair cascaded over her shoulder as she skimmed through the file in front of her, her expression unreadable—an ever-present look of quiet regret, as if every conversation was a mistake she wished she hadn't made.

"This file… it's from the detective department," Kathleen murmured, her tone carrying the weight of an unspoken realization. "Not from investigation unit."

Kian exchanged a glance with Havva, who remained silent. Kathleen's fingers traced the edge of the photograph within the file, the image of a man staring back at her. He looked eerily similar to the assassin they were pursuing, but something was off—his aura, his very existence felt… different.

"This isn't his father," she stated, more to herself than to them. "But there's a connection."

"I'll look into it," she concluded, closing the file with a decisive snap.

Marhavva leaned back, arms crossed. "Not so fast. You're not taking that file with you."

Kathleen raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. "And why is that?"

"Because I don't trust you," Marhavva said bluntly. "You work with Elena and her people. Kian looks too damn tense right now, and I don't like that."

Kathleen tilted her head slightly, studying him, before offering a small nod. "Fair enough. I'll leave it here. But I need someone to assist me in uncovering the history of this man."

Marhavva smirked, arms still folded. "What's this? The great Kathleen needs subordinates to do her work?"

She moved faster than anyone expected. In a blur, she grabbed Marhavva's collar, yanking him forward. He barely had time to react, his body tensing in surprise.

"Yes, I need subordinates," she said, voice as cold as steel. "Because while they run around doing the trash work, I solve cases they could never crack without me."

Marhavva's grin twitched, irritation flickering in his eyes. He grabbed her wrist tightly, his grip firm enough to hurt. "You really shouldn't be putting your hands on men so recklessly," he said, voice dangerously low. "You might regret it later."

His fingers pressed harder against her skin, but instead of wincing, Kathleen simply looked at him, unimpressed. Meanwhile, Havva's expression darkened, her eyes burning with jealousy.

Kian, sensing the growing tension, stepped between them and smacked Marhavva's hand away. "Enough," he said firmly. He grabbed the file and held it out to Kathleen. "Take it. Just don't let it end up back in the hands of the investigators."

Kathleen's gaze lingered on him for a long moment, as if she were peering into his soul. Then, with a slow nod, she turned and made her way toward her car.

As she opened the door, she glanced back at Kian, her voice carrying an edge of curiosity. "What was I thinking… expecting an assassin to look like one?"

She slipped into the driver's seat, the door shutting with a quiet finality.

Kian stood in place, watching her leave.

As Kathleen's car disappeared down the road, Kian watched in silence.

Marhavva stretched his arms behind his head, exhaling dramatically. "Well, that was fun. Did you enjoy the little show, Havva?"

Havva shot him a glare. "You think this is funny?"

Marhavva smirked. "A little."

Havva clenched her fists. "We don't have time for this. That woman now has access to information that could get us all killed if she decides to share it with the wrong people."

"She won't," Kian said finally, his voice steady. He turned back toward the building. "At least not yet. She's too intrigued. She'll want to see where the threads lead before she makes a move."

Marhavva sighed. "I still don't trust her."

"You don't trust anyone," Havva snapped.

"And I'm still alive because of it," he shot back.

Kian ignored them, pushing open the heavy door to their hideout. The dimly lit space was cluttered with maps, case files, and photographs pinned against the walls, lines of red string connecting different leads like a twisted spiderweb of history and bloodshed.

The air inside the hideout was tense, thick with the weight of unanswered questions and the lingering presence of Kathleen's visit. But there was no time to dwell on it. They still had a job to do.

Kian sat at the worn-out wooden table, flipping through the newly delivered files. The edges of the papers were crisp, untouched—meaning this wasn't just some recycled target list. It was fresh. Important.

Marhavva slouched on the chair opposite him, arms crossed, tapping his fingers against the table in a slow rhythm. "Let me guess, another politician? A rat that got too greedy?"

Havva leaned forward, snatching the file from Kian's hands before he could respond. She scanned the details quickly, her eyes narrowing. "Not a politician," she murmured. "A scientist."

That got their attention.

Marhavva straightened slightly. "A scientist?" He reached over and flipped the page. "Dr. Joseph paul," he read aloud. "Head of some high-end research lab. What the hell did he do to end up on our list?"

Kian exhaled. "He's not just any scientist. He works for the organization."

That shut them both up.

Havva furrowed her brows. "Why would they want their own guy dead?"

Kian's fingers drummed against the table. "That's what we need to find out. If the organization is cleaning up its own people, it means something's gone wrong."

Marhavva smirked. "Or he saw something he wasn't supposed to. Hehehe."

Havva set the file down and leaned back, arms crossed. "Alright. What's the plan? We can't just waltz into a high-security lab and take him out."

Kian flipped to the next page, where details of Joseph's routine were laid out in precise, time-stamped notes. "He has a pattern. Same route every day. Security is tight, but there's a window when he leaves the facility." He tapped a line in the file. "The organization wants him taken care of quietly. No noise, no spectacle."

Marhavva snorted. "They're no fun."

Havva ignored him. "We need to know why he's a target before we act. If this guy is as important as he looks, killing him without knowing the full story could backfire on us."

Kian nodded. "Agreed. We'll track him first. See what he's really up to." He looked at both of them. "No mistakes this time."

Marhavva stretched. "Fine, fine. But if we're doing recon first, I get to do the tailing. You two can play your detective game from behind."

Havva sighed. "Just don't make a scene."

Marhavva smirked. "Can't promise that."

Kian closed the file. "We move at dawn."

The room fell silent, the weight of their next mission pressing down on them. One wrong move, and they could be next on the organization's list.

But they weren't just assassins.

They were survivors.

And survivors always knew how to play the game.

The morning air was crisp as Kian stepped out of the hideout, pulling his hood over his head. The city was waking up, neon signs dimming against the creeping daylight, and the streets buzzed with early commuters. But none of that mattered. His eyes were locked on a single target.

Dr. Joseph paul.

Marhavva had taken position earlier, blending in with the morning crowd near the research facility's entrance. He leaned against a newspaper stand, the edge of a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. His sharp eyes flickered between the workers filing into the building.

"Target's inside," he murmured through the earpiece. "No security escort today. Guess he's feeling bold."

Havva's voice crackled in. "I'm positioned at the north exit. If he tries anything suspicious, I'll see it."

Kian, stationed in an alley across the street, kept his hands in his pockets. "We wait. He leaves the lab at precisely 9:30. Stick to the plan."

Minutes passed.

Then, right on time, Dr. Joseph Paul stepped out.

He looked… normal. Just another man in a gray suit, carrying a leather briefcase. He adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

But Kian knew better.

People like paul didn't get marked for death without a reason.

"Marhavva, take the tail," Kian ordered.

Marhavva flicked his cigarette away and adjusted his collar, slipping into the stream of pedestrians. He followed the scientist from a safe distance, moving with practiced ease.

The streets weaved into narrower paths, and paul seemed cautious—his pace shifting subtly, shoulders stiffening. He knew.

"He's onto us," Havva muttered.

Then, without warning, Paul veered into a dimly lit side alley.

Marhavva hesitated for a split second before following.

Bad idea.

The moment he stepped in, the sound of a suppressed gunshot cut through the air.

Kian's heart clenched.

"Marhavva—?!"

Silence.

Then, static crackled. A low chuckle came through the earpiece.

A voice they didn't recognize.

"You assassins really don't know when to quit, do you?"

Kian didn't hesitate. He was already moving, cutting through the alleyways, Havva close behind.

When they reached the alley, paul was gone.

And Marhavva was on his knees, blood trickling down his temple.

But he was alive.

Havva rushed to him, checking the wound. "Marhavva! You're bleeding!"

Marhavva winked at her "wanna know something?"

Kian clenched his fists.

This wasn't just a hit anymore.

It was a trap.

And someone out there was already one step ahead of them.