The transition from the rooftop of the Mall to the safety of the safe house felt like moving between two entirely different dimensions.
Mo Chou had barely had enough time to peel away the layers of the "Old Granny" disguise before the helicopter carrying her parents landed on the private airfield.
She had swapped her tattered clothes for a pair of oversized, pale pink sweats that made her look exactly like the "spoiled princess" the world expected her to be.
Reaper stood beside her, he still had his tactical gear on, his knuckles were bruised, and his expression was a mask of cold professionalism. However, if one looked closely at his eyes, they would see a flicker of uncharacteristic anxiety.
He was a man who had survived a thousand death matches, but the prospect of a family meeting was making his hands go numb.
"They're coming," Reaper muttered, his voice dropping. "Little one, what am I supposed to say?"
