In essence, the day didn't feel much different from the ones I spent shadowing Clyde.
I followed Kogon like a second shadow, checked every location we entered, and waited off to the side with the other bodyguards while he handled business.
Routine.
Familiar.
Almost—
comfortable.
Two hours passed before we arrived at a restaurant. Some kind of meeting. Partner, investor—I hadn't paid much attention. Just him talking, me watching, the driver pretending not to hear anything.
I'd expected him to bring it up again.
The offer.
The transfer.
But he hadn't mentioned it once.
Not even hinted.
Which somehow made it worse.
Maybe he wanted me to relax.
Lower my guard.
"Good to see you, Maurice," Kogon said warmly as we stepped inside.
I moved behind him, then shifted back as he took his seat across from the man waiting for him.
Young.
Too young.
Not older than thirty.
And… striking.
Pale hair—almost white, smooth and straight, falling neatly along both sides of his face. Brows and lashes just a shade darker. Eyes—
blue.
Cold.
Endless.
When our gazes met—
I didn't look away.
Couldn't.
It felt like falling into something without a bottom.
Like staring into open space.
He noticed.
Smiled.
Something in that smile—
felt wrong.
I tore my gaze away.
My heart was pounding.
Fast.
Uneven.
Familiar—
but I couldn't place why.
"So," the man said lightly, "you decided to play this year?"
"Too bad you missed the matches," Kogon replied. "There are some very interesting specimens this time."
"Timing," Maurice said. "I had to leave. And those things require full attendance."
"Unfortunate."
A brief pause.
"Alan," Kogon said, "give Mr. Winslow the envelope."
I stepped forward, head lowered, and handed it over.
"Is this everything?" Maurice asked.
"Everything I could gather."
His fingers brushed mine.
Cold.
Not cool.
Not normal.
Cold.
I flinched before I could stop myself and stepped back immediately.
No bodyguard.
That stood out.
Wrong.
I scanned the room again.
No obvious protection.
But—
there.
Movement.
Patterns.
People who didn't belong.
My focus snapped into place.
So this was it.
The test.
The moment that thought settled—
a waiter approached.
I moved before anyone else even reacted.
Three steps.
A twist.
The painted knife never got close.
The man hit the floor, unconscious.
"Oh, not bad," Kogon said, already turning back to Maurice.
Too calm.
Way too calm.
The restaurant was full.
Too many civilians.
I hadn't expected it here.
Mistake.
One attacker?
No.
Three.
Four—
Five—
Six.
Damn it.
More?
To everyone else—
nothing had changed.
To me—
everything had.
They were closing in.
I stepped closer to Kogon and gripped his arm.
A signal.
Danger.
A blade flashed.
I drew one of my short knives and knocked it aside—
inches from his head.
No reaction from him.
Of course.
The next three—
those people noticed.
Panic spread.
Voices rising.
Chairs scraping.
I couldn't use my power here.
Too many witnesses.
So—
adapt.
Knife.
Metal tray.
Whatever worked.
One blade struck Maurice.
A bright red smear across his forehead.
I didn't even look twice.
Not my target.
Not my responsibility.
The room broke.
Screams.
Movement.
No more pretending.
They rushed in.
Close range.
I shrugged off my jacket.
Moved.
Fast.
Precise.
No wasted motion.
My handgun—loaded with paint rounds.
The moment the crowd tipped into chaos—
I fired.
One shot.
Forehead.
Down.
Another lunged—
I pivoted, drove the tray into his ribs, finished him with a second shot.
"Mr. Blocking," I said sharply, knocking another attacker aside, "it's getting dangerous. We need to move."
"Maurice," Kogon said calmly, rising, "shall we go? I doubt our food will be arriving."
Getting him out—
was the hardest part.
Angles.
Blind spots.
Distance.
Everything mattered.
Taisha's training—
every brutal repetition—
clicked into place.
Step by step.
We pushed through.
Outside.
Car.
Door open.
I shoved Kogon inside.
Closed it.
And finally—
I could breathe.
Now—
no more holding back.
No more worrying about stray hits.
Just distance.
Just control.
Protecting someone—
was harder than surviving.
Much harder.
Now I only had to keep them away from the car.
That changed everything.
I moved faster.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
One by one—
they went down.
When the path cleared, I jumped into the passenger seat.
"Go!"
The car surged forward.
First engagement—done.
I glanced back.
Kogon.
Unharmed.
Good.
"Well done," he said with a satisfied smile. "Not a scratch on me."
"I, on the other hand, am dead," Maurice said calmly, wiping at the paint on his face.
"Pointless," Kogon chuckled. "You know it won't come off without the solution. We'll head back—you can clean up there. Or stay. Watch tomorrow."
"…I think I will," Maurice said slowly.
His gaze shifted to me again.
Different now.
Sharper.
Focused.
"What did you say his name was?"
"That's Alan Holivan," Kogon said.
Those eyes locked onto me again.
Deeper.
Colder.
"Alan Holivan…" Maurice murmured. "Didn't recognize him. The photos don't do him justice."
"Oh, he's interesting," Kogon said lightly. "You should've seen him the first two days. What he did today? Barely worth mentioning."
"Holivan…" Maurice echoed softly.
A faint smile.
"I think I'll take you up on that offer. Let's stop by my place first."
"Scott," Kogon said, "Mr. Winslow's residence."
"You know the address."
"Yes, sir."
The route changed.
I leaned back slightly.
One test down.
But the feeling wouldn't leave.
This wasn't over.
Not even close.