The city never slept.
It flickered.
From the rooftop, Marcus Kane watched the lights pulse across the skyline like a dying signal—cold, uneven, restless. Somewhere below, engines hummed, voices blurred, and life carried on, unaware of what was about to be removed from it.
He adjusted the scope.
Third floor. East wing. Curtains half-drawn.
Target confirmed.
Marcus didn't blink.
"Eagle-One, this is Control. Status."
The voice in his ear was calm. Too calm. Filtered through layers of encryption and distance until it barely sounded human.
"Visual established," Marcus whispered. "No deviation."
A pause.
Then: "Execute."
Simple.
Always simple.
Marcus exhaled slowly, steadying the rifle against his shoulder. Wind speed—minimal. Distance—clean. No external interference. The kind of shot trainees dreamed about.
Too perfect.
His finger rested on the trigger.
Inside the room, the target moved.
A man in his late fifties. No visible security. No panic. Just… pacing. Like he knew something was coming but had already accepted it.
Marcus narrowed his eyes.
"Confirm no secondary presence," he said.
"Confirmed," Control replied instantly. "You are clear."
Of course he was.
He always was.
The crosshair settled over the man's chest.
Center mass.
One shot.
End of story.
Marcus tightened his grip—
Then the man stopped moving.
Slowly… deliberately… he turned toward the window.
Toward Marcus.
Impossible.
Their eyes met through layers of glass, distance, and darkness.
The man didn't run.
Didn't shout.
Didn't even flinch.
He just… smiled.
Marcus froze.
"Take the shot," Control said, sharper this time.
Still Marcus didn't move.
Something was wrong.
The man stepped closer to the window, raising a hand—not in defense, but almost… in acknowledgment.
Like he'd been expecting him.
"Eagle-One, execute immediately."
Marcus's heartbeat slowed instead of rising.
That was the first sign.
The second was the way the man's lips moved.
Not random.
Not panic.
Words.
Marcus adjusted the scope slightly, zooming tighter.
Reading.
Three words.
"You don't know."
Marcus's finger twitched.
A flicker of hesitation—barely a second.
But in his world, a second was everything.
"TAKE THE SHOT."
The command cut through his earpiece like a blade.
Training took over.
Emotion shut down.
Marcus fired.
The suppressed rifle coughed once.
Clean.
Precise.
The man dropped instantly, collapsing out of sight.
Silence returned.
Cold. Empty. Final.
Marcus stayed on the scope for three more seconds.
Standard protocol.
No movement.
No surprises.
No second chances.
"Target eliminated," he said.
Control didn't respond immediately.
Then:
"Confirmed. Exfil."
Marcus moved fast.
The rifle broke apart in his hands—piece by piece, muscle memory guiding every motion. Within seconds, it was packed away, invisible, nonexistent.
Just like him.
He slipped off the rooftop and into the stairwell, descending without sound. Three floors down, a maintenance door led to an alley already swallowed by darkness.
A black van idled at the curb.
Right on time.
Marcus stepped in without a word.
The door slid shut.
The city kept moving.
Untouched.
Unaware.
Ten minutes later, they were gone.
No witnesses.
No trace.
No record.
Just another operation completed by a unit that officially did not exist.
Marcus leaned back, eyes forward.
Mission successful.
Clean.
Efficient.
Perfect.
So why couldn't he shake the feeling that something had just gone wrong?
The man's face flashed in his mind.
That smile.
Those words.
You don't know.
Marcus clenched his jaw.
"Driver," he said quietly.
No response.
Marcus frowned slightly.
"Driver."
Still nothing.
Slowly… carefully… Marcus reached forward and turned the rearview mirror.
The driver's eyes met his.
Cold.
Unfamiliar.
Not Echelon-9.
And then—
The man smiled.