Zavian's POV:

Her eyes. God, her eyes.

I squeezed my own shut, pressing the heels of my hands against them, but it didn't help. The image was burned into my mind—wide, glistening, broken.

She had cried. Of course she had cried.

A sharp breath left my lips as I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the strands at the roots. What the hell have I done?

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, my head hanging low. The room felt too small, too suffocating. The walls closing in, pressing against my ribs.

I didn't mean for it to go that far. I didn't mean to look at her like that. Speak to her like that. Make her afraid of me.

Fear. That was what I saw last night. A flicker of hesitation, a step backward—away from me. From me.

I exhaled shakily, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.

She left without a word this morning. Didn't even look at me.

And I let her go.

Because what right did I have to stop her?

Before I could spiral any further, my phone vibrated against the table. I exhaled sharply, running a hand down my face before picking it up, pressing it to my ear without a word.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Reaper?"

A familiar voice. Clipped. Measured.

I didn't reply immediately, just tilted my head back, waiting.

"25. Low."

Two words. That was all. But my grip on the phone tightened, my spine straightening. My eyes darkened.

A slow inhale. A calculated pause.

"Wrong number," I murmured, my voice impassive. Then I ended the call.

No risks. Not now. Not when I could feel the weight of unseen eyes pressing in.

_

I pushed myself up, muscles stiff with frustration. The weight in my chest only grew heavier as I made my way to our room.

The door creaked slightly as I stepped inside, my gaze instinctively flickering toward the bed. Sheets untouched. Pillows unmoved.

She hadn't slept here.

A sharp breath left me, my jaw clenching. Fuck.

I raked a hand through my hair, shaking my head. This wasn't the time to dwell. I had other things to take care of.

I crossed the room in quick strides, yanking open the closet. My fingers found the familiar weight of black fabric—Reaper—the only identity that mattered tonight.

Silent. Unseen.

I changed swiftly, rolling my sleeves up before grabbing my car keys. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

As I stepped outside, the sun hit me like a damn slap—too bright, too harsh, too contrasting to the shadows I was about to disappear into.

But that was the thing about daylight.

It never saw the monsters moving within it.

_

I drove in silence, the city blurring past me, my grip firm on the wheel. The address sent to me burned in my mind—a location meant to be forgotten once the job was done.

As I neared my destination, I reached for my phone, slipping out the SIM card. Without a second thought, I brought it between my teeth, biting down until it cracked. The sharp snap echoed in the quiet car. Disposable. Like everything in this world.

I flicked the broken pieces out the window and pulled into a darkened alley. The street was deserted, just as expected. I killed the engine, pocketed my keys, and reached under my jacket.

The familiar weight of my gun rested in my grip. I slid the magazine out, checking the rounds. Fully loaded. One smooth motion and it clicked back into place.

I stepped out, the air crisp and still. My boots made no sound as I moved toward the entrance.

The door was slightly ajar. A mistake.

Or a trap.

Either way, it didn't matter.

I pushed it open and stepped inside, my gun raised.

I melted into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness. Stealth was my weapon, silence my companion. If this was a trap, they were fools for thinking they could outplay me.

I pressed the small button in my ear, a quiet crackle meeting my ears before the steady sound of breathing. Waiting. Watching.

"Present?" The voice was low, familiar.

I gave a slow hum in response.

"Left aisle. Basement." No hesitation. No unnecessary words.

I moved without a sound, slipping through the dimly lit corridor like a ghost. Two men stood near the basement entrance, their postures lax. They had no idea they were already dead.

"Now." The command was quiet, final.

I pulled the trigger twice. The muffled shots barely whispered through the air before the bodies slumped to the ground.

I didn't stop to admire my work. I was already moving, my steps silent as I descended into the basement.

They weren't expecting me until nightfall. A fatal miscalculation.

Who told them the Reaper only strikes after dark?

I stepped into the basement, my movements as silent as death itself. No one in sight, but that meant nothing.

My eyes flickered around, scanning the space. Cameras. Tch. Poor fools. Did they really think they could catch the Reaper?

A smirk tugged at my lips as I slid deeper into the shadows, a phantom among the blind. My fingers ghosted over my second gun, loading it with a practiced flick. I pulled my cap lower, masking my eyes from their feeble watch.

Light seeped through a narrow opening from the corner of the room. 25. I moved with the patience of a predator, peering inside. Empty. Just as expected.

I slipped between the towering cartons, blending into the dark.

"Right door... Expected," the voice crackled in my ear.

My gaze flickered between the right and left doors. They wanted me to take the right?

Good. I'd take it.

Just as I reached for the handle, the power cut out.

A slow smirk spread across my lips.

Perfect.

With a single, sharp kick, the door burst open. The moment I crossed the threshold, my fingers squeezed the triggers.

Fifteen men. Ten seconds.

Bodies hit the floor before they could even process their own deaths. My movements were fluid, precise. A storm of quiet carnage.

The stench of blood thickened in the air.

Then, a sound.

A sharp, broken sob.

My gaze flickered to the trembling girl curled on the floor, her body wrapped in shredded fabric, hands clutching desperately at what little remained of her dignity.

Her whole frame shook as she cried, eyes darting in terror.

My smirk faded.

My grip on my gun tightened.

They would have suffered longer... had I known.

The girl flinched when I stepped closer. Wide, tear-streaked eyes locked onto me, filled with fear so raw it made my jaw clench.

"You're safe," I murmured, voice low, but even that made her recoil.

Not surprising. She had no reason to believe me.

I exhaled sharply and tapped the earpiece. "Status."

"Twenty-four others, caged in the storage room. Four guards. You want them breathing?"

My eyes darkened. "No."

"Copy."

A second later, muffled shots echoed through the earpiece. Clean. Efficient.

I crouched, slipping off my jacket and draping it over the girl's shaking shoulders. She whimpered but didn't resist.

"Can you walk?" I asked.

She hesitated before nodding.

"Good. Stay close."

I straightened, stepping over the bodies without a second glance. With a flick of my wrist, I secured my gun at my hip and reached for my knife instead. I wouldn't need bullets for the next part.

The corridor was darker now, the emergency lighting flickering weakly. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and something worse.

I reached the storage room and pressed a gloved hand to the metal door. Locked. Tch.

A single kick sent it flying off its hinges.

A chorus of gasps filled the air.

Twenty-four pairs of eyes turned to me. Some hopeful. Some wary. Most—utterly broken. And one disgusting, surprised gaze. Yes, Go to Hell. I moved and in one swift knife motion he was down. Pathetic.

"You're free," I said, stepping inside, ignoring the gurgling sounds coming from the man.

No one moved.

They didn't believe me.

I sighed and tapped my earpiece again. "Extract now."

A sharp confirmation from my team. The plan was already in motion.

A soft tug at my sleeve made me glance down.

The first girl. The one I found. She was trembling but holding onto my jacket tightly.

"Who... are you?" she whispered.

I tilted my head, studying her. Then, I leaned down slightly, voice a whisper against the thick air.

"A ghost."

And with that, I led them out of hell.

_

I discarded the earpiece in one alley, my cap in another. Every trace of the Reaper erased in seconds. The car I arrived in? Abandoned. I switched to another, slipping into the driver's seat like a ghost fading into the night.

I had to head home. Home? I almost laughed. What a joke.

It was nearly 10 p.m. I should have been heading back. Should have been walking through that door, acting like a normal husband, pretending I hadn't just left twenty-five shattered lives behind.

But I wasn't done.

Not yet.

First, I had to make sure the girls were in safe hands. I had to watch, from the shadows, as they were taken somewhere beyond the reach of monsters.

And then—then, I had to ensure that I was safe.

Getting caught wasn't in the plan. Not tonight. Not ever.

Not until I ripped apart the filth behind this.

These girls... they weren't just numbers in a sick business. They were from my country. My people. Stolen. Sold. Used like nothing more than currency.

I clenched the wheel, my knuckles turning white.

Not anymore.

_

I drove in silence, my mind running through the night's events. The scent of blood still clung to me, the phantom screams of those bastards echoing in my ears. I flexed my fingers, the familiar numbness settling in.

The girls had been taken to safety. I made sure of it. Watched from the shadows as they were loaded into secure vehicles, driven away by people I trusted. Their trembling forms, their tear-streaked faces—those would stay with me. But they were alive. That was enough.

For now.

I took a different route back, making sure I wasn't followed. My movements were calculated, precise. By the time I pulled into the driveway, I had switched cars twice, changed my jacket, and rid myself of any trace of the night's work.

I stepped out, exhaling slowly.

The house was dark, save for the dim glow in the living room. She was awake.

I hesitated for a second, my fingers tightening around the car keys. I had barely seen her these past few weeks. And after last night... after what I said...

I sighed, shoving the thoughts away and pushing the door open.

She was curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her legs, a book resting in her lap. But she wasn't reading. She was staring at the pages, lost in thought

Her head lifted at the sound of the door clicking shut. Her eyes met mine.

God, those eyes.

Dark, deep pools of emotion. Of hurt. Of something I couldn't face right now.

I forced a smirk, stepping inside. "Still awake, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?"

She didn't smile. Didn't tease.

Instead, she closed the book, placing it aside carefully. "Where were you?"

A simple question. But her voice—soft, careful—cut deeper than I expected.

I shrugged off my jacket, avoiding her gaze. "Work."

Silence stretched between us.

She sighed, standing up. "You smell like smoke."

I exhaled through my nose, rubbing a hand down my face. "I stopped for a cigarette." A lie. One of many.

She watched me for a moment, then nodded. "You should shower." Of course she knew I didn't smoke.

And with that, she walked past me, heading upstairs.

No argument. No accusations.

Just quiet acceptance.

That should have made things easier.

So why did it feel like I was losing her?

Of course, I was losing her.

That was the whole point, wasn't it, Zavian?

Push her away. Keep her safe. Make her hate me if I had to.

Yes. That was the plan. That was the only way. To keep her away from my mess.

But how did it feel?

Like it was fucking breaking me into pieces.

Like every step she took away from me chipped at something deep inside my chest. Like every unspoken word, every quiet glance, was another crack in a foundation I was desperately trying to hold together.

She didn't fight me tonight. Didn't demand answers. Didn't yell or cry or call me out on my lies.

She just... left.

Like she was finally accepting that there was nothing left to fight for.

And that—that shattered something inside me more than any bullet, more than any goddamn enemy ever could.

I sat in the dark, my fingers pressed against my temples, elbows resting on my knees. The weight of the silence around me was suffocating.

She was slipping away. And I was the one shoving her off the edge.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face, but it did nothing to erase the image burned into my mind—her blank expression, the way she looked right through me as if I were a stranger. As if I didn't exist.

Good. That's what you wanted.

Then why did my chest feel like it was caving in?

I reached into my pocket, pulling out my lighter, flicking it open, watching the flame dance and tremble. My hands clenched around it. My mind screamed at me to get up, to fix it, to do something—

But what?

I couldn't give her answers. Couldn't pull her into this darkness with me. She deserved better. A life untouched by blood, by secrets, by the monsters I hunted in the shadows.

And yet... I was the monster standing right in front of her.

My phone buzzed. A single message.

"Drop off the last shipment by midnight. No mistakes."

I stared at the screen, jaw tightening. No name. No number. Just orders.

I slammed the lighter shut. The flame vanished.

I stood up, rolling my shoulders, forcing myself to breathe, to push everything aside.

There was work to do.

And maybe, just maybe... if I kept moving, I wouldn't feel how hollow I was becoming.