The metallic tang in the air stung her nose, anchoring her. She hissed under her breath as the gauze scraped over tender skin, but continued working with clinical efficiency.
Pain was familiar. Controllable.
When the bandages were tight, she went down to the ground and began her routine—push-ups, crunches, stretches. The rhythmic motion calmed her mind, drove Echo's words from her brain. Nearly.
The buzzing of her phone on the metal surface broke the silence. Ryu rose, wiping sweat from her brow, and answered it.
The flashing name across the cracked screen hesitated her.
Gera.
She spoke loosely into the phone.
"Finally," said the smooth, cool voice. "You took your time."
Ryu rested against the wall, lips compressing. "Didn't know I was on your clock."
A dry chuckle.
"Everyone's on my clock. Listen.
As you might have got information from Echo about the movement in ZULU. One of ours is double-playing…. feeding information to the HETANS. Boss wants it contained before it turns into a bloodbath."
"Names?" Ryu asked.
"Five suspects. But two are worth watching. Mike is the priority."
Rustle of paper, like the tap of her eyes, is scanning notes.
"The others will fall to other eyes. Yours is sharper."
Ryu raised an eyebrow, though his jaw clenched.
"Flattery. Didn't think so."
"Don't confuse efficiency with flattery," Gera said dryly. "You'll be wherever I put you. And you'll keep pace."
The space between them hummed. Gera never barked orders; they slid in like knives beneath skin.
"Sure," Ryu said. "Don't get upset when I do it quicker than you set out."
There was a moment of silence, and then a parched laugh. "You wish." And the line was dead.
Ryu glared at the screen. Just like Gera to drop the call when she had the upper hand.
The following day, Ryu wore her hood low as she walked past the police station. She hadn't intended to glance up, hadn't intended to slacken her pace, but her gaze fell on a familiar face behind the glass doors.
Kevin.
He stood with three of the officers, his conversation relaxed, professional. His uniform no longer hugged him in those tight ways. They were clean lines, steady shoulders.
Ryu's chest constricted.
She didn't enter. Just stood there, then continued, her boots hitting the sidewalk harder than they should.
What is he doing here? The question seared itself into her brain.
______________________________________
The weeks ran into weeks.
Monitoring schedules. Logging routes. Whispering progress into the phone at night. Gera's curt responses always asked for more.
But Kevin? Nothing. Not a sighting.
The emptiness ate away at her.
So, at last, one day, she marched right into the police station.
Head down, shoulders set, playing the civilian role.
The desk officer glanced up. "Yes? May I assist you?"
"I need to make a complaint," she said steadily, producing a piece of paper from her pocket…. her cover notes.
They questioned her, typed information, and nodded curtly. She provided them with just enough to make it credible, her gaze roving everywhere but the corridors, the side offices, every uniform-clad face that walked by.
But him.
Not once did Kevin show up.
By the time she signed her own name and walked back out onto the sidewalk, her anger had honed itself to something close to fury.
Why isn't he here?
A few days had passed by, as she was calling Gera over the phone, memorizing Mike's meetings for the day. Leaning against the edge of a building, her eyes half on the notes, half on the street.
And then… there.
Kevin.
Walking down the steps of the police station, phone against his ear. Sun catching on his profile, strong and steady, as if everything was the same as the last time they'd last talked all those years ago.
Her pulse kicked. Without thinking, she cut Gera mid-sentence. "I'm done here. Talk later."
"Wait—" Gera's voice was sharp, but Ryu ended the call and shoved the phone into her pocket.
She crossed the street quickly, maybe too quickly, as Kevin looked up as her shadow fell across him.
He pauses on the steps, eyes flickering towards her
"Ryu?" His brows furrowed. "Do you… Did something happen?"
She loathed the constriction in her throat. Loathed that she'd arrived so suddenly, unprepared.
"What were you doing inside?" she demanded, harder than she meant to.
Kevin blinked. "Inside … the station? I—why?"
His confusion was true, but only served to tighten her chest.
"Never mind." She breathed out through her nose, willing herself to be calm.
"Give me your number. I'll. Get in touch.
He paused, then spoke the numbers aloud slowly. She punched them in, saved. When she glanced back up, his look was still questioning, worried.
So, she stuck her hands into her pockets and walked away, throwing over her shoulder,
"Don't read into it. It's nothing."
It wasn't until she was a block down that the heat crept up the back of her neck. Smooth, Ryu. Real smooth.
By the time she hit the end of the street, Ryu's chest was burning with annoyance. She slipped down a thin alley, out of sight, and pressed back against the wall.
Brilliant. Just brilliant, Ryu.
You barge across the street, half yell a question.
Ask for his number. Like a lovesick teenager.
Absolutely strategic. Real assassin tactics.
And of course, you follow it with a graceful, silent retreat. Genius.
Her mind was heavy with sarcasm. She drew a hand across her face, groaning.
Should've kept my damn lips closed.
But then the recollection played again, the way Kevin's brows had furrowed, his tone tinged with worry. Not disgust. Not rejection.
Her mouth compressed into a line. …He didn't turn away.
For a long moment, she simply stood there, her hand poised near her pocket. The phone weighed more than steel, the numbers in it more than that.
She breathed out, low and ragged. Then, almost despite herself, the words escaped, a whisper she instantly regretted:
"…At least I have it now."
Her lips barely moved, but the weight lifted slightly from her chest. A spark she hadn't expected, almost alien in its warmth.
The sound was eaten by the alley, lost in the traffic sounds. Ryu shoved off the wall, jaw clenching.
Pathetic, she told herself, picking up her pace. Pathetic… but perhaps necessary.
Her stride was faster, every step a reminder to herself: Think about Mike. Think about the mission. I think in a hurry, I cut the call urgently, I didn't even hear what she said… I am dead!
But deep down, the spark of relief refused to smoulder away.