When Evan stepped out of the rickety iron door, the room behind him went quiet.
Not peaceful.Just empty.
The blonde elite was still on his knees in the shallow puddles, palms flat against the floor, gagging as if his lungs had forgotten how air worked. His shoulders shook. His teeth chattered. Every attempt to stand ended with his legs folding back under him.
Power had left him.His body hadn't caught up yet.
Evan didn't look back.
He walked toward the edge of District 3, boots cutting through rainwater and oil-slicks. The downpour traced thin lines along his lashes, breaking the city into smeared neon and rusted shadows.
He checked his terminal.
The bounty had cleared. The numbers sat there, bright and obedient.
Too obedient.
The Rat was finished. The Bureau had seen him. Whatever file carried the word "Zero" had been pulled out of the archive and placed somewhere it didn't belong.
In Greyfog City, that never happened by accident.
"Hold it."
The voice came from above—calm, clipped, edged with steel.
Evan stopped.
Five meters spread out from him without thought, a silent pressure that swallowed the hiss of rain and the distant hum of generators.
A figure dropped from the ventilation pipe, landing without a splash.
A woman in a black tactical suit. No rifle. No visible augments. Just two long daggers crossed in her hands. Her eyes were completely white—no iris, no pupil—reflecting nothing.
"White Owl," Evan said.
Her head tilted slightly, like she was listening to something only she could hear. Her gaze never quite settled on him. It hovered, skirting the empty space around his body.
"Your broker's apartment is a mess," she said. "Bureau boys are breathing, but not much else. I'm curious what kind of toy does that."
"If you're here for the money," Evan said, "you're late."
Her mouth twitched.
Then she moved.
To anyone watching, she vanished—reappearing at Evan's side in a blur of rain and black fabric.
Three meters.
The moment she crossed the line, the white in her eyes dulled.
Whatever she had been seeing collapsed. Depth flattened. Motion lost its edges. The future—so loud a second ago—went dead silent.
Her step faltered.
"What—"
Her daggers missed. One scraped Evan's sleeve. The other cut nothing but rain.
Evan shifted once.
His hand closed around her wrist and drove it down. Her shoulder hit the wall hard enough to rattle the pipes.
Snap.
The sound was clean. Unmistakable.
White Owl's breath left her in a broken gasp. Her body locked, confusion turning sharp and animal as pain rushed in where certainty used to be.
"Your eyes don't work here," Evan said, close enough for her to smell wet concrete and iron on his breath.
Her knees gave out. He held her there, not gently, not cruelly—just enough to keep her from falling.
"What are you?" she whispered.
"A Zero," Evan said. "The kind you forgot to be afraid of."
He released her.
She slid down the wall and stayed there, clutching her arm, watching the space around him like it might swallow her whole if she looked away.
Evan walked off.
She waited until his footsteps were gone before fumbling for her communicator. Her fingers shook so badly she missed the button the first time.
"Target confirmed," she said, voice tight. "It's not equipment. It's not tech. Ability failure is absolute. Requesting escalation."
A pause.
"…Yes. Full protocol."
She cut the channel and sat there in the rain, staring at nothing.
Evan didn't hear any of it.
He was already thinking about food. Something hot. Something greasy. Somewhere with broken lights and a door that didn't ask questions.
The rain kept falling.
And for the first time in a long while, the night showed no sign of ending.