The warehouse smelled of rust, oil, and old rain.
Shalom Rivera stood just inside the entrance, her back pressed lightly against the cold concrete wall as she listened. Silence wasn't empty—it was layered. The faint drip of water from a broken pipe. The low hum of distant traffic. The barely perceptible shift of air that told her she was not alone.
Her fingers brushed the concealed weapon at her side, not drawing it yet.
Patience was everything.
"Viper," the voice in her earpiece murmured. "Thermal scan shows three heat signatures. Upper level."
"Copy," she whispered.
She moved forward, every step calculated. Her breathing was slow, controlled, almost detached. This version of Shalom did not hesitate. Did not doubt. Did not love.
She climbed the metal stairs, each step creaking softly beneath her weight. Halfway up, she paused, tilting her head slightly.
Someone was nervous.
She could sense it in the way one of the heat signatures shifted erratically, pacing back and forth. Amateurs, then—or men who weren't used to being hunted.
At the top level, she stopped again, crouching behind a stack of wooden crates. Voices drifted toward her.
"I'm telling you, something's wrong," a man whispered.
"You're paranoid," another replied. "No one knows we're here."
"That's what they all say."
Shalom closed her eyes briefly.
They always say that.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small device, placing it carefully on the floor. A faint click followed, then silence again.
Seconds passed.
Then—
The lights flickered.
Darkness swallowed the warehouse, followed by raised voices and hurried footsteps. Panic spread quickly. Shalom moved with it, slipping between shadows as if she belonged there.
Within moments, the mission was over.
No unnecessary noise. No witnesses. No traces.
By the time the lights returned, Shalom was gone.
Kevin Blackwood adjusted the cuff of his suit as he stepped out of the elevator and into the underground parking garage. The building above him housed offices, luxury apartments, and people who believed money could buy safety.
They were wrong.
A black sedan waited near the far wall, engine already running. The driver's door opened the moment Kevin approached.
"Sir," the man greeted respectfully.
Kevin slid into the backseat, loosening his tie as the car pulled out smoothly.
"Report," he said.
"The warehouse operation was successful," the driver replied. "Minimal resistance."
Kevin's gaze sharpened. "Who led it?"
A pause.
"Viper."
Something tightened in his chest.
He masked it instantly.
"Any complications?" Kevin asked evenly.
"No, sir. Clean execution. Just like always."
Kevin leaned back against the seat, staring out the tinted window as the city lights blurred past. He had never met Viper—not face to face. Only reports, patterns, efficiency records.
Clinical. Precise. Dangerous.
He respected her work.
He had no idea why that unsettled him.
By the time Shalom returned to her apartment, dawn was threatening the edges of the sky. She moved quietly, locking the door behind her and slipping out of her jacket. Her reflection stared back at her from the hallway mirror.
Calm face. Steady eyes.
But when she stepped into the bedroom, the mask cracked.
Kevin lay asleep on the bed, one arm thrown over the empty space beside him. His brow was slightly furrowed, as if even sleep couldn't fully free him from his thoughts.
Her heart softened painfully.
She crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed. For a moment, she simply watched him. This Kevin—the one who smiled at her, who listened, who held her like the world couldn't touch them—felt impossibly distant from the ruthless man she sometimes sensed beneath the surface.
She brushed her fingers lightly over his hair.
He stirred, eyes opening slowly. When he saw her, his expression relaxed.
"You're back," he murmured.
She nodded. "Did I wake you?"
"No." He reached for her hand, pulling her gently closer. "You're cold."
She hesitated only a second before lying down beside him. He wrapped an arm around her automatically, familiar and warm.
For a few seconds, she allowed herself to pretend.
"Kevin," she said softly.
"Mhm?"
"If one day you found out something about me… something big," she began carefully, "would you hate me?"
He went still.
"What kind of something?" he asked.
She swallowed. "Something that changes how you see me."
Kevin exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. "I think," he said, choosing his words, "that everyone has shadows. What matters is whether they choose to face them alone—or with someone."
Her chest tightened.
"I don't want us to ever become strangers," she whispered.
He turned to her then, his gaze intense. "You won't lose me," he said firmly. "No matter what."
She wanted to believe him.
But the Obsidian Circle didn't allow promises like that to survive.
Later that morning, Kevin stood inside a sleek conference room deep beneath the city. Twelve men and women sat around the long black table, their expressions cold, unreadable.
At the head of the table sat Victor Kane.
Leader. Judge. Executioner.
"The Circle has detected a weakness," Victor began, his voice calm but lethal. "An operative has compromised protocol."
Kevin's jaw tightened slightly. "Which operative?"
Victor's gaze flicked toward him briefly before returning to the others. "Multiple, potentially."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"We are not concerned with mistakes," Victor continued. "We are concerned with emotions."
Silence fell.
"Attachments create hesitation. Hesitation leads to exposure."
Kevin's hands curled slowly beneath the table.
"We will begin internal evaluations," Victor said. "Anyone found violating the Circle's code will be dealt with."
A screen behind him lit up, displaying a single sentence:
NO OPERATIVE IS ABOVE THE RULES.
Kevin felt it then.
A sense of unease he couldn't explain.
That same afternoon, Shalom received a message on a secure channel she rarely used.
OBSIDIAN CIRCLE: REPORT TO SAFEHOUSE SEVEN. IMMEDIATELY.
Her stomach dropped.
She glanced at Kevin, who was standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he made coffee.
"Everything okay?" he asked casually.
She forced a smile. "Yeah. Just… forgot I had somewhere to be."
He nodded. "I'll be here."
She hesitated at the door, turning back to look at him one last time.
So will I.
She just didn't know how long that would still be true.
Safehouse Seven was underground, windowless, and heavily guarded. Shalom stood alone in the center of the room as Victor Kane circled her slowly.
"You've been effective," he said. "Efficient. Loyal."
"Thank you," she replied.
"And yet," he continued, stopping in front of her, "you're distracted."
Her pulse quickened, but her face remained calm. "I don't understand."
Victor smiled faintly. "That's unfortunate."
He leaned closer. "The Circle is watching its own now. Be very careful, Viper."
She met his gaze without flinching. "I always am."
Victor straightened. "Good. Because the next phase will test everyone."
As she was dismissed, a single thought echoed in her mind.
They're closing in.
That night, Kevin stood once again on the balcony, staring out at the city. Inside, Shalom slept restlessly, unaware that the walls around them were tightening.
Two operatives.
One organization.
One forbidden love.
And the Obsidian Circle had begun to notice.