Chapter 21: Don't Touch What's Mine
The room is quiet.
Too quiet.
Mia's still close....close enough that I can feel her warmth, her breath steady against my shoulder. For half a second, I let myself stay there.
Then I hear it.
A sound that doesn't belong.
Not footsteps.
Not a knock.
A soft shift of weight near the window. Controlled. Careful.
Someone trained.
My focus snaps sharp.
Mia feels it immediately. "Evan?"
I stand slowly. No rush. No panic.
"Did you lock the door?" I ask.
"Yes." Her voice tightens. "Why?"
"Did you open the window earlier?"
"No."
Good.
I turn toward her and take her hand. "I need you to do exactly what I say."
Her fingers curl around mine. "What's happening?"
"Probably nothing," I say.
It's a lie—but a gentle one.
I guide her toward the bathroom. "Go in there. Don't turn on the light. Stay quiet."
She searches my face. "Evan...."
"I'll explain," I say calmly. "I promise."
She hesitates, then nods. "Okay."
I close the door most of the way and turn back to the room.
The air feels different now. Heavy. Charged.
"Come out," I say.
A man steps forward from the shadows near the window.
Tall. Broad. Built like he's never missed a meal or a fight, with a dangerous aura around him.
He's smiling.
"Relax," he says. "If we wanted noise, you'd already be bleeding."
I tilt my head slightly. "You're in the wrong room."
"Funny," he says. "We were told this was the right one."
Another shape moves.
Then another.
Three more men step out—silent, coordinated, lethal. Military posture. Mercenary confidence.
Professionals. Radiating thick killing intent
The leader rolls his shoulders. "You the boyfriend?"
"Yes," I say.
He nods once. "That's unfortunate."
"Leave," I tell him.
He chuckles. "You don't get to give orders."
"You're here for her?" I say.
He raises an eyebrow. "Smart."
"Which one sent you?" I ask.
"Doesn't matter," he replies. "Her old man stepped on the wrong deal. Someone wants leverage."
My jaw tightens.
"You don't touch her,"
"Can't do that. So here's the deal....I kill her, then I kill you. No loose ends."
They didn't just threaten her.
They signed their own death warrant.
The man near the window shifts his weight.
That's all the warning I need.
Before he finishes the motion, I'm already moving.
To them, it looks like I blink out.
One second I'm standing near the bed—
the next, I'm not there.
The first shot fires anyway.
The muzzle flash lights the room—
—and hits nothing.
I'm already behind him.
My hand clamps onto his shoulder. I twist.
Hard.
There's a wet crack as the joint gives out, bone grinding the wrong way. He screams and drops to his knees, weapon clattering uselessly to the floor.
I don't slow.
The second man raises his gun.
I step through the space between his breaths.
He pulls the trigger.
The bullet passes where my head was half a second ago.
I'm inside his reach now.
My elbow snaps into his forearm.
Bone snaps like dry wood.
He howls.
I grab his wrist, pivot, and drive him face-first into the wall. The impact rattles the room. He goes limp before he hits the floor.
"Shit—!" someone yells.
Two more guns come up.
They fire together.
The room erupts with sound.
I move.
Not fast—
gone.
Bullets tear through empty air, punching holes into the opposite wall. Glass explodes from the window behind me as I slip between trajectories, my body already predicting where the shots will land before their fingers finish pulling the triggers.
To them, I'm a blur. A shadow folding and unfolding across the room.
I reappear beside the third man.
He doesn't even see me.
My knee slams into the back of his leg.
The joint bends the wrong way.
He collapses with a scream.
I grab his head and slam it into the floor.
Once.
Enough.
The fourth tries to run.
Big mistake.
I catch him by the collar and spin, using his own momentum to launch him across the room. He crashes into the desk, wood splintering under the impact.
He groans.
Doesn't get back up.
The leader fires blindly now, panic creeping into his movements.
"You—what the hell are you—"
I step aside as another bullet passes through where my chest was.
Then I'm in front of him.
He freezes.
" too slow," I said coldly.
He swings the gun up—
I knock it aside and drive my palm into his sternum.
Hard.
His ribs cave inward with a crunch that echoes in the room. He gasps, choking, dropping to one knee.
I grab his arm and twist.
The shoulder dislocates.
He screams.
I twist again.
The elbow snaps backward.
He collapses completely now, clutching what's left of his arm, sobbing.
I crouch in front of him, calm, breathing steady.
"You came to kill her," I say.
He wheezes, blood at the corner of his mouth. "You're… a monster…"
I tilt my head. "No."
I stand and bring my foot down on his ankle.
Bone shatters.
He screams until his voice breaks.
"I'm the warning you should've listened to."
I straighten and scan the room.
No movement.
No threats.
Only bodies on the floor, broken and breathing.
I turn toward the bathroom.
"Mia," I say evenly. "You can come out."
The door opens slowly.
She steps out, eyes wide, face pale.
"What—what just happened?"
"Someone made a bad decision," I say.
She looks at the men on the floor. "They were here for me."
"Yes."
Her breath shakes. "Because of my dad?"
"Yes."
"You didn't get hurt," she whispers.
"No," I say.
She swallows. "Are they—"
"Alive," I say. "They'll wish they weren't."
She nods. No questions.
Her voice trembles. "They were shooting."
"Yes."
"And you just—" she stops, swallowing. "You moved like they couldn't even see you."
I take a step closer, careful now. Gentle.
She looks at me—really looks at me.
"You didn't even hesitate."
"I won't," I say. "Not when it's you."
Her breath catches. Not fear. Something deeper.
Her chest rises and falls fast. "Evan… who are you?"
I hold her gaze.
"Someone who won't let them touch you," I say.
Her hands shake.
I take them anyway.
She doesn't pull away.
Sirens echos faintly in the distance.
I squeeze her fingers. "We're leaving."
She nods, still staring at me like I've cracked reality open in front of her.
I take her coat from the chair and hand it to her. "We're leaving."
"Where?"
"Somewhere safer."
She hesitates. "Together?"
Her hand grips my sleeve like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
"Yes"
As we step into the hallway, my phone vibrates.
I already know.
Unknown: That was impressive, But you weren't supposed to interfere
I don't respond.
I slip the phone away and guide Mia forward.
Behind us, the men I left alive groan in pain.
Ahead of us...
war.
Unknown POV
The lights are low. Screens glow blue against glass walls. The city stretches below, distant and indifferent. Somewhere far away, sirens still echo—faint now. Cleaned up. Contained.
A man stands with his back to the room, hands folded behind him.
"Report," he says.They don't argue about what happened.
That part is already settled.
"He was too fast," someone says.
The room goes quiet.
Not disbelief—confirmation.
A man with a broken hand speaks next, voice tight. "I've fought professionals. Special forces. Enhanced units. This wasn't that."
He swallows.
"It was like he wasn't human."
The words hang there.
No one laughs.
"No human moves like that," another adds. "Not without hesitation. Not without loss of balance. He didn't even slow down."
A screen lights up.
Paused footage.
A blur between frames. One second empty air. The next—bodies dropping. A gun firing at nothing.
Frame advance.
Miss.
Frame advance.
Miss again.
Too fast for the camera to even capture
"He moved before we pulled the trigger," the mercenary says quietly. "Like he already knew."
The man at the head of the table folds his hands.
"And the casualties?"
"Total loss," comes the reply. "Broken necks. Shattered joints. Internal damage from strikes that shouldn't generate that much force."
A pause.
"He didn't fight," the mercenary adds. "He erased us."
That earns a slow nod.
"Run his background again," the man says. "Everything. Name, face, prints."
A technician hesitates. "We did."
"And?"
The screen changes.
A search field.
EVAN CARTER
Result: INVALID
Another attempt. Deeper system.
ACCESS DENIED
Red text this time.
A third attempt.
FILE CLASSIFIED — CLEARANCE INSUFFICIENT
The room stiffens.
"That's not possible," someone mutters. "Every civilian leaves a trail."
The technician shakes his head. "Not this one. It's like his file was… buried. Or scrubbed."
The man at the head of the table smiles.
Not amused.
Interested.
"So," he says calmly, "someone made sure he couldn't be found."
Silence answers him.
"He wasn't meant to be seen," the man continues. "And tonight, he chose to step out of the dark."
He stands, walking slowly toward the screen.
"Which means one thing."
They wait.
"He didn't protect her because he's emotional," he says. "He protected her because she matters to the mission."
A beat.
"And missions always have leverage."
Someone shifts uncomfortably. "If he's that fast… direct retaliation—"
"—would be suicide," the man finishes. "Yes."
He turns back to them.
"We don't hunt him."
A pause.
"We make him come to us."
The screen changes again.
A still image of Mia.
Smiling. Unaware.
"No more street muscle," the man says. "No more noise."
He lowers his voice.
"And no more underestimating something that moves faster than fear."
" I'll tell the Boss about this, he'll know how to handle this".
The lights dim.
Orders are issued.
Plans begin to shift.
And somewhere across the city, Evan still thinks this night is over—
not knowing he's just been classified as something far more dangerous than a man.