Chapter 30: who are you?
Mia didn't realize she'd stopped breathing.
She sat on the edge of the bed. Hands gripping the blanket. Shoulders stiff. Back straight.
The room was too quiet.
The kind of quiet where you hear your own heartbeat and it doesn't feel like enough sound.
The mark on her wrist pulsed.
Not burning. Not spreading. Just… there.
Like it was aware of her. Like it was waiting.
Her phone lay by her pillow. Screen black.
No calls. No messages. No explanations.
But something had changed.
She didn't know what.
She just knew it had.
"…Evan?"
Her voice was small.
The door clicked.
She didn't look up.
She didn't need to.
He always entered quietly. Like noise obeyed him.
Evan stepped inside and closed the door with careful fingers. Black clothes. Calm steps. No hurry. No drama. Just presence.
Mia lifted her eyes.
Same face. Same quiet. Same unreadable control.
But the air around him felt heavier.
Like he had gone somewhere that didn't come back clean.
"You're back," she said.
"Yes."
He crossed the room. Not slow. Not rushed. Just direct. He stopped beside her bed and looked at her wrist.
The mark pulsed once, as if it noticed him.
"How bad?" he asked.
"It stopped spreading," she whispered. "Tonight."
He nodded.
No surprise. No shock.
He already knew.
"You did something," she said.
Not a question.
His silence answered anyway.
"You're safe," Evan said.
Simple. Flat. Absolute.
Mia laughed once under her breath.
Not amused. Just shaky.
"Everyone keeps saying that. I don't feel it."
He didn't blink.
"You are safe."
He said it like it was a rule, not comfort.
She stared at the mark.
"From what?"
He sat beside her. Not touching. Close enough she felt his warmth.
"The organization," he said.
Her throat tightened.
"The one that marked me?"
"Yes."
"And?" she asked.
"They understand," he said quietly, "what happens if they try again."
She stared at him.
"You talked to them?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The way he breathed said enough.
Her voice softened. "Evan… what did you do?"
"I corrected them."
That word landed wrong.
Cold. Precise. Final.
Mia looked at his hands.
Steady. Calm. No cuts. No blood.
Her gaze fell back to the mark.
"Is it gone?"
"No."
Her chest squeezed. "Then why does it feel different?"
"Because it is," he said.
He leaned slightly closer. His eyes studied the red lines like a map only he could read.
"They tried to track you," he said. "They can't. Not anymore. Not without me knowing first."
She blinked. "How did you—?"
He shook his head.
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," she said.
He paused. Then spoke simply.
"I told them," he said, "you aren't leverage. You're off-limits."
Her heart stumbled.
"That doesn't work like that," she whispered.
"They're powerful."
"They agreed," Evan replied.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't argue.
He just stated reality.
Mia stared at him.
"Why?" she asked.
He looked at her for a long second.
Then he said what mattered.
"Because it's you."
Silence filled the room.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Alive.
She swallowed. "You scare me sometimes."
He nodded.
"I know."
No apology. No excuse.
Just truth.
She shifted closer without thinking.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
"Evan… I need to ask something."
He didn't move.
"Yes."
Her voice was barely more than breath. "Who are you really?"
He watched her.
Not offended. Not surprised.
Just listening.
"I mean… you move like nothing can touch you," she whispered. "You walk into things no one comes back from. You say a few words and entire groups change their minds. You act like rules bend when you speak them."
Her breathing quickened.
Images crowded in.
Concrete cracking beneath his hands.
Blood stopping because he decided it should.
People twice his size folding like paper.
"And you're strong enough to—" she paused, searching for words, "—to break stone… crush concrete… stop people who should be unstoppable. You don't get hurt. You don't panic. You don't even look… human sometimes."
She laughed weakly, then swallowed it.
The mark pulsed again beneath her fingers.
"Evan… what are you? How can you do all of this? How are you—how are you so calm when everything is dangerous? How do you walk away from things nobody survives? Who are you really? I don't mean your name, I mean—"
She didn't finish.
Her lashes dipped.
Her body loosened.
Sleep rolled over her in a soft wave, sudden and gentle, like warm water pulling her under.
She blinked once, confused.
"You… did you…?"
His voice brushed the air, low and calm.
"Rest."
She tried to protest.
"I'm not—"
She was.
Her eyes closed mid-word.
Her breathing evened. Her hand slipped open against the blanket. The tension drained from her shoulders. The mark dimmed to a quiet, watchful red.
A tiny furrow left her forehead.
Fear unwound.
He adjusted the blanket around her.
His hand hovered above her hair.
He didn't touch.
He looked at her like she was something fragile and unbreakable at the same time.
He exhaled once, silently.
Not relief.
Decision.
His phone buzzed once.
He didn't check it.
He already knew.
Someone testing boundaries. Someone escalating.
Someone who hadn't understood the first warning.
He looked at Mia's wrist.
The mark pulsed slowly.
Calm. Contained. Watching.
He spoke so softly the room barely heard.
"They will come again."
He added:
"So will I."
Elsewhere, systems updated.
Files rewritten.
Names moved.
New rules. New restrictions. New fear.
Do not engage target "Mia". Do not test boundary without clearance. Risk variable: Assassin X.
Collateral projection: unacceptable.
Recommended action: avoidance.
Someone in a dark office stared at a screen and whispered:
"He changed the board without touching it."
Silence answered.
Not agreement.
Recognition.
Evan stepped out of her room.
Paused.
Listened to her breathing.
Then walked down the hallway like nothing in the world could hurry him.
Night continued.
The house settled.
Shadows stretched.
Cars passed outside and did not matter.
As Mia slept.
The mark was calm.
It simply waited.
Far below the city, escalations began moving.
Not toward Mia.
Toward him.
Routes were redrawn. Orders rewritten. Fear renamed as strategy.
in a room full of glass and whispers,The lights in the operations hall dimmed.
Monitors flickered. Dozens of profiles vanished until only one codename remained on the screen.
ASSASSIN X.
No one breathed for a moment.
A man in a black suit placed his palm on the authorization panel. The machine chimed once.
"Classification: uncontrollable variable," he said. "Threat level—unmeasurable."
Chairs shifted. Papers were gathered. No one spoke the real name.
Only the title.
"Read the directive," the woman at the head of the table said.
The officer stood and opened the red file.
"Effective immediately," he read slowly,
"Assassin X is no longer to be contained… he is to be eliminated."
A murmur broke the silence.
"Confirm it," someone whispered. "This isn't a restraint order?"
"No," the woman replied. "This is a death order."
He hesitated only once, then stamped the page.
Orders transmitted. Units awakened. Satellites realigned.
"Priority target," the commander said.
"Assassin X."
He looked at the screen and spoke the final line.
"Hunt him down."