TTHE training lasted until about an hour before noon, and then the two of them left. The forest park was beginning to receive a few visitors due to an event scheduled for the afternoon. Inside the car, Maxin felt calm after a morning full of emotions — to say the least — while Nox drove in silence, lost in thought.
She had to stop the car before entering the road that led to Viktor's house, because something inside her felt off. Determined, her hands gripped the steering wheel, she clicked her tongue between her teeth, shook her head, and finally spoke:
"I'm sorry about earlier." Her guilty tone reached the boy, who had his head resting against the window. He turned to her, confused. "Sorry for scaring you. I won't lie and say I didn't mean to do it... but I'm sorry."
"Oh... that?"
Maxin scratched the back of his neck, thinking about changing the subject — maybe cracking a joke to ease the growing tension in the car — but the person in the driver's seat truly wanted to apologize.
It was the first time Nox had done that sincerely, and she had no idea how to act. She was struggling to find the right words — the only time she'd ever had to atone for her actions was when she was punished by the organization, and even then, she barely went through the motions. She stayed silent, her back covered in cuts and blood, and those wounds spoke louder than any words. They reinforced the idea that nothing mattered to her except the mission. She was a killing machine. Heartless. With one purpose: to eliminate the target.
But with Maxin, things were different. He pushed her out of her comfort zone and forced her to confront a reality unfamiliar to her — human nature. The kind that cares, that protects. It was a brutal contrast to how she was raised, in a world where nothing was more important than satisfying the instinct to kill and completing the mission. And the deadliest weapon for an assassin is feeling. Because once you allow yourself to feel, you become vulnerable. And in the end, all that remains is a ghost wandering through their own ruin.
But Nox had already broken so many rules because of Maxin that one more wouldn't matter. She wasn't running from the consequences of her actions — she just needed more time. When she found the one responsible for his father's death and made sure Maxin was safe, she would return to the organization and accept her final punishment.
"Yeah. It's no secret I have homicidal tendencies, and you know I really meant to kill you that night..."
"Hmm..."
Maxin's fingers fiddled in his lap, his gaze lost in the scenery through the windshield.
"The truth is, this whole situation is insane. Damn it, I'm an assassin. I kill people. I like shooting them. So why is it different with you? Protecting a target... does that make any sense?" She slapped the steering wheel hard, and Maxin jumped slightly in his seat, startled.
"No." he answered quietly. "But I feel the same way. You threatened me, kidnapped me, then saved me, then threatened me again... and I'm still here. If I were anyone else, I probably would've screamed or gotten out of this car by now." A dry laugh slipped from his lips.
Nox said nothing and continued driving in a straight line. The rural landscape was calm, pleasing to the eye. The pale green of the rice fields blended beautifully with the clear blue sky and the sparse clouds above.
If it was hard to understand why an assassin would protect her target, imagine how hard it was for Maxin to understand his own feelings.
A victim feeling empathy — maybe even something more — for his attacker. Wasn't this Stockholm syndrome? He'd thought that kind of thing only happened in movies. But looking at his own behavior... maybe the label fit. He'd even surrendered to her. Who in their right mind would do that? Certainly no one.
However, if you asked Maxin whether he was afraid, he would answer yes, without hesitation. Nox radiated an oppressive energy. One narrowed look, one harsh word, one sharp gesture — it was enough to make you flinch. But none of it compared to what she was willing to do to protect him. She would kill. She would destroy. And she did it all because she wasn't afraid — and she wasn't afraid because she never had anything to lose.
Fear is rooted in loss. If you have nothing to lose, logically, you have no fear. And Nox lived by that. Not even her life belonged to her anymore. Right now, her only focus was Maxin and her unwavering determination to keep him alive.
"Because I want you safe, Maxin."
So protect me, Nox. I don't care how many people you've killed, or how many more you will — as long as you keep protecting me. None of that matters. Just protect me. Stay by my side.
Those were the words Maxin tried to convey with a look. With a level of intensity she'd never seen before. His amber eyes shone as they met hers, a light blush on his cheeks. His dark, slightly wavy hair was messy, and his rosy lips curved into a soft, beautiful arc.
It was a stunning image, captured by the eyes of the assassin. A soft light radiated from him, and it hit her square in the chest. Her eye twitched involuntarily. Her heart jumped. She wasn't ready for that. She'd made the mistake of looking at him at the wrong moment and quickly turned her attention back to the road — just one more kilometer to their destination.
— Somewhere Else —
In the center of the country's bustling capital, a black, bulletproof SUV pulled up in front of a luxurious twenty-seven-story hotel. The door opened, and a man in his fifties stepped out, dressed in a suit with no tie. On one of his fingers, a golden ring held a red gemstone at its center. He had a neatly trimmed beard and black-dyed hair — an attempt to hide the growing strands of white.
"Presidential suite," said a woman in a tight red dress and high heels, waiting in the hotel lobby. "I'll escort you, sir."
He allowed himself to be led by the woman's pale, smooth legs to the elevator. The suite was located on the second-to-last floor. When the metal doors slid open, a long hallway with deep red carpeting welcomed them. There were five double white doors along the corridor. The woman walked up to the third, knocked once, and opened it.
"You may enter," she said with a polished smile.
In the spacious, luxuriously decorated living room, the sound of the man's leather shoes on the floor caught the attention of a figure standing in front of the large panoramic windows. Like some kind of deity, the figure stared out at the city with a superior air.
"You summoned me?" the man asked, breaking the silence.
"Maxin Romanov must be captured alive."
"What?" He blinked, surprised.
"Do not kill him. Bring him to me alive. I want the pleasure of killing him with my own hands." Holding a glass of whiskey, the figure's fingers tightened around the glass with such force that the tips turned pale, blood drained from them.
"I've heard there's an assassin from your organization involved with him."
"Ah, Nox. She was responsible for the mission five years ago. But she only killed Aleksander Romanov."
"When I received that news, I was so furious I destroyed half my house, haha. But now... I see it as a blessing in disguise. She killed the father... and still led me straight to the son's location."
"I have two men on their trail. Nox killed two of ours and turned traitor. I'm just waiting for your signal to move."
"I don't care about the assassin. I want Maxin Romanov. Bring him to me — not a single scratch. I want him as clean as a blank canvas... so I can scribble on him however I please."
"Understood!"