The dagger sliced through air, missing its mark by an inch.

She barely had time to breathe before the assassin twisted their wrist, striking again — this time aimed for his throat.

But he was faster.

He dodged, knocking the masked attacker’s arm aside, then countered with a sharp kick to the ribs. The assassin staggered but didn’t fall, feet skidding against the pavement as they steadied themselves.

This wasn’t some common hitman. They were trained.

And they weren’t alone.

A low whistle cut through the air — a signal.

His body tensed.

More were coming.

Before she could even process what was happening, the alley darkened with movement. Figures emerged from the shadows, dressed in muted greys and blacks, moving with military precision.

Not ordinary thugs.

Not common mercenaries.

This was an organized force.

She took a step back, pulse hammering. “Who the hell are they?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he knew exactly who they were.

And this was worse than he thought.

The Ghosts of the Past

A voice — calm, composed — broke through the tension.

“You should’ve stayed dead.”

A tall man stepped forward, removing his hood. Silver streaked his dark hair, sharp eyes glinting like polished steel. His posture was too rigid, too disciplined. The kind of man who had spent years living by rules no one else could understand.

And yet, he was smirking.

Like he had already won.

Her stomach twisted.

Who was this man?

He, however, recognized him instantly.

“…You.”

“Still remember me?” the man mused. “I’m flattered.”

A flicker of a past life burned in his mind — a battlefield, a broken oath, blood on his hands.

He had met this man before. Fought beside him once. Killed him once.

And yet, here he was.

Alive.

And leading a group of killers.

“What do you want?” his voice was steady, but she could hear the edge in it.

The man chuckled. “Come now, do you really have to ask?” He gestured lazily to the figures surrounding them. “Seventeen lives, and you still don’t know when you’re being hunted?”

Her breath hitched. Hunted?

“Let her go,” he said, voice sharp. “She has nothing to do with this.”

The man raised an eyebrow. Then he turned to her, tilting his head as if studying her.

“Hmm… Interesting,” he mused. “I can see why you’re so desperate. But you’re wrong.”

He smiled.

And that was the most dangerous part.

“She has everything to do with this.”

Her blood ran cold.

This wasn’t random.

This wasn’t just about him.

They wanted her.

No Right Move

The tension in the air thickened.

She could feel it — the weight of the moment, the unspoken war happening behind their gazes.

“Who are you people?” she demanded. “Why are you after him? After me?”

The man just smiled.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

He took a slow step forward, and suddenly —

They moved.

Too fast.

He barely had time to react before the figures rushed in, surrounding them.

Not just assassins.

Soldiers.

He pushed her behind him, mind calculating the odds.

Outnumbered. Outarmed.

But not outmatched.

They would have to kill him first before he let them take her.

And they would learn — He had died sixteen times before. They wouldn’t be the ones to finish him.