Maya woke up with the overwhelming sense that something had gone terribly wrong.
Zeyla groaned from the other side of the room, moving like her soul had been forcibly stuffed back into her body. "Maya… tell me this is a normal hangover."
Maya blinked at the ceiling. Her brain, still buffering, ran a quick diagnostic check.
Headache? Yes.
Limbs? All accounted for.
Dignity? Debatable.
Memory of last night? System error. File not found.
Maya sat up slowly, wincing as a dull ache settled into her bones. "Define normal."
Zeyla made a vague, painful sound. "Like… the kind that doesn't come with the crushing feeling of existential dread."
Maya inhaled deeply and Frowned.
There it was.
That scent.
That specific scent.
Neither of them spoke about it. Neither of them even looked at each other.
Zeyla cleared her throat. "Alright. Let's just… backtrack. What's the last thing you remember?"
Maya frowned. "Madam Noor. Tea. Something about business."
Zeyla nodded. "Yep. Same."
A pause.
Maya tried again. "And after that?"
A longer pause.
Maya massaged her temples. "Okay. Best-case scenario: we went to bed early like responsible adults."
Zeyla tilted her head. "Worst-case?"
Maya exhaled. "We're about to be very, very upset with ourselves."
They both turned toward the clock. Noon.
They had slept half the day away.
Zeyla inhaled sharply. "Okay. Let's not panic."
Maya gave her a dead stare. "I'm sorry, did you just say let's not panic while Madam is missing and we don't remember how the night ended?"
Zeyla lifted a finger. "I did. Because I am currently choosing denial."
Maya nodded solemnly. "Respectable."
Maya rubbed her face. "So. plan?"
Zeyla sighed. "Step one: pretend everything is fine."
"Step two?"
Zeyla exhaled. "Figure out what the hell we did before someone else does."
The doors swung open.
Maya and Zeyla stepped in.
Noor sat at the head of the table, her expression unreadable. The executives? Silent. Janir stood beside her, calm, in control.
"Our private security division is operational," Janir said smoothly. "Tactical extractions. Covert intelligence. High-threat neutralization."
An executive shifted. "You mean… mercenaries?"
Janir smiled. "We prefer precision specialists."
Another scoffed. "Governments won't allow it."
Noor finally spoke, voice soft. Deadly. "Governments hire us."
Silence.
A third executive, visibly sweating, cleared his throat. "Who are your clients?"
Noor tilted her head. "Do you really want that answer?"
The man paled.
Janir continued, unfazed. "Our operatives don't just protect assets. They eliminate risks. Before they exist."
One executive chuckled nervously. "I assume you'll be bidding for contracts?"
Noor's smile didn't reach her eyes. "We don't bid. We're chosen."
Maya leaned toward Zeyla. "She's not selling them a service."
Zeyla smirked. "She's offering them survival."
The executives filed out like survivors of a battlefield—some shaken, some stiff, all humbled.
Maya smirked. "That went well. Should we check if anyone's crying in the hallway?"
Zeyla hummed. "No need. I saw one guy gripping his chest like he just realized he's disposable."
Noor stood, unbothered. She adjusted her cuff. "They'll adapt."
Maya scoffed. "Adapt? they just realized you don't ask for power. You take it."
Noor didn't look at her. "Then they're learning."
Janir turned to her. "Next steps?"
Noor's gaze cut to him. "Phase two."
Zeyla folded her arms. "Do we even want to know what phase two is?"
Noor's voice was calm. Final. "Let them think they still have control."
Noor walked ahead, silently .The usual certainty in her presence was there—except today, it felt different.
Maya and Zeyla followed, but something wasn't right.
Zeyla broke the silence. "Where are we going?"
Noor didn't answer.
Maya glanced at Zeyla, then back at Noor. "Madam Noor?"
Then—she stopped. Turned.
Her gaze met theirs. It was… assessing.
Maya's stomach tightened. "Why do I feel like we just failed a test we didn't know we were taking?"
Noor's lips parted, as if she might say something—but then she exhaled, just once.
"Get some rest," she said lightly. "You'll need it."
Then she walked away.
Maya and Zeyla stood frozen.
Zeyla tilted her head. "That… was weird."
Maya forced a chuckle. "Yeah.She never tells us to rest."
A pause.
Zeyla crossed her arms. "So why does it feel like we should be worried?"
The walk back to their suite was too quiet.
Maya shut the door behind them, arms crossed. "Alright. That was weird, right? Not just 'Noor being Noor' weird—actual weird."
Zeyla flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know what's worse. The fact that she didn't answer us or the fact that it somehow said more than if she had."
Maya paced. "She looked at us like…" She stopped.
Zeyla sat up. "Like what?"
Maya frowned. "Like we weren't supposed to be there."
Silence.
Zeyla exhaled, rubbing her temples. "She's not just planning something. She's already decided something."
Maya's fingers tapped against her arm. "Yeah. And whatever it is? We're not part of it."
Zeyla leaned back again, staring at the ceiling. "Okay. Be honest. Do we do the smart thing and let this go?"
Maya sighed. "You already know the answer to that."
Zeyla smirked. "Figured."
Noor sat in a high-backed chair by the window, her gaze distant, lost in the rhythm of raindrops against the glass.
The door creaked open.
Janir stepped inside, hesitant at first, then suddenly—his resolve snapped. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees before her, hands gripping the silk of her dress.
"Mother Noor..." His voice was raw, breaking. "Don't leave me now."
Her hand moved, resting atop his head.
"Janir," she murmured, her voice a lullaby wrapped in steel. "Do you know how the sky holds the stars? It simply allows them to shine, knowing some will fall, some will stay, and some will burn so brightly they leave an imprint long after they're gone."
Janir clung tighter, his breath shuddering against the fabric. "I don't understand."
She traced her fingers through his hair, a gesture so achingly tender it almost hurt. "You don't need to."
Near the doorway, Zeyla folded her arms, watching the scene unfold. "When he first came to the orphanage ten years ago, he wouldn't even acknowledge Noor. Now look at him… a crybaby clinging to his last lifeline."
Maya smirked slightly. "And Noor just handed a million-dollar company to a child she raised—just because she trusts him."
Noor picked up on their words without turning.
"Trust?" she mused, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "It is not trust that grants him his place. The waves do not spare the weak, and I have raised no weaklings."
But beneath those words was something unsaid.
Every broken soul that had found shelter under her wing.
Janir trembled, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I fail?"
Noor finally looked down at him, her gaze unreadable. "Then you will rise again. And again. Until the day comes when failure fears you."
The rain outside softened.
Zeyla exhaled, shaking her head. "That's how she saves people."
Maya hummed in agreement. "Not with promises. Not with safety. But with the kind of love that forces you to stand."
Noor ran her fingers through Janir's hair once more before gently lifting his chin.
"Go now, Janir," she said softly, yet the command was absolute. "Stand up and take what is yours. The sky has no hands, but it never lets its stars fall."
Janir swallowed hard, then nodded. He stood, wiping at his face, and left the room with the quiet steps.
Zeyla adjusted Noor's sleeve. "It's time, my lady."
Noor rose, smoothing the fabric of her dress.
She stepped into the meeting room, the soft click of her heels the only sound. The men inside straightened, a quiet tension settling over the space.
At the head of the table sat Adrian Volkov.He smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Miss Noor," he said smoothly, gesturing to the chair across from him. "A pleasure."
Noor took her seat with an effortless grace, folding her hands on the table. "Shall we begin?"
Adrian signaled a servant, who set down two cups of tea.
"A tradition," Adrian said. "Hospitality between equals."
Zeyla's sharp gaze flicked to the steaming cup before Noor. Maya remained still, but Noor could sense the tension in her frame.
Noor lifted the cup, inhaling faintly. Bergamot. Earl Grey. And beneath it—
She took a sip.
Adrian watched, expecting a flinch— But Noor merely placed the cup back on the saucer with delicate precision.
His smirk faltered.
"You must trust me greatly," he mused.
Noor met his gaze, her voice almost indulgent. "I simply know that fate only strikes when it is time."
His smirk returned. "Or perhaps you enjoy dancing on the edge of a blade?"
Noor tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "A man once told me that fear keeps us alive. I told him—fear only keeps us small."
Adrian chuckled. "Wise words. But tell me—" he leaned forward, eyes sharp "—if I wanted you dead, wouldn't it be foolish to make it so obvious?"
Noor picked up her cup again, taking another sip. "A wise man would say so. A desperate one, however…" She trailed off, watching him.
A flicker of doubt passed through his eyes.
Had they poisoned the tea? They must have. Then why was she still… fine?
A slow smirk spread across Adrian's lips. If she drank it, then.
He lifted his cup. "To powerful alliances."
And he drank.
For a moment, nothing.
Then—
A sharp cough. A violent heave. Blood splattered against the pristine white tablecloth. Adrian's hands trembled, knocking over his cup as he clutched his throat.
Panic flickered in his men's eyes.
Noor sat perfectly still, watching him with the detached curiosity. She took another sip.
Adrian's vision blurred. His breaths came shallow. His mind raced between confusion and terror.
"W—What…?" His voice was barely a rasp.
Noor sighed, setting her cup down. "Poison is such a human thing. So simple. So crude."
His body convulsed, and he fell from his chair, gasping.
Noor leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle.
"Do you know what the greatest illusion in life is, Adrian?"
He could barely lift his head.
Her voice was a whisper, but it rang louder than the blood pounding in his ears.
"Control."
Noor adjusted the sleeve of her dress and stood. "Now, about the deal."
Adrian's men were frozen beneath the blades of Zeyla and Maya. Noor continued, her tone calm.
"You will sign the papers." She glanced down at him, her expression unreadable. "Or you can spend your last moments choking on your own arrogance. Your choice."
The eerie silence stretched, broken only by Adrian's ragged gasps.
Slowly, a trembling hand reached for the pen.
Noor watched as he scrawled his signature, blood staining the paper where his fingers shook.
For a brief moment, the dim lighting caught her eyes—pools of endless black, as if death itself had taken form.