By the time Seraphina reached home, the sky was already painted in hues of soft gold and fading
violet. 6 AM. The city was just waking up, but for her, the world was shutting down. The
exhaustion pressed against her bones, yet she felt no regret. This was her life now.
Without a second thought, she collapsed onto her bed and let sleep consume her.
Seven hours later, she woke, feeling the weight of her body settle into reality once more. She stretched, pushing herself out of bed. No work for home.
Good.
After a long shower, she prepared a meal—healthy, balanced, necessary. Her body had endured the night, and it would need to keep enduring. As she ate, she glanced outside, the city bustling as it always did. A reminder that she still had to exist here, too. But after last night, she couldn't bring herself to care much.
An hour later, she stepped out, heading toward the one person she could meet without a second thought—Lena Aurellian Voss.
The café was quieter than usual, the afternoon lull keeping the crowd thin. Seraphina slid into her seat across from Lena, who was already nursing a coffee, her sharp green eyes scanning Seraphina before she even had a chance to speak.
"You look like you fought a war," Lena remarked, tilting her head. "Or ran straight into one."
Seraphina exhaled, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Something like that."
Lena hummed, taking a slow sip of her drink. "So, this is what you've signed up for? Secret job, no sleep, and probably something I shouldn't be asking about?"
Seraphina didn't respond immediately. Instead, she stirred her tea, watching the ripples. "Tired,"
she admitted finally. "But it's nothing I can't handle."
Lena's gaze sharpened, as if searching for something beneath the words. "I figured as much," she said. "But you're different today."
Seraphina glanced up, arching a brow. "Different how?"
Lena studied her for a moment before shrugging. "Hard to say. Maybe it's the way you're holding yourself. Or the fact that you haven't complained once about the lack of decent tea in this place."
Seraphina let out a quiet chuckle. "Noted. Next time, I'll make sure to complain."
Lena leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "You're dodging. Which means whatever happened last night was more than just exhausting."
Seraphina held her gaze for a moment before taking a slow sip of her tea. "It's nothing I can't handle," she repeated.
Lena didn't push, but the look in her eyes said she wasn't letting it go either.
Seraphina sighed, setting her cup down. "When someone's routine changes, it takes time to adapt. In my case, I'll be good within two days."
Lena nodded slowly but didn't let up. "Did you know this would happen? That your routine would change like this?"
Seraphina met her gaze, unflinching. "Of course. That's why I went there."
Lena studied her, then leaned forward again, voice quieter this time. "If this organization is underground, then how did you even come to know about it?"
Seraphina stirred her tea once more, her expression unreadable. "I listened when no one else did. Some things aren't found, Lena. They reveal themselves when you prove you're looking in the right places."
Seraphina glanced at the time and sighed. "I should go."
Lena tilted her head, studying her once more but didn't stop her. "Try not to run yourself into the ground."
Seraphina smirked. "Noted."
She excused herself and made her way home. She wanted to rest a little longer, but her mind refused to settle. Thoughts of what could happen tonight kept circling, pressing against her exhaustion. But it wasn't overthinking—it was her ability to predict. Her mind naturally pieced together possibilities, analyzing what the night could bring. For another hour, she allowed herself to lie still, shutting her thoughts down.
When she finally rose, she felt refreshed. Ready.
A smirk played on her lips as she stretched. "Told her."
And exactly at 6 PM, the car arrived, waiting to take her straight to Oblivion Division.
Upon arrival, she approached her office for the first time since it had officially become hers. Before, the security system had been inactive—the space belonged to no one. But now, it belonged to her, which meant verification was required.
After confirming her identity, the door unlocked, granting her access. She settled into her chair, exhaling as she took in the space. Barely a moment passed before a knock sounded at the door.
A man stepped in, expression neutral. "Boss wants to meet you."
She almost rolled her eyes. No rocket science was needed to figure that out.
She stood, making her way across the hall. After knocking, she entered his office, finding Ezrin standing tall, watching the aquarium, his posture unreadable.
Without looking at her, he slid a black USB drive across the desk. "Watch this. Then tell me what you see."
Seraphina took the drive and plugged it into the embedded screen on the desk. The video flickered to life—grainy surveillance footage of a weapons deal gone wrong. The transaction seemed ordinary at first, but then—
A single gunshot. The target crumpled instantly. But it wasn't the kill itself that caught her attention.
The killer didn't just shoot him. They moved the body, positioning it deliberately before walking away without hesitation.
Ezrin finally spoke, his voice calm but edged with something unreadable. "This isn't just a murder. It's a message. Your job is to decode it before the wrong people do."
Seraphina's eyes remained locked on the screen, her expression sharpening as she replayed the footage. Her fingers tapped lightly against the desk—a subconscious habit when she was deep in thought. Something about the body's position caught her attention, a sense of deliberation in the way it had been arranged.
She leaned forward slightly, analyzing every detail. The victim's hand wasn't fully limp—it was curled just enough, as if pointing toward something unseen. The legs, too, were angled strangely, almost guiding the eye in a particular direction. Intentional. Not random.
Her brows furrowed as her mind connected the pieces. The positioning—it wasn't just staging. It was a signature. A message coded in the way the body was displayed. Her gaze flickered as she considered symbols, past assassinations, anything that might explain this setup.
Ezrin watched her, his expression unreadable but intent. He noted the way her eyes flickered with realization, the way her breathing steadied as her focus deepened. She was getting there.
Then she caught something else—the wound. Too clean. Too precise. She rewound the footage, slowing it frame by frame. The shot's entry angle didn't match the way the body had landed. It had been moved post-mortem.
Her lips parted slightly, and she exhaled through her nose, her fingers halting their tapping. Ezrin caught the shift instantly. A realization. A conclusion forming.
"The body was arranged," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "This wasn't just a kill, it was a message for someone specific. The shot was professional, but the staging wasn't. That means the killer didn't just want them dead. They wanted someone to see them like this. To understand the meaning behind it."
Ezrin smirked slightly. "And do you?"
Seraphina's eyes flicked to him, sharp and certain. "I will. I just need to find who was supposed to receive the message."
She pushed back her chair and stood. "I'll need access to past cases with similar patterns."
Ezrin didn't respond immediately. Instead, he watched her for a lingering second before giving a small nod. "Get to work."
Taking that as her dismissal, she excused herself and returned to her office. The moment the door shut behind her, she exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she settled into her chair. Her mind was already processing, analyzing, tearing through possibilities as she pulled up the organization's database.
There was a pattern here. And she was going to find it.
As she sifted through the database, her eyes narrowed at a decade-old case. A nearly identical murder, same execution-style shot, same deliberate positioning of the body. It had remained unsolved, the killer never caught, and the victim was linked to illegal arms deals.
But something was off.
She leaned closer, comparing the old case to the current footage. The positioning wasn't exact.
The subtle angles, the way the limbs were arranged, whoever staged this recent kill was trying to replicate the past but wasn't getting it right.
Her fingers tapped against the desk. This wasn't the same killer. It was someone trying to mimic them.
She compiled her findings into a detailed report, carefully outlining the discrepancies between the past and present cases. The patterns, the inconsistencies, and her conclusion—it was all there.
After an hour of focused research, she grabbed the report and made her way back to Ezrin's office. Little did she know, Ezrin already knew everything about the case. But as she stepped inside and placed the report on his desk, he glanced at her, his expression unreadable. The fact that she had uncovered it so quickly, that was what impressed him.
Ezrin's gaze flickered to the report before returning to her. "You still haven't decoded the meaning of the murder."
Seraphina smirked but remained composed. "The positioning of the body, it's not random.
Someone is trying to mimic a past assassin's work, but they're getting it wrong."
Ezrin leaned back in his chair, watching her intently. "Go on."
She tapped a finger against the report. "The original murders were methodical, the body
placement precise. The way the victim was arranged in this case, it's close, but there are
inconsistencies. Whoever did this isn't the same killer. They want people to believe it's them, either as a tribute or a deception."
A pause. Ezrin's gaze darkened slightly, unreadable. Then, a smirk. "And what does that tell you?"
Seraphina's expression didn't waver. "That the real message isn't just the murder, it's the
imitation itself. Someone wants us to notice the connection. The question is, why?
Her mind worked through the possibilities. If the positioning wasn't exact, then it wasn't just a tribute, it was intentional misdirection. Someone wanted the blame to fall on the original killer from ten years ago.
Her fingers drummed against the desk as the realization settled in. "They're rivals," she
murmured. "Whoever did this isn't just mimicking the past, they want to frame the assassin who carried out the original murder. This isn't just about sending a message. It's about setting someone up.
She continued flipping through the report, her eyes scanning the details of the decade-old case.
According to the records, the original murderer had been a man in his late sixties at the time of the killing. That introduced another possibility, what if the real assassin was already dead?
Her brows furrowed slightly. "If the original killer is dead, then the person behind this murder isn't just trying to frame them, they're targeting someone important from that family. A successor, an inheritor of the legacy."
She glanced up at Ezrin, whose expression remained unreadable, though the glint in his eyes suggested he had already considered this possibility. He leaned forward slightly.
"Then the real question is, who benefits from reviving an old name?"
Seraphina exhaled, leaning back slightly. "To find that out, we need to talk to the family of the murderer from ten years ago. If someone is trying to frame them, then the answer lies with those who carry their name and reputation."
Ezrin nodded before speaking. "Be ready for the flight tomorrow to Norway."
Seraphina glanced at him, her mind piecing together the implications. "So, this murder happened in Norway, and both families still live there?"
Ezrin nodded, then leaned back, his gaze drifting to the aquarium once more. Seraphina's expression shifted slightly as another realization hit her.
"It's wintertime," she murmured. "That means no morning there."
Ezrin smirked, his voice low and deliberate. "Yes, no morning."
His gaze remained fixed on the slow, fluid movement of the fish before he spoke again. "Perfect time for shady business."
Seraphina gathered all the files and left the room. As she settled into her chair back in her office, she glanced at the wall clock—12 AM. Still a little time left before training.
Her fingers hovered over the case file, but her mind kept drifting back to the larger question, Who truly benefits from this setup? The answer was there, buried beneath layers of deception, waiting to be uncovered. Taking a deep breath, she pushed aside distractions and focused, because soon, she wouldn't just be chasing shadows. She'd be walking among them.
As Seraphina sifted through the reports, her sharp gaze landed on an image of the assassin responsible for the current murder. Something about his clothing style stood out, the layering of fabrics, the distinct way he adjusted his sleeves, the casual yet deliberate positioning of his scarf.
Her brows furrowed. She had seen this before.
Flipping through the images again, she felt a nagging sense of recognition. Without wasting another second, she accessed the Oblivion Division's database, filtering through past unsolved murders with similar execution styles.
Then she found it.
A murder from four years ago. Same precise kill. But most importantly, the same style of clothing.
She opened the case file, her pulse steady but focused. The report detailed the assassin's movements, his presence at the crime scene, and even footage of his exit. Yet, despite all the evidence, one thing remained hidden, His identity.
Seraphina exhaled, leaning back. The assassin had been a ghost even then. His name, his
background, even the syndicate he worked for, all buried in shadows.
But now?
Now she had something solid.
Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk as she smirked slightly. Looks like we've met before.
Seraphina's eyes flickered over the list of phone numbers tied to the four-year-old murder case.
Some were disconnected, some led to inactive lines, but a few were still in service.
She pulled open a drawer, retrieving a sealed pack of SIM cards. Oblivion Division had plenty, changing identities was a necessity, not a luxury.
With quick precision, she
Turned off her phone's location services. Inserted a fresh SIM card.
Connected a voice changer.
Only then did she make the first call.
Ring… ring… A click. Silence. Then, a cautious voice.
"Who is this?"
Seraphina's voice, distorted and untraceable, came through the line. Cold. Controlled. "Not
important. Four years ago—you were there when the job was done. Tell me what you know."
There was hesitation. Then, a muffled curse.
"I don't talk about ghosts."
Seraphina's fingers tapped against the desk. Ghosts. So even back then, the assassin was a shadow.
"This isn't about ghosts. This is about the job. The hit. Who gave the order?"
A pause. A faint exhale. Then, the man spoke. "I don't know names. Just that the deal was clean, until someone decided to clean up more than they were supposed to."
Her mind sharpened. A double-cross?
One by one, she called the remaining numbers, collecting scraps of information, piecing them together. The details were inconsistent, fragments of a bigger picture. But one thing was clear.
The assassin had worked under an order. But someone else had changed the plan.
Once she was done, she removed the SIM card, placed it between her fingers, and snapped it in half.
A simple, final action. No trace. No connection.
Seraphina glanced at the wall clock—only 30 minutes left before training.
She leaned back, exhaling as she reviewed her notes. The calls had given her two key pieces of information.
The assassin was just a tool. He had no idea who truly hired him, only that the job was paid well and delivered without question. Whoever had given the order back then was the same person pulling the strings now.
Someone protected the assassin. He was never caught, not because he was careful, but
because someone made sure his identity stayed buried. The real question was who would go so far to keep him hidden? And why?
Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk. The pieces were starting to fit, but a bigger puzzle still remained.
Seraphina walked toward Ezrin's office, the file in her hand containing everything she had gathered from the calls.
She knocked once before stepping inside. Empty.
Without hesitation, she approached the desk, placing the file neatly on its surface. Just as she turned to leave, her hand reaching for the door It opened.
Ezrin entered, his tall frame filling the space. Instinctively, she took a step back, giving him room. His gaze flickered to her, then to the file she had just placed on his desk.
"I've found new information about the case," she stated, her voice even, unwavering. "It's all there."
With that, she turned and left, heading straight for training.
Ezrin said nothing. He stepped further inside, closing the door behind him before settling into his chair. His fingers slid the file closer as he opened it.
As he read, his expression remained unreadable—but his thoughts were clear.
She's fast.
And he was impressed.