Luelle
The clock ticked quietly, its rhythmic sound muted by the enveloping silence of Gerard's sparsely decorated apartment. It was nearly 2 a.m., the world outside drenched in a heavy quiet that somehow felt fuller and more resonant than the usual chaos of human activity that typically filled the night air. Luelle rested her head against the cool, smooth tiles of the bathroom wall, feeling the water droplets slide slowly down her skin from the shower she had just emerged from. Steam hung lazily in the air, swirling around her and clouding the mirror, distorting the stark reality of her reflection and blurring the contours of her features. Yet, even through the mist that seemed to envelop her like a shroud, she was still able to see herself—the woman behind the mask of the facade, stripped of layers, stripped of pretences. In this moment, she was just Luelle.
The hit had gone off exactly as intended—fast, clean, and precise. No sign, no breadcrumbs left behind for anyone to follow. She had made sure of it. The biological agent had functioned flawlessly, inducing the early symptoms of a heart attack in Harlan Fisk, making his death as ordinary as it was definitive. If someone were to investigate the scene, they would find nothing amiss—no signs of violence, no indication that the Dominion's hand had struck or that her own had guided it. It was what she was trained to do: disappear without a trace, leaving destruction in her path but never a trace of her presence. Yet the weight of tonight's actions clung to her, like always. She hates ending lives, usually she will rather just work out a warning, a compromise, the person will disappear into her empire under strict observation and with the sword of a death threat over their heads should they falter again.
Wrapped in a towel, Luelle spent a few minutes feeling as though the world was closing in on her. Thoughts cut at her, jagged and sharp, but the bed in "Gerard's" room offered some slight semblance of comfort with its soft touch. She could replay the hit in her mind with startling clarity, from the moment she'd received the assignment to the last breath Fisk would ever take. Finally, she collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her damp hair falling into her face as she pressed her palms against her skin, elbows digging into her knees.
She wasn't supposed to dwell on such things. Detachment was expected, encouraged even. But tonight, for reasons she couldn't quite articulate, she couldn't summon the emotional distance she so desperately needed.
Luelle couldn't forget the moment the message had come through. She'd been seated across from Ethan, sipping wine and carefully navigating their conversation, when her phone had vibrated discreetly on the table beside her.
"Priority target. Immediate action required. Details attached." The message was clear enough: The Dominion had concluded he was a liability, and it was her job to eliminate him. But clarity did not bring comfort; she had given up on that long ago.
She didn't move immediately, the weight of the decision pressing down on her like a lead blanket. Instead, she had called Charles, her trusted confidant in the dark hallways of her secret empire. His voice, as brisk as ever, held no hesitation. "Luelle," he said as soon as the line clicked. "I take it you're aware of the message?"
"I have," she replied brusquely, frustration lacing her tone. "What are they not telling me?"
It hardly took Charles a beat to respond. "Not much to tell. Fisk is dirty and involved with operations threatening Dominion stability. He is involved in human trafficking, ninety percent of the time it is minors that land in his hands, he launders money, moves stolen tech, makes deals with people who thrive on chaos. He's legally untouchable because of secrets he knows about those working for the dominion. They want him gone."
"Do you think it's needed?" she asked, her voice softening now, a whisper of something more vulnerable creeping into her tone, revealing the cracks in her steely facade.
"Yes," Charles said firmly, his conviction unwavering. "Fisk isn't merely corrupt—he's dangerous, he is a monster. This is not a grey area, Luelle. He deserves this."
She hated how dependent she was on Charles for validation regarding the morality of her assignments, but she despised even more how well she already knew the answer. Fisk's crimes were irrefutable, his presence corrosive in ways most people would never see but would always feel. She did not need any more justification. She just had to get it done.
The biological agent had been meticulously chosen, capable of mimicking an abrupt cardiac incident without a detectable trace of foul play. It was an ideal weapon for a hit like this—low-key, untraceable, deceptively simple.
Luelle had entered Fisk's realm with the practiced stealth of someone who lived on the border of the world's sight, navigating through shadows and whispers. The building loomed over the quiet streets, a testament to understated opulence. It wasn't a glittering skyscraper or a landmark of power, but it was strategic—grand in its simplicity, sleek yet intentionally low-tech. A fortress in disguise.
Fisk operated from the top floor, where polished marble met industrial steel, where wealth was displayed in heavy doors and soundproofed walls rather than excessive embellishments. The structure had been designed for discretion—no smart security systems, no digital footprints, only controlled access and well-placed muscle ensuring that the wrong people never made it inside.
It was a place for deals made in hushed tones, for wealth accumulated without paper trails, for a man who thrived in the gap between legality and crime. And tonight, it would become the site of his last mistake.
He never saw her. He never suspected her.
She'd injected the agent without flinching, watching as his body took the bait in disgust, his self-assured physique contorting into a pathetic display of sudden convulsions. His heart stopped moments later, dying on a feeble exhalation that reverberated in the room before surrendering to darkness. And then she'd vanished, a phantom slipping between the cracks of his world, leaving him as just another victim of the darkness he had helped create.
Now, hours later, sitting in Gerard's apartment, the hollowness pressing down on her chest wouldn't dissipate. She looked down at her hands, clean now, but still stained in ways that no amount of water could wash away. Fisk had behaved like a monster—she felt no doubt about that. But monsters scarred even the people who hunted them.
She lay down on the bed, closing her eyes and navigating through the fragments of the night in her mind. She had been so exact, so deliberate, making sure the hit would appear to be a natural death. She had done everything right, everything she was trained to do. So why did it feel so wrong?
Ethan drifted unbidden, unwelcome, into her thoughts. She could still see the faint smirk pulling at his lips during dinner, the way he had looked at her with that careful, probing gaze, as if he were trying to unravel her, one thread at a time. Her chest tightened as she thinks about him, as always after a hit she has an inexplicable urge to see him again.
She rose, her movements jerky and unsteady, dragging herself from the bed and toward the secret door in Gerard's apartment. It was reckless, dangerous even. But the pull was too powerful, the ache too overwhelming to ignore. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside the passageway that had seamlessly connected her world to Ethan's.
With a soft click, the secret door opened, and Luelle walked into Ethan's apartment, her breath hitching as the space enveloped her. It was quiet, tranquil, the low lighting casting gentle shadows on the walls. A dim light from his bedroom broke through the darkness, and she hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest as she crept forward, every instinct screaming at her to turn back.