Chapter 4: Mission
Inside the Aurelius Grand Hotel – Ballroom
I weaved through the crowd, my movements fluid and controlled. The high heels that normally made me feel like I was walking on eggshells felt almost weightless as I moved through the glittering maze of guests. I wasn't here for the champagne or the applause. I was here to find a ghost—the target who had slipped into the shadows of this event like a snake.
I checked my phone again, confirming the information. Mira, a rogue mage, had been causing too many problems for several influential families. She was supposed to be here tonight, attending this party to solidify her position with a powerful client.
If I could get close, I'd have my shot.
I finally spotted her—near the back, talking to a well-dressed man who looked like he belonged more in a boardroom than a ballroom. Mira's hair shimmered under the chandeliers, but it was her eyes that gave her away—too quick, too sharp.
I slid closer, keeping my distance but closing the gap. The mission was simple. Silent. Quick.
Meanwhile, Zevren
Zevren lingered near the drink station, casually surveying the room. He wasn't here for the party, either. A low-profile approach was the best way to stay unnoticed. His mission was a bit different. His target was a man in the far corner of the room, someone who had a hand in a string of illegal deals that affected his family. The man was supposed to be mingling, enjoying the evening.
What he didn't expect was Zaira—his so-called fiancée—suddenly disappearing into the crowd, moving with a purpose that didn't scream "partygoer."
He followed her with his eyes, intrigued despite himself.
She wasn't acting like a bride-to-be. She was acting like a stalker of someone.
A smile tugged at his lips as he realized he might be in for more than just a night of awkward dinner conversations with her family.
The Encounter
I was just about to close in on Mira—my target for the night—when I felt it.
A presence.
Too calm. Too precise. Not a drunken partygoer or nosy socialite. No, this one moved like a shadow—one I knew far too well.
I turned, every muscle on edge beneath my satin dress, and there he was.
Zevren.
Leaning casually against the wall, a glass of champagne in hand like he had all the time in the world. His gray eyes locked onto mine, unreadable as ever, a storm hiding behind glass.
"What do you think you're doing, my dear fiancée?" His voice was smooth, laced with mockery—and something else that made the hairs on my neck rise.
I blinked, recovering fast. A single step forward, a smile curling my lips like I had nothing to hide. "Nothing," I said sweetly. "I was… looking for you."
His smirk deepened, slow and dangerous, like he could see right through me. "Is that so?" he murmured, taking a sip without breaking our gaze. "Because you looked a lot like someone stalking prey. Not searching for a man."
I didn't flinch, but my heartbeat kicked up a notch. I forced my voice to stay even. "You're flattering yourself."
"Am I?" he asked, stepping closer—just enough that I could feel the heat of him. The air between us sparked like the blade of a drawn knife. Tension swirled around us, thick and breathless.
Gods, he was too close. Too observant.
Too much like me.
"Why don't we dance then?" I offered, extending my hand with a polite smile, the perfect image of an obedient fiancée at a high-profile party.
In truth, I needed the angle—Mira was on the move again, weaving through the crowd like a viper in silk. If I stayed still, I'd lose her. And Zevren… he was too close to noticing far too much.
His brows lifted slightly, clearly amused. "How romantic," he said dryly, but took my hand without hesitation.
The moment his fingers touched mine, it felt like the start of a duel. Not affection—calculation.
We moved to the center of the dance floor, surrounded by a blur of glittering dresses and murmured conversations. As the music began to swell, Zevren pulled me in with a practiced ease. His hand rested at my waist, mine on his shoulder, and our bodies moved as if choreographed—flawless, elegant, dangerous.
Neither of us were really dancing.
We were watching.
My eyes flicked over his shoulder, keeping Mira in sight. She was nearing the edge of the ballroom now, speaking to someone—tall, sharp-jawed, unknown. I couldn't afford to lose her.
"You're stiff," Zevren murmured, voice low against my ear. "Is it the heels or the fact you're clearly thinking about someone else?"
I smiled sweetly, stepping in sync with him. "Must be your dancing. You're awfully rigid for someone who claims to be so charming."
He chuckled, the sound dark and soft. "Careful. You're the one who asked me to dance."
"We both know this isn't about dancing."
His eyes flicked down to meet mine. "Oh? Then what is it about?"
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't sure if I was referring to Mira—or him.
The dance ended in a flourish—flawless, poised, practiced. Applause echoed faintly around the ballroom, but I barely heard it.
I stepped back, smoothing down my dress. "Excuse me," I said lightly, tilting my head just enough to keep the illusion intact. "I need to go to the ladies' room."
Zevren didn't stop me. He just gave me a short, unreadable nod. "Don't take too long," he murmured, almost teasing.
I turned before I could show any reaction, heels clicking against marble, cutting through the crowd with a grace they'd mistake for elegance.
In truth, I had no intention of going anywhere near the actual restroom.
My target—Mira—had slipped into the hallway behind the service wing. I knew the layout of this hotel; she was heading for the rear exit where the security was weaker. Smart. But not smart enough.
As I approached the corner, I loosened my grip on the small dagger hidden in the seam of my dress, my mind already calculating the next moves. Quiet. Fast. Clean.
This wouldn't take long.
I moved with practiced ease, my steps quick and quiet as I slipped through the hotel's dimly lit hallways. Mira's scent was faint in the air, a mix of expensive perfume and the sharpness of fear. She had no idea I was closing in.
I was just about to round the corner when I felt it—an icy prickle along the back of my neck. Something... someone familiar. The hairs on my arms stood on end.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat. The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them.
"I know you're in here, show yourself."
And just like that, the silence of the hallway shattered with the unmistakable weight of his presence.
The man who ruined my last mission by showing up.
He stepped out from the shadows, his figure framed by the dim light filtering through the windows. His white hair gleamed like snow under moonlight, every strand carefully in place, as if he'd walked straight out of some nightmare. His sharp features were unreadable, his posture casual yet coiled with the promise of danger. But it was his eyes—gray, cold, calculating—that froze me in place.
We locked eyes, and I could feel the tension between us as if it had a physical form, tight and suffocating.
"Oh, we've met again" he said holding a bloody Mira "But, guess what you're late"
"Oh, we've met again," he said, his voice smooth like velvet but laced with an edge I knew too well. He casually held Mira in his grip, her body limp, blood staining her pale dress. "But, guess what? You're late."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Mira, my target, my mission—she was right there, so close. But in his hands, I could already tell it was over. He had her.
I took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to push the panic down. He wasn't just in my way—he was an obstacle that had reappeared at the worst possible time.
"Why are you here?" I spat, the words dripping with venom. I had no time for his games, not now, not when Mira's life hung in the balance.
His smile was cold, like a predator savoring its prey before the kill. "Same reason as you, I suppose. But you know, I'm not the one who'll be leaving with a prize tonight."
I didn't want to look at Mira—didn't want to see the life fading from her eyes—but I couldn't look away. She was slipping fast. My hands clenched at my sides, but I didn't dare move yet. Not when I had no idea what he would do next.
The silence between us hung heavy, thick with the tension that crackled in the air like an impending storm. The low hum of the city outside the hotel windows was the only thing breaking the stillness, but within the walls of the corridor, all I could hear was the beat of my heart, steady and slow.
He turned his back to me, his movements lazy, as if I wasn't worth a second glance. "If you aren't doing anything," he said, voice casual, his fingers brushing the side of his suit, "I'll be leaving first."
The arrogance. The audacity.
Without thinking, I grabbed the dagger at my belt, the cool steel familiar in my hand. With a swift, practiced motion, I hurled it at him. My target was his face, the thin line between his eyes where I could put him down in one clean strike.
But he didn't flinch.
The blade spun through the air like a streak of silver, fast and sure—then he caught it.
A sharp intake of breath from me was the only sign of surprise I allowed myself. His fingers closed around the hilt of my dagger, the tip of it just inches from his skin. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, his lips curving into that maddening smirk.
"You think you're just going to leave with my target?" I snarled, my voice low, deadly.
Without a word, he spun around, his movements fluid and precise, as if we were dancing. As if we had rehearsed this moment a thousand times. The dagger vanished into his coat, and in a blink, his own blade was out. It was shorter, but no less dangerous, gleaming in the dim light. His gray eyes locked onto mine, calculating, predatory.
"I'm afraid I have other plans," he said, the words clipped but no less confident.
And just like that, we collided.
I stepped forward, my body a blur of motion, my own blade flashing in the air. I felt the rush of magic coiling around my arm, running down the edge of my blade like fire, sharp and deadly. The first strike was mine, my blade aimed straight for his chest, but he blocked it with a flick of his wrist, his magic crackling in the air like thunder.
The clash of metal against metal rang out, the force of it vibrating through my bones. His strike came fast—faster than I expected—and I barely managed to sidestep, the blade slicing through the air where my throat had been a heartbeat before.
He didn't give me a second to breathe. The next strike was a blur, and I barely parried in time. Magic burst from his blade, a pulse of pale, glowing energy that slammed into mine, sending a shockwave down my arm. The impact nearly knocked me off balance, but I recovered quickly, my eyes narrowing as I met his again.
"You've gotten better," he said, his voice low, almost approving. His blade danced in the air like an extension of his body, fluid and deadly.
I ground my teeth, stepping back to reassess. "Shame you haven't."
I moved first, driving forward with a series of quick, practiced strikes, each one aiming for a weak point. He parried each blow with ease, his movements too smooth, too calculated, like he knew exactly what I would do before I did it. It was infuriating.
I feinted left, then lunged right, my blade grazing his shoulder. The fabric tore, and I felt the hum of his magic as it seeped out, but he didn't flinch. His expression didn't change.
"Still as quick as ever," he murmured, his lips almost brushing my ear as he countered, his blade moving in a flash.
I didn't have time to react. His strike hit me across the side, a sharp cut that burned with magic, sending a shock through my body. I staggered, catching my breath, but he didn't relent. He pressed forward, his eyes gleaming with challenge, with something darker beneath.
I was tired of playing. My magic surged, a wave of power that crackled through the air. With a swift motion, I pushed him back, the force of it enough to send him stumbling for just a second.
"You can't win this," I said through gritted teeth, my body vibrating with tension.
He just smiled that cold, infuriating smile. "Is that so?"
In that moment, I knew. We were at an impasse. Neither of us was going to back down.
The fight wasn't over. And neither of us was leaving without blood on our hands.
He managed to hurt me, and I did too. The moment I felt the searing pain cut across my side, it wasn't the sting of the wound that made me freeze—it was the weight of what it meant. We'd both crossed lines we'd sworn we wouldn't, and neither of us was walking away unscathed.
I watch him retreat, Mira in tow.
"Shit…" I mutter under my breath, gritting my teeth. How the hell am I going to explain this to Zevren later?
I look down at my side again, forcing the panic down.
I pull out my phone, the familiar weight of it comforting in my hand as I type a quick message to Zevren. My fingers feel stiff, the adrenaline fading and the pain setting in. I glance over my shoulder once more before I press send.
Got home already. Mom called earlier, wants to talk about the wedding.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. It's a lie, of course, but it's the only thing I can offer right now.
I sigh, slipping my phone back into my pocket. The weight of it feels heavy, like everything else at the moment. I lean back against the door, trying to steady myself as the throbbing pain in my side continues to pulse, relentless.
Focus. I push the thought to the front of my mind, closing my eyes for a moment as I gather my magic, pulling it from the depths of me. It hums low and steady, like the pull of a tide, but something's off tonight. My magic feels sluggish—tired, almost like it's fighting against me instead of working with me.
Still, I press on, willing the energy to shift, to mend the wound, to stop the blood from spilling out faster than I can control it.
Shit. I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, but I can't afford to rest. Not yet.
I exhale, my breath shaky as I let go of the magic, feeling it slip back into me, its work unfinished. I reach up, tugging the hem of my dress down to cover the wound before anyone sees.
I straighten, wiping the back of my neck with a hand that trembles just a little more than I'd like. As a surgeon, I know I've got better tools and supplies back at my base. I've got everything I need to stitch this up properly, to fix what magic can't.