Anna froze, her hands stilling on his chest. Her hazel eyes narrowed, confusion flickering across her face. "What? Who are you talking about?"

Ren smirked, leaning in to brush his lips against her cheek. "You know. The one you keep hidden inside you. The one who used your ability on me last time. All fire and spice."

Anna's expression darkened, and she pulled back, crossing her arms. A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "Forget about her, Ren," she muttered, her voice tinged with exasperation. "She's not important."

Before Ren could respond, Anna's posture shifted. Her shoulders straightened, her head tilted, and a sly, almost predatory smile curved her lips. Her eyes, usually soft and warm, now gleamed with a bold, mischievous spark. When she spoke, her voice was different—lower, sultrier, dripping with confidence. "Oh, I'm not important? I'm right here, handsome boy."

Ren's eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, hello there!"

Aria leaned closer, her fingers trailing lightly down his arm. "Forget about Anna," she purred, her voice a velvet caress. "Why don't we have some fun together? I promise I'm much more… entertaining."

Ren chuckled, leaning back against the couch, his gaze locked on her. "Tempting," he said, his tone playful but firm. "But I think I prefer Anna."

Aria's smile faltered, and she clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. "Tch. Bad taste in women, Ren. I'm the fun one, you know."

Before Ren could retort, Anna's body stiffened, and her expression shifted again. The sultry confidence vanished, replaced by a scowl. "I told you to stop coming uninvited!" Anna snapped, her voice sharp as she glared at nothing in particular, as if scolding an invisible presence.

Ren burst out laughing, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. "You two are something else," he said, shaking his head. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a flirty whisper. "Anna, Can I come to your place? You know what I'm talking about."

Anna's cheeks flushed, her eyes widening as she caught the implication in his tone. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "Y-Yes," she stammered, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "You are welcome anytime."

Ren's grin widened, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and desire. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "Good," he murmured. "I'm looking forward to it."

As Anna's blush deepened, Ren's mind wandered, his thoughts turning inward. This is just the beginning, he mused, his inner voice cold and calculated. I need to be aggressive.

Move fast. Take what I want, who I want, before the next big thing hits. His lips curved into a faint, determined smile as he leaned back, his gaze drifting to the shadowed corners of the library. When I meet that faceless woman again, I'll be powerful enough to make her regret ever crossing me. She won't know what hit her.

Anna, oblivious to his thoughts, shifted closer, her hand resting lightly on his knee. "Ren," she said softly, her voice pulling him back to the moment. "What's on your mind? You look… intense."

He flashed her a charming smile, masking the storm of ambition brewing inside him. "Just thinking about you," he lied smoothly, leaning in to steal another kiss. Her lips were soft, yielding, and for a moment, he let himself get lost in the warmth of her touch knowing things are only about to get more intense from here on.

***

For three days straight, the streets had been crawling with soldiers and armored vehicles. Floodlights scanned every corner, the sky choked with the hum of surveillance drones. After the prime minister's assassination, the government had imposed a city-wide curfew. No one was allowed out past nine.

Even the wind seemed to move carefully now.

At the main checkpoint leading into the central districts, rows of guards stood in full combat gear. Their eyes were sharp behind night-vision visors, their rifles glinting in the white-blue light of the spotlights.

A news drone floated past, broadcasting the grim update across every screen in the country:

"Curfew remains in effect. Security sweeps continue. All citizens are advised to remain indoors."

Inside a black armored truck, the SWAT unit of Division Nine was preparing for their next sweep.

Captain Igara sat near the rear door, strapping on her tactical gloves. Her tone was steady, professional — the kind of voice that could calm chaos.

"Alright," he said, glancing at the holographic briefing tablet. "We've got intel that the traitor group who helped coordinate the prime minister's hit is holed up in the old district — abandoned textile warehouse. We move fast, we move silent."

One of the younger officers, tightened her helmet. "Captain, what about ability jammers?"

"They're already deployed around the perimeter," Igara replied. "No abilities inside that building. Just grit and training. Exactly why we are here."

The others chuckled quietly — a grim, confident sound that faded as the truck halted.

The doors opened.

Cold air hit their faces as they stepped into the narrow, cracked streets of the old city. The warehouse loomed ahead, half-covered in shadow, its walls painted with years of graffiti.

Igara raised two fingers, signaling silence.

They breached.

The metal door slammed open with a mechanical hiss, and flashlights sliced through the darkness.

"Police! On the ground!"

Shouts echoed back — chaotic, desperate. A gun went off. Then another.

Bullets sparked against metal beams, but the SWAT team moved with precision, clearing corners, pressing forward. Even with the jammers on, the traitors fought viciously, using improvised explosives, sharp weapons, anything they could grab.

"Cover the left!" Igara ordered.

Nishio ducked behind a crate, firing controlled bursts. "They're trying to flank us!"

"Keep pressure! Move!"

In the haze of smoke and dust, one of the traitors lunged forward, swinging a rusted pipe. A SWAT member caught it with his arm, countering with a single, well-trained strike that dropped the man instantly.

Another shouted from the back, "You think you're heroes?! You bitches of the state!"

Igara stepped into view, eyes cold behind his visor. "Don't move or I will blow your brains out."

The traitor spat blood. "Your children should—"

"Enough," Igara cut her off sharply, gun trained steady. "Save your curses. You made your choice."

The woman tried to rush again but was pinned down by another officer.

Tension filled the air — gunfire, boots against concrete, the low buzz of the jammers.

Then silence.

Only the faint sound of static remained.

"Building clear," One of the SWAT team member finally reported, voice shaky. "Multiple suspects down, no abilities detected."

Igara exhaled slowly and looked around the room. Broken equipment. Scattered documents. Symbols painted in red on the walls — the insignia of the resistance group known as Traitors.

She tapped his earpiece. "Central, this is Division Nine. Site secure. Send cleanup and data retrieval teams."

As she spoke, the faint siren of incoming patrols echoed through the streets outside.

But what no one noticed — not even the security drones — was the woman who quietly walked out the back of the same building minutes later.

Her steps were calm. Her dark coat fluttered slightly in the night breeze.

In her arms, she carried a slim folder full of documents and a small metallic case containing several ability jammer cartridges — the same kind used by SWAT.

She didn't hurry. She didn't look back.

The chaos behind her might as well not exist.

When she reached the corner of the alley, a black sedan was waiting. The driver — expressionless, wearing tinted glasses — opened the rear door without a word.

The woman slipped inside.

"Where to, ma'am?" she asked.

She smiled faintly. "Home."

The car glided through the nearly empty streets. Sirens wailed in the distance, bouncing off the walls of skyscrapers like ghosts.

Inside the car, she flipped through the documents — photographs, blueprints, encrypted codes — her eyes scanning with surgical precision.

When the car finally stopped, she looked up.

Before her stood a luxurious high-rise, its windows glowing gold against the dark city. The guards at the gate bowed as the sedan rolled in.

But as the car pulled into the underground parking area, something changed.

By the time she stepped out, she looked entirely different.

Shorter hair. Different color. New features.

The woman who entered was not the same woman who had left the warehouse.

The elevator carried her to the thirty-fourth floor. The soft music in the background only made the silence heavier.

When the doors opened, she stepped into her apartment — a penthouse suite that looked pristine at first glance.

But as she turned on the lights, the truth spilled into view.

Every wall was covered in photographs of Ren.

Ren standing on a street corner. Ren in a crowd. Ren smiling faintly in a candid shot.

Hundreds of them.

Some were pinned, others neatly framed, some even enlarged into life-sized posters.

On one side of the living room stood mannequins, shaped like Ren — wearing clothes similar to his. Their faces painted with unsettling care, eyes eerily lifelike.

The woman walked among them as if strolling through a garden.

She reached up, touching one mannequin's cheek. "Ren… you always look so gentle, even when you're angry."

She giggled softly — a sound that was almost childlike, yet tinged with obsession.

Her coat slipped off her shoulders, revealing a simple dress underneath. She twirled once, speaking to no one in particular.

"Do you know what today was, Ren? The city was such a mess. So many people running, shouting. It's noisy out there. But you… you'd still smile, wouldn't you?"

She stopped in front of a framed photograph — one where Ren was caught mid-laugh, the background blurred. Her fingers brushed the glass.

"Don't worry baby! No bitches can harm you." she whispered. "I stayed close. I always do."

She moved to the kitchen, humming a quiet tune. On the counter sat a mug labeled "For Ren", filled with steaming tea that had long gone cold.

From the ceiling, faint blue lights blinked — the kind used for surveillance dampening.

No one could see her here.

She walked toward the hallway. Even there, Ren's pictures lined the walls. On the door of the washroom, a collage of Ren's expressions — laughing, serious, thoughtful — greeted her.

She smiled again.

The woman stepped inside and stared at herself in the mirror.

For a long time, she didn't move.

The fluorescent light flickered slightly, casting thin shadows across her face.

Then she sighed.

"I suppose it's time to change again," she murmured.

Her hand reached up — and, with a slow motion, she peeled off her face.

It wasn't gruesome; it was almost elegant — like removing a mask made of living skin. Underneath, her true features emerged: crimson-red hair, sharp eyes, and a smile that could cut glass.

She looked at her reflection — the woman with the red hair staring back at her — and tilted her head slightly.

For a moment, her eyes softened.

"I wonder…" she whispered, tracing the edge of her cheek in the mirror. "I wonder if Ren will like my face this time."

Silence.

Then a faint, distant sound — thunder rolling across the city.

She smiled again, turning away from the mirror.

"Soon," she said. "I'll see you soon, Ren."