Kaiden Bart’s consciousness did not return with a bang; instead, it felt like drowning in ice water that was slowly beginning to thaw. Pain was the first thing to greet him—a symphony of agony pulsing through every nerve in his body. He tried to move his fingers, but it felt as though his hands were buried under tons of concrete.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, he didn't see the ceiling of that ruined old building in Zurich. He saw white. A sterile, eye-watering white, illuminated by the monotonous flicker of fluorescent lights. The sharp tang of antiseptic stung his nostrils, replacing the copper scent of blood that was the last thing he remembered.
"Don't move, Kaiden. You have only just been stitched back together."
The voice was heavy, calm, and utterly commanding. Kai turned his head stiffly. In the corner of the room sat a thirty-five-year-old man in an impeccably tailored three-piece suit. Ethel Bowie. His sharp features and clean-shaven jaw betrayed no emotion whatsoever. He was checking his Patek Philippe watch, as if Kai’s life were merely a schedule running slightly behind.
"How long?" Kai’s voice came out like sandpaper on dry wood. His throat felt as though it were on fire.
"Three weeks. Twelve surgeries. Seven units of blood," Ethel replied without looking at him. He stood up, smoothing the flawless creases of his trousers. "Eigar almost had you this time. He hired a specialist unit from the East. You ought to be dead, but it seems you still have a use for me."
Ethel walked closer, staring at Kai with eyes as cold as Swiss ice. Beneath the facade of a successful young businessman, Ethel was a predator who had survived the Bowie family’s civil wars for years. To him, Kai was not a human being; Kai was an asset that had simply been repaired.
"Eigar is still breathing," Kai muttered. It wasn't a question, but an admission of failure.
Ethel patted Kai’s shoulder—the one recently reassembled with platinum plates—with enough pressure to make him wince. "He is in hiding. But this war is far from over. For now, you must disappear. You need an alibi, Kaiden. Something that makes you look like an ordinary man, rather than a leaking killing machine."
Six months later.
Zurich was at the peak of autumn. A gentle breeze carried the scent of hot chocolate from the cafes along the cobbled streets of the Niederdorf district. Kai stood before the mirror in his new apartment, wearing a cream knit jumper and relaxed trousers. He looked like a successful man working in finance—a false identity crafted by Ethel to keep his hound off Eigar’s radar.
Despite appearing healthy, every step Kai took still left a lingering ache in his waist. His right shoulder no longer possessed its full range of motion. He had been ordered to "socialise." To become part of the elite so that Eigar’s intelligence couldn't track him during this fragile ceasefire.
That evening, an exclusive art exhibition was being held at a renowned gallery near Lake Zurich. Ethel wanted Kai there, simply to monitor the movements of the Bowie family’s business associates.
The gallery was filled with the scent of expensive perfume, the clinking of champagne flutes, and idle small talk. Kai felt like an alien in the middle of the crowd. His hand instinctively hovered near his waist, searching for the Glock he was no longer permitted to carry. His eyes didn't see the paintings; they mapped the room's blind spots and the positions of the guards at the entrance.
Then, he saw her.
In front of an abstract painting stood a woman in a maroon silk dress. Her dark blonde hair was left down, framing a face with delicate features that possessed a strange sharpness in her eyes. She was staring at a canvas themed "The Fall of Rome" with an unusual intensity.
It was Eleanor Rose. But to Kai at that moment, she was just a stranger who seemed far too calm amidst the fake crowd.
Kai approached, driven by an instinct he couldn't quite explain. "That painting uses too much red," he said quietly.
The woman didn't turn, but the corner of her lips lifted slightly. "Red is an honest colour. It cannot hide pain, unlike blue, which is always trying to look composed."
Her voice was soft, yet there was a low, authoritative undertone. Kai stared at her profile. "But too much honesty can make people uncomfortable."
This time, she turned. Her grey-green eyes looked directly into his. For a second, Kai felt naked. It was as if this woman could see the bullet scars beneath his expensive shirt.
"I am Eleanor Rose," she said, holding out a hand with fingers that appeared slender yet possessed hidden, fine muscle.
"Kaiden. Kaiden Bart," Kai replied, taking her hand.
Eleanor’s grip was firm. Kai felt something strange—a flicker of predatory instinct. It was as if two wolves had just met in the middle of a party for sheep.
"You don't look like a man who enjoys art, Mr Bart," Elea said, taking a sip of her champagne.
"And you don't look like a woman who enjoys crowds, Ms Rose."
Elea gave a small laugh. "I am just looking for inspiration. Sometimes life feels far too... monotonous."
They spoke for nearly an hour. About the architecture of Zurich and the bite of the Alpine winds. For Kai, this was the most normal conversation he had ever had. However, he noticed the way Elea stood—her weight was always perfectly balanced, her hands were always free, and her eyes remained alert to her surroundings even while she smiled sweetly.
Kai had no idea that Eleanor was an independent assassin who had recently completed a contract in Berlin. Nor did Elea know that the man in front of her was Ethel Bowie’s right hand, who had nearly died in a hail of bullets six months ago.
"Would you like to get out of here?" Kai asked suddenly. "I know a place that serves much better coffee than this champagne."
Elea seemed to weigh the offer for a moment, then she smiled broadly. "Lead the way, Mr Bart."
That night, under the dim streetlights of Zurich, Kaiden Bart felt something that had long been missing from his life: hope. He didn't know that the woman walking beside him was the person who would one day aim at him through a telescopic lens. He didn't know that they were both part of the same chess game, just on different sides of the board.
For Kai, tonight was about forgetting his wounds. For Elea, tonight was about an intriguing man who had secrets as dark as her own.
As they walked away from the gallery, the scar on Kai’s thigh throbbed gently from the cold night air. But this time, he didn't mind it so much. He was too busy watching the way Eleanor Rose walked—with the elegance of an art curator, yet with a step that made no sound, exactly like a hunter stalking prey in the night.
It was the beginning of the most beautiful disaster. In a neutral European country, two killing machines had just found a reason to pretend to be human.
Aksara