The warehouse was still now, save for the quiet flickering of overhead lights and the distant creak of rusted metal beams settling. The scent of gunpowder and blood hung heavy in the air, clinging to every breath. The fight had ended minutes ago, but its remnants were strewn across the cold concrete—bodies lying motionless, their weapons discarded, their blood pooling in thick, dark smears.

It had been a slaughter.

I stood at the center of it all, untouched. My suit was still perfect, my breathing steady. There wasn’t a single mark on me, not a speck of blood, as if I had walked through the chaos without ever being a part of it. My blade, still held loosely in one hand, dripped crimson onto the floor, the only proof that I had been the one to end it.

I inhaled deeply, scanning the room with a practiced eye. The enemy’s warehouse had been well-stocked, crates of weapons stacked against the walls, meant for deals that would now never happen. What should have been a calculated ambush had turned into a massacre, and it hadn’t even been a challenge.

With a quiet exhale, I flicked the blood from my knife before sliding it back into its sheath. The fight was over.

My gaze shifted slightly. A few feet away, standing near an overturned desk, he remained exactly where he had been the entire time.

Unmoved. Unscathed. Untouched.

I took a slow step forward, my boots making a soft, deliberate sound against the bloodstained floor. I didn’t say anything at first, simply watching him, waiting for some sign that he had been affected by the chaos that had unfolded around him. But there was nothing.

"You didn’t move."

The words came out quieter than I expected, but they filled the empty space between us. He didn’t answer, didn’t react, only met my gaze with the same unreadable expression he always carried.

I let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down my face before shaking my head. "Not once." My voice was laced with something—not quite frustration, not quite amusement.

Another silence stretched between us before I took another step closer, eyes narrowing slightly as I studied him. Then, without warning, I reached up and ran my fingers through his perfectly styled hair, deliberately messing it up.

"Not even a damn hair out of place." I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. "You’re impossible."

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.

I smirked slightly, the expression lazy but warm. I let my hand drop, stepping back just a fraction. "One of these days, you’re gonna have to fight for yourself." My tone had lost its teasing edge, the weight behind my words impossible to ignore.

Finally, he moved, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. The click of his lighter echoed in the quiet as he lit it, taking a slow drag before responding.

"And until then?"

I studied him for a long moment, then rolled my eyes, plucking the cigarette from his fingers without hesitation. I took a lazy drag, exhaled the smoke, and flicked the cigarette away like it was nothing.

"Guess that just means I’ll have to stick around."

As we stood there, surrounded by the wreckage of yet another battle, I found myself thinking that I didn’t mind carrying the weight of watching his back, I never did.