Kieran returned home close to midnight. The empty house was just him alone, and even the traces left by his father were gradually fading with time—the shotgun still hung on the wall, but it had gathered a layer of dust; the bottles in the living room had long been cleared away, leaving only the indentation on the sofa, like a phantom of Doyle still sitting there.

  He didn't turn on the lights, walking straight into his room and closing the door.

  The streetlights outside cast a faint light through the curtains, enough for him to see the outline of the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and then closed his eyes.

  'Bring up the mission data.' He commanded in his mind.

  Data flooded in like a tide—photos, videos, medical records, family background, behavioral patterns. But when the first photo took shape in his mind, Kieran's breath caught in his throat.

  That is the face of a nine-year-old girl.

  With brown curly hair, big eyes, and faint freckles on her cheeks. She is wearing a school uniform, carrying a pink backpack, and smiling brightly—a smile that is pure, innocent, and free of any shadows, the kind only children possess.

  At the bottom of the photo is her name: Emilia Grey, 9 years old, third grade.

  Kieran's stomach began to churn.

  He had seen countless profiles of targets—politicians, businessmen, gangsters, and even other individuals with abilities. But never one like this—a child.

  ‘Why?’ he questioned in his mind, his voice more agitated than he expected, ‘She's just a child!’

  Sabrina's reply was calm and swift: ‘She is not an ordinary child. Our intelligence indicates that she may be a potential member of the Order of Solace.’

  ‘May be?’ Kieran almost shouted, ‘You haven't even confirmed it, and you want me to kill a nine-year-old child?’

  ‘Lower your voice.’ Sabrina's tone became stern, ‘Getting emotional won't change anything. Emilia Grey has exhibited extraordinary abilities over the past three months—she can foresee the near future and has successfully prevented accidents three times. The awakening pattern of this ability aligns perfectly with the recruitment targets of the Order of Solace.’

  Kieran opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. ‘Even if she has abilities, it doesn't mean she has been recruited by the cult.’

  “We can't take this risk,” Sabrina said. “Once the Order of Solace gets a member with precognitive abilities, it will pose a huge threat to us. She must be removed before she is recruited.”

  “She’s only nine years old!” Kieran emphasized again, his voice trembling with suppression. “She doesn’t even know she has abilities! She’s just a—”

  “She is a threat,” Sabrina interrupted him. “That’s the fact. This isn’t your first time carrying out this kind of mission, Kieran. You should know well that our work doesn’t discriminate by age, gender, or identity. As long as someone is marked as a threat, they must be eliminated.”

  Kieran's fingers dug into the sheets, his knuckles turning white.

  The targets of past missions had all been adults—those who had already made choices, who had already walked a certain path. He could convince himself that they “had it coming,” or at least that they had “willingly” stepped into this dangerous world.

  But Emilia was different.

  She knew nothing. She was just an ordinary little girl who happened to awaken some kind of ability, and then she was sentenced to death.

  “I need more time to think,” Kieran said, trying to make his voice sound calm.

  “You don’t have time,” Sabrina replied. “The Order of Solace may have already noticed her. If they make contact with her first, the difficulty of the mission will increase exponentially. You have forty-eight hours.”

  “Forty-eight hours?” Kieran's voice rose. “You want me to kill a nine-year-old child in two days?”

  “I want you to complete your mission.” Sabrina's tone turned cold, “Do you remember your oath, Kieran? Do you remember why you joined the organization in the first place?”

  Kieran fell silent.

  Of course he remembered. When he was nine, Sabrina found him standing next to a homeless man on the street, contemplating whether to take his food and money.

  Sabrina offered him another choice—not to escape the darkness, but to embrace it. She told him that since fate had already pushed him into the abyss, he might as well learn to survive in it, even to control it.

  She gave him strength, training, and the means to survive.

  The price was absolute obedience.

  “I remember,” he finally said, his voice hollow.

  “Good,” Sabrina paused for a moment, her tone softening slightly, “I know this mission isn’t easy for you. But this is our job. We do what others cannot or will not do. We are a necessary evil, Kieran; without us, the world would be more chaotic.”

  “Necessary evil...” Kieran repeated the phrase, a sarcastic smile tugging at his lips.

  This was the belief that the organization had instilled in them all along—they were not bad people, just those carrying out necessary tasks. They eliminated threats, maintained a fragile balance, allowing the “rulers” to continue controlling the world.

  But does that reasoning still hold when the threat is a nine-year-old child?

  “The mission details have all been transmitted.” Sabrina continued, “Emilia gets out of school at three-thirty every afternoon and walks home alone. The route passes through a sparsely populated alley, which is the best opportunity. The method is not limited, but it must be clean and leave no traces of abilities.”

  Kieran closed his eyes, and the image of that alley automatically surfaced in his mind—narrow, dark, with abandoned warehouses on both sides, out of the reach of surveillance cameras.

  It was the perfect crime scene.

  “I understand.” He replied mechanically.

  After the communication was cut off, Kieran lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

  Emilia's smiling face lingered in his mind like some kind of curse. He tried to convince himself using the methods of the past—viewing her as a “target” rather than a “person,” focusing on the technical details of the mission rather than the moral issues.

  But this time was different.

  He remembered what Ivy had said in the library: “You should understand what it feels like to lose a father.”

  If he killed Emilia, her parents would experience the same pain. No, worse than that—losing a child is harder to bear than losing a parent.

  He turned onto his side, curling up into a ball.

  The howling of the sea breeze comes from outside, mixed with the distant sound of the waves. This city remains bustling and lively, and people continue to live their normal lives, completely unaware that in the dark corners, someone is planning a murder.

  Kieran suddenly remembered a question—what would happen if he refused this mission?

  He had already failed once on the last mission; although he ultimately completed it, the organization must be monitoring his "loyalty." If he refused again, especially for such an important task...

  How would the organization deal with disloyal members?

  He wasn't sure, but it certainly wouldn't end well. The best-case scenario would be to be "retired"—that is, have his memory erased, cut off from the organization, and then thrown back into the world of ordinary people.

  The worst-case scenario... he didn't dare to think about it.

  Moreover, even if he refused, the organization would send someone else. That "someone else" might not hesitate like he did and could use a more brutal approach.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  At least if it was him doing it, he could let Emilia go without any pain.

  This thought made him feel sick, but it also gave him a reason to continue.

  He wasn't killing; he was... alleviating suffering?

  This kind of self-deception was even more ridiculous, but he needed it.

  *

  When Kieran went to school the next day, he sat in the classroom like a zombie. The teacher was lecturing at the front, but he couldn't absorb a single word. Images of Emilia, the alley, and various execution plans kept flashing through his mind.

  The simplest method would be cardiac arrest—quick, painless, and appearing like a sudden illness. But for a healthy nine-year-old child, such a cause of death would raise suspicions and might require an autopsy.

  An accident? Like being struck by a falling object? But creating a "plausible" accident would require more preparation time, and he only had forty-eight hours.

  Suffocation? Drowning?

  Each option made him feel more nauseous.

  "Kieran?"

  A voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to find Ivy standing by his desk, a concerned expression on her face.

  "You look really tired," she said softly. "Did you not sleep well last night?"

  Kieran instinctively wanted to push her away, but when he saw the worry in her eyes, the cold words got stuck in his throat.

  "...Just a little something," he managed to squeeze out.

  Ivy hesitated for a moment, then sat down in the empty seat next to him. "I heard Jasper say that you guys... had a fight yesterday?"

  Kieran didn’t respond.

  “He is very worried about you.” Ivy continued, “So am I. You seem to have something on your mind lately...”

  “It's nothing.” Kieran said, his tone colder than expected.

  Ivy bit her lip, hesitating whether to continue. Finally, she spoke up: “I know you don’t like others to care about you. But... Kieran, you don’t have to bear everything alone.”

  This sentence struck him like a needle, precisely hitting his most vulnerable spot.

  “You don’t understand.” He said softly.

  “Then let me understand.” Ivy insisted, her gaze sincere, “Tell me what’s bothering you. Maybe I can help.”

  Kieran turned to look at her, staring into those clear eyes. He suddenly remembered Jasper saying that she might like him.

  Kieran's gaze unconsciously swept over Ivy, that habitual “observation” had already activated before he realized it—he saw her aura.

  A faint pink, soft and warm, with a slight golden halo at the edges, a hue that only emotionally rich people possess. And deep within that pink, there was a thread-like light, extending towards him like silk.

  Kieran's stomach sank.

  He was too familiar with that color—the aura of someone in love. Pure, fragile, completely defenseless.

  Jasper was right.

  Ivy likes him.

  This realization hit Kieran like a bucket of ice water poured over his head, causing his temples to throb. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his brow, trying to suppress the urge to run away.

  "Kieran?" Ivy's voice was filled with concern, "Are you okay? You look even worse."

  "I'm fine." Kieran stood up, his voice stiff, "I need to go to the nurse's office."

  Without waiting for Ivy's response, he quickly left the classroom. The hallway was empty, and his footsteps echoed off the walls. He didn't actually go to the nurse's office; instead, he headed straight for the stairs and pushed open the door to the rooftop.

  Cold wind rushed in, carrying the salty scent of the sea and the chill of winter. Kieran leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his thoughts.

  But his mind was a mess.

  Ivy likes him.

  She likes the person who killed her father.

  And now he is going to kill a nine-year-old child.

  How did all of this end up like this?

  'Kieran Vale.'

  Sabrina's voice appeared like a ghost, right on time.

  'Can you... please not bother me for a while?' Kieran replied in his mind, his tone carrying a rare plea.

  'Your emotional fluctuations have exceeded the limit again.' Sabrina ignored his request, 'And this time it's because of Castellan's daughter. I warned you—'

  'I know!' Kieran almost shouted in his mind, 'I know what you warned me about. But right now—I don't want to hear this.'

  Silence.

  Sabrina's silence was more unsettling than her reprimand, as it meant she was "assessing." Assessing his state, his loyalty, whether he could still carry out the mission.

  'You need to calm down.' Sabrina finally said, her tone growing colder, 'You must be in that alley at three-thirty tomorrow afternoon. If you miss the opportunity, the next chance will be even harder to find. And—' she paused, as if to emphasize her words, 'the Order of Solace may already be watching her. If you don't take action, they will reach out to her first.'

  'So what?' Kieran suddenly asked, his voice very soft, 'If she is recruited by the Order, isn't she safe? She can survive, just by joining another faction.'

  “Are you questioning the necessity of the mission?” Sabrina's voice became dangerous.

  “I just...” Kieran swallowed hard, “I just want to know why there can't be a third option.”

  “There is no third option.” Sabrina said firmly, “This is not a negotiation, Kieran. This is an order. Complete the mission by three-thirty tomorrow afternoon. This is your last chance to prove your worth.”

  The communication was cut off, leaving Kieran standing alone in the cold wind.

  His fingers gripped the railing tightly, knuckles turning white. The smile of that nine-year-old girl became clearer in his mind, overlapping with Ivy's face, then separating again.

  He remembered himself at his father's funeral—sixteen, alone, not knowing how to go on living.

  He recalled Ivy's tears—the hollow feeling after losing her father.

  Now, he was going to make another set of parents experience the same pain.

  No, worse than that.

  They would lose their child.

  Kieran's stomach began to churn, and he turned and rushed to the corner, gagging. He couldn't throw up anything, only the bitter taste of stomach acid surged in his throat.

  “I can't do it.” He silently repeated in his mind, like a desperate prayer, “I really can't do it.”

  But he knew he had no choice.

  If he refused, the organization would send someone else. That “someone else” wouldn’t hesitate like he did, and might make Emilia suffer even more.

  Moreover, if he refused, the organization would drastically lower their assessment of his “value.” He could be “retired” — in the best case; or “cleared” — in the worst case.

  He straightened up, wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and forced himself to calm down.

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow at three-thirty in the afternoon.

  He had to make a choice.

  *

  That night, Kieran didn’t go home. He wandered through the city, from the harbor to the old town, and from the old town to the residential area. His steps had no purpose, just walking endlessly, as if stopping would let those thoughts catch up and consume him.

  In the late night, he arrived at a small park. There was an old playground in the park — rusty swings, a faded slide, and a climbing frame that looked like it could collapse at any moment.

  Under the moonlight, these amusement rides looked like forgotten skeletons.

  Kieran walked towards the swing and sat down. The iron chains creaked, sounding particularly jarring in the quiet night.

  He gently swung his legs, and the swing began to rock back and forth. This motion reminded him of a long time ago—probably when he was five or six, before his father had the accident. Back then, Doyle would take him to the park, pushing him on the swing, and he would laugh joyfully.

  At that time, he still believed that the world was a beautiful place.

  But now he knows that was just a lie. The world has never been beautiful; some people are just luckier and can live in the lie a little longer.

  ‘What kind of person would Emilia Grey be?’ he asked himself, ‘Is she one of the lucky ones living in a lie, or has she, like me, already been marked as a victim?’

  There were no answers.

  The swing slowly came to a stop, and Kieran sat there, staring at his shadow. The moonlight stretched the shadow long, like a stranger.

  ‘When did I become like this?’ he wondered.

  Was it when Sabrina found him at the age of nine?

  Is this the first time executing a mission, taking away the first life?

  Was it destined from the moment he was born?

  Kieran didn't know.

  All he knew was that after tomorrow, he would become worse.

  If he could still recognize himself in the mirror now, after tomorrow, even that last bit of resemblance would disappear.

  He would become a true monster.

  The phone vibrated in his pocket; it was a message from Jasper: "Where are you? Ivy said you're not doing well today. I know I was too harsh yesterday, I'm sorry. Can we talk?"

  Kieran stared at the screen, his fingertips hovering over the keyboard, but in the end, he still didn't reply.

  He turned off the screen and stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

  I'm sorry.

  This word echoed in his mind.

  I'm sorry, Jasper. I'm not the kind of person you think I am.

  I'm sorry, Ivy. You have fallen for the person who killed your father.

  I'm sorry, Emilia. You did nothing wrong, but you must die.

  Kieran closed his eyes and leaned against the iron chain of the swing.

  The cold wind blew, taking away the tears on his cheeks.

  He didn't know when he started crying, nor did he know when he stopped.

  All he knew was that when the sky began to lighten, he had already made his decision.

  Tomorrow at three-thirty in the afternoon.

  The alley.

  He would show up on time.

  Because he had no third option.