"By the way…where's the other one? I could have sworn there were two of you." she started, tilting her head slightly,

  Mya's eyes flicked down to the floor. The question hit her like a knife sharp and sudden. Assad could feel her tense up beside him. For a brief moment, silence enveloped them, heavy and suffocating.

  Mischa's eyes narrowed just a bit, a glimmer of curiosity shining through.

  "Hmm?Where is she?"she urged, stepping a little closer.

  Mya's throat constricted. She could sense Assad's presence next to her the man who had listened to her story without judgment, who had saved her and the truth felt like fire on her tongue.

  Her fingers trembled in her lap.

  "She's… dead," Mya finally managed to whisper.

  Mischa blinked once, her expression unreadable. "Dead?"

  Mya nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

  "How unfortunate…who killed her?"Mischa's tone was devoid of sorrow, almost clinical, as if she were simply cataloging information rather than mourning a life.

  Assad froze, every muscle in his body tensing.

  Mya's heart raced so loudly she could barely hear her own words. "I… I don't know," she blurted out, the lie trembling on her lips.

  Mischa's eyes stayed fixed on her face, searching for any cracks. The silence that followed stretched on, heavy enough that Mya could feel the weight of her lie pressing down on her chest.

  Then Mischa smiled. Not a warm smile, but one that felt knowing. "Hmm. I see."

  Assad could feel his pulse quickening. He wasn't sure if Mischa believed her… or if she was just playing along.

  Mischa's smile softened, and she offered a polite little nod.

  "Well, if that works for you," "I suppose I shouldn't pry any further."she said smoothly,

  Her tone had a deceptive lightness to it like a hidden blade beneath a layer of silk.

  "Now then…let's get to what really matters, shall we?"she continued, her gaze drifting toward the table.

  With a slow, deliberate grace, Mischa walked over and pulled out a chair across from Assad. The legs made a soft scraping sound against the floor as she sat down, crossing one leg over the other with quiet elegance.

  Her eyes flicked between the two briefcases and then back to Assad. Her expression was unreadable, a blend of composure, confidence, and something sharper lurking just beneath the surface.

  "As you might already know, I should be the one holding those briefcases."she began, her voice low yet commanding,

  Assad remained silent, his silver eyes narrowing just a bit.

  Mischa offered a faint smile, resting her chin lightly on her gloved hand.

  "Let's skip the awkward formalities. I'm Mischa Chikae, the personal maid to Young Master Zheng Yan." she continued, her tone calm but laced with authority.

  The name hung in the air, cold and deliberate, like the sound of a verdict being pronounced.

  "And I've come to reclaim what rightfully belongs to my young master." she said, her eyes darting back to the briefcases,

  Assad's face remained impassive, but his thoughts were racing.

  'A personal maid?What would make someone send their own maid to deal with something like this?'

  Deals like this, especially when it involved something as unpredictable as JABE, were never left to mere attendants. It felt off. Too off. Either Zheng Yan had an unusual level of trust in her… or she was more than just a maid.

  Mischa sat with perfect poise, her hands neatly folded in her lap, as if she were in a drawing room rather than a dingy backstreet shop thick with tension.

  Assad leaned back a bit, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized her. Her voice, her precision, even the way she inhaled everything about her seemed calculated like someone trained to kill while maintaining a pleasant facade. He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

  "Interesting, I didn't realize personal maids were involved in drug dealings." he remarked, his voice laced with quiet amusement,

  Mischa's gaze flicked to him, sharp yet courteous, like a hidden blade behind a smile.

  "Oh?" "You must be wondering… why would someone send their own maid to handle something so perilous?"she replied softly.

  For just a moment, Assad's smirk wavered.

  'How did she do it?'

  She lowered her gaze respectfully, brushing off an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve before continuing,

  "It wasn't my Young Master's decision but since the exchange needs to happen, let me take care of the trade, the money and the JABE."she said with calm assurance.

  The atmosphere in the room grew denser and Assad remained silent, his expression inscrutable, but his fingers began to tap the armrest subtly, a habit that revealed the calculations swirling in his mind.

  Mischa's smile remained steady as she clasped her hands together.

  "If there are no more questions, let's make a straightforward deal," "You allow me to take the briefcases to my Young Master without any trouble, and I won't kill you and also don't answer the call that's about to come in." she said, her voice smooth like polished stone.

  Assad blinked in surprise.

  "Call?" he echoed, confusion etching lines on his forehead.

  Before Mischa could respond, the small projection on Assad's wristwatch flickered to life, crackling with the familiar static he dreaded, the hologram stuttering, and a sharp tone rang out, slicing through the silence.

  Assad's hand moved instinctively. He stared at the watch, his breath hitching, his heart pounding in his ears. "Taura—"

  Mischa tilted her head slightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

  "See?" "It was bound to ring. You could have picked it up, but I suggested against it." she said softly.

  "How?" Assad began, but the question faded away. He felt exposed, like a child whose sleeve had been tugged by a stranger in a crowded place.

  The watch vibrated insistently, flashing the name: TAURA.

  Assad's thumb hovered over the side button. He glanced at Mya, who looked as pale as a ghost, her fingers digging into her sleeve in fear. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears, and his mouth felt dry.

  When he finally pressed the button, Taura's voice broke through the static.

  "Assad? Where are you? Answer" The transmission was ragged and urgent, then a crackle interrupted it, the connection tearing apart. The hologram flickered and distorted.

  Mischa's smile turned sharper, colder, and as patient as frost.

  "You see there are ways to render a call useless. When you answer, you give away your signal. You reveal your hiding place."she said softly, leaning in closer,

  Assad's jaw clenched. "You lied to me before," he said, his voice low. "You said you wouldn't—"

  "I said I wouldn't kill you. I didn't promise you a pleasant chat with your allies."she corrected, her eyes glinting.

  A hush settled over the room. Outside, a siren wailed in the distance before fading away.

  Assad's mind raced: should he answer and risk Taura being traced, or ignore the call and jeopardize the only backup he had? He wasn't one to linger in indecision. He usually made choices based on instinct rather than contemplation.

  His thumb hovered over the button, then moved but not to hang up. Instead, he did the only impulsive thing that came to mind: he switched the watch to transmit, connecting Taura at low power, opting for a whisper instead of a shout.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Taura," he breathed into the mic. "We—"

  The connection flickered again, and a wet, metallic sound intruded, like rain on a tin roof, then a single, light footstep echoed from the aisle behind Mischa.

  Both Assad and Mya turned in unison. Mischa's expression shifted her polite facade, slipping just enough to notice. Her gloved hand reached toward the table.

  "You are quite… brave or perhaps foolish. Either way works." she said, her voice soft as a promise.

  Her fingers curled around the handle of the nearest briefcase.

  The shop seemed to drop a degree in temperature. Mya let out a small sound, like air escaping from lungs. Assad lunged forward.

  But just as his fingers brushed against Mischa's glove, the watch died, the hologram collapsing into a blur of blue static, and the lights in the shop flickered violently, plunging everything into a dim half-light.

  Mischa's smile remained fixed. Her grip tightened on the briefcase as if it were already hers.

  "Thank you for your cooperation." she whispered.

  Then, with a motion so smooth and final it felt like the closing of a chapter, she lifted the case.

  As Mischa strolled toward the outskirts of the streets, both briefcases in hand, the sound of her heels softly clicked against the cracked tiles.

  Just as her shadow reached the threshold, she paused the silence felt thick in the air; she turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting back to Mya calm, deliberate, and unreadable.

  "My dear, why don't you come with me?"Mischa said gently, her voice smooth like honey over a sharp edge,

  Mya's eyes widened in confusion. "W-What…?"

  Mischa offered a faint smile, the kind that could make you trust her even when you knew better.

  "I can tell my young master about your situation and with the right persuasion and payment... he could make your problem disappear."she continued, her tone both delicate and commanding.

  The words hit Mya like a spark in her chest. For a moment, it felt like time stood still.

  Her sisters. Ano. Nui. The faces she thought she'd lost forever.

  "You mean…he can really help me get them back?"her voice quivered, a tear rolling down her cheek,

  Mischa tilted her head slightly, her eyes shimmering in the flickering light.

  "As I just said ,with the right persuasion my young master can achieve almost anything."she replied softly

  Assad's expression turned steely. He could sense the hook hidden beneath her sweet words, the subtle, silent tug of manipulation but Mya's fragile hope was too delicate to dismiss.

  Mischa stepped closer, her presence both calming and suffocating.

  "Come along, dear, it's better than just sitting here waiting for ghosts,"she whispered.

  Mya hesitated, her hand hovering in the air, trembling just inches from Mischa's gloved palm.

  The flicker of hope in her eyes began to overshadow all reason. Maybe this was it, maybe this was how she'd finally reunited with her sisters.

  That's when a low, rasping chuckle sliced through the air. It wasn't loud, but it pierced the room like a knife through glass.Mischa and Mya froze. Mya blinked, confusion washing over her face. Mischa's expression sharpened, her eyes darting toward Assad.

  Assad sat slouched at the table, his gaze fixed downward. His expression looked… defeated.Was it because of how suddenly Mischa knew what he was thinking about or about how she predicted the call that would come from Taura.

  But it was none of these. So what could have been the cause of this. Assad then fixated his gaze at the table not moving for that exact moment. Mya witnessed this and was a bit worried for Assad but on the other side the offer that Mischa presented to her was already tempting as it is.

  The very fact of someone with higher power and status helping does sound suspicious at first if you think about it but it also makes it better. Mya looked at the quiet Assad once more before deciding her choice. The moment alone was a little bit awkward and it was making Mischa more and more impatient but she didn't want to show it.

  That's until Mya slowly stands up catching Mischa off guard at first but then shows a supportive smile almost as if she is saying that Mya did the right thing. Mya suddenly turns to Mischa's direction and takes her first step, then another follows.

  As Mya kept taking her small steps takes a second to look at Assad who was still quiet then her mouth moved and she whispered the words,'I'm sorry but I need the help'. Then she goes to Mischa's direction.

  A sudden chuckle is heard making Mya freeze and Mischa turns to see who it was.

  "Funny,using pretty words to toy with a desperate child."

  The statement made Mischa chuckle as well as the very person who she believed that she played with her words smoothly is all of a sudden acting tough.

  "Oh and why do you think that I'm playing with a young girl. That's a bit harsh to a fairly rated woman like myself."

  Assad bestowed a sly grin, almost as if he was mocking her words.

  "I'm sorry, never meant to be a bit harsh. But your way of using slight playful manipulation to get into the minds of children is already…concerning. Since I'm the one who should be helping this girl, I should be at the very least worried for her. However that feeling of worry is just…not really sinking in for me." Assad said, his voice manifesting a slight boredom.

  Assad's words hit Mya like a truck and it wasn't the assertion he gave but how he said it. The sound of his voice changed like it did a complete one-eighty, switching personalities within a second.

  The face that started to give her some hope, the calm and almost therapy-like voice that guided her into telling her story and that sweet smile that made her blush a bit, even if not from love but from something else. The fake hero that attempted to save her sister but eventually failed was now gone, just like that.

  At that very moment Assad finally rises from his seat and walks towards Mischa,his movements were a bit slow but not calculated. He then reaches her and looks straight at her face. Surprisingly they are the same height which made the scene look like a gladiator stand off.

  Mischa tilted her head and did not remove her gaze from Assad. This was getting more and more exciting for her, especially how it was leading so far.

  "I don't know your motives right now boy but if it's a fight that you wish for then I will gladly accept your challenge. Just don't go crying to your mother and yelling that you have a boo-boo." Mischa remarked.

  Assad didn't move, not even an inch. A small threat like that would scare him in fact that was way too little for someone as dangerous as him.

  "Heh, is that so? Well just for your information my mother I have no clue who she is. I lived with my father who died a clean one hit kill so he's out of the picture. So if I do get beaten up by you I wonder who will I cry to." Assad stated.

  "Then there is only one way to go cry to your daddy and you should already know what that is correct?" Mischa inquired.

  The answer was already clear and it made Assad even more hyped for this upcoming battle.

  "Oh we will see what that is."