When was the first time you felt like life was good? For me, never. Not once. My life has been a series of one disaster after another, starting when I was nine. That’s when I lost my parents—the only people who were close to me, the ones who gave me everything. And to make matters worse, they weren’t just any parents; they were part of a secret agency.

We called it an agency because, from the outside, it looked like a publishing house—clean, legitimate. But beneath the surface, we were a dangerous, top-secret undercover group. Homicide, murder, assault, manslaughter, sexual assault, rape, robbery, negligence, endangerment, kidnapping, extortion, assassination, bombings, hijacking, mass shootings, genocide, torture, mafia killings, human trafficking—you name it, we accepted the mission without hesitation.

Missions came from various sources—renowned businessmen, mafia groups, government officials, political parties, even ordinary families. The head of the agency decided which requests to accept or reject. But some missions were core to our group’s survival, like the one I’ve been groomed for since my parents' death.

My parents were brilliant researchers. They predicted a revolution in tech and weaponry within the next decade. They foresaw that a country with advanced tech devices and superior ammunition would dominate. They developed a formula for a nano missile, ten times more effective than a regular one, and my father created blueprints for secret tasks to be executed underground, where he planned to build a hidden base.

But brilliance comes with a price. My family worked with mafia professionals, foreign experts, researchers, scientists, and businessmen. Despite keeping a low profile, my parents’ brains were so famous that there was a black market auction to buy them. Now, even after their deaths, those same people are after me. They believe my father left me something priceless.

I have no idea if that’s true. My parents died in a plane crash while I was with my grandmother in a hut with an underground base. My family has a thing for underground bases. The crash was no accident; it was a pre-planned mission. Their killers want our underground base, the blueprints, and the nano missile formula.

Since then, I've been brutally trained by professionals from my dad’s group. Every mistake cost me a knife cut on my hands, legs, or anywhere that could still bear a scar. My grandmother treated me daily, healing the wounds, but the deepest scars and the pain behind them remain.

I stood over the unconscious body on the car hood, my mind a whirlwind of doubt and fear. Had I just killed the most crucial part of my mission? The man's half-open eyes stared into the abyss, and I felt like I was falling into it with him. "This can't be happening," Troye rasped, his voice echoing the hollowness in my own chest.  "This is fucked." He was right. This wasn't just a mission gone wrong; it was a gaping hole ripped through the carefully constructed reality I'd clung to.  Years of brutal training, a constant internal battle against my omega nature – all for this? A single, poorly timed car ride?

"Dude, snap out of it," Troye's voice pierced through my thoughts, bringing me back to the harsh reality. "We need to move. Now."

"Troye, do you realise what I've done?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "He could be the key to everything, and I might have just killed him."

"Rowan, we don't have time for this!" Troye grabbed my shoulder, shaking me. "We have to get out of here before they find us."

"Do you think I don't know that?" I snapped, my frustration boiling over. "But what if I’ve ruined everything? What if my parents' sacrifices were for nothing?"

Troye sighed, his grip on my shoulder tightening. "You can't think like that. Your parents' legacy isn't just a mission. It's about survival. It's about ensuring their work doesn’t fall into the wrong hands."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "You're right. We need to stay focused. But how do I live with this guilt?"

"By finishing what they started," Troye said firmly. "By making sure their killers pay."

I saw the determination in his gaze. He was right. I had to keep going, no matter the cost.

Rage, bitter and primal, bubbled up.  At the faceless bastards who'd started this, at the cruel hand of fate, at myself for even daring to hope for a sliver of normalcy.  My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms.

"No," I growled, the word a guttural release of the storm within.  "This isn't over.  We find out who did this. We use Bane, somehow and we finish this damn mission."

"Load him into the van," I ordered, my voice cold and steady once more. "We’ll figure out what to do with his body later."

Troye stared at me, his brown eyes wide with a mix of fear and something else I couldn't decipher. "What in the bloody hell are you talking about, man?  He's dead! We can't just… use him."

"We have to!" I slammed my fist on the car's roof, the impact sending a jolt through my throbbing arm.  "This mission is everything.  It's for my family, for all the sacrifices they made."

My voice cracked on the last word, the weight of their memory a crushing blow.  But even through the grief, a new, horrifying thought wormed its way in.  Bane, with his sharp jawline and arrogant smirk, wasn't just the mission objective anymore.  He was a chilling reminder of everything I was supposed to suppress.

He was the alpha I could never be, the strength I could never possess.  And in a sick, twisted way, a part of me… admired him.

Troye sighed, a weary sound that spoke volumes.  "Alright, alright.  But we need a plan.  We can't just waltz in with a dead body and pretend it's alive."

"We won't," I said, forcing a steely edge to my voice.  The omega in me recoiled from the harsh tone, but right now, I couldn't afford to be soft.  "We'll say he had a deadly accident.  We'll figure something out."

As we drove away, my mind raced with thoughts of my parents, their work and the mission that now lay in my hands. The scars on my body throbbed, a constant reminder of the pain and loss I'd endured. But they also reminded me of my strength, of the resilience that had kept me alive this long.

"Rowan, do you ever wonder if people like us would ever find peace?" Troye asked quietly from the passenger seat.

"Peace is a luxury we can’t afford," I replied, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Not until this mission is complete. Not until my parents' killers are brought to justice."

Troye nodded, his expression sombre. "Then let's make sure we finish what they started."

A dark humour bubbled up, a desperate attempt to break the oppressive tension.  "Maybe we can prop him up in his office chair, sunglasses on, pretend he's just taking a power nap."

Troye snorted, a flicker of his old smile breaking through.  "Yeah, right.  Maybe with a sign that says, 'Do not disturb – assassinating dreams.'"

The shared joke felt hollow, but it was a spark, a tiny flicker of defiance against the overwhelming darkness.