Rowan stood on the rooftop of an old factory, the cold wind cutting through his coat. His golden eyes glinted beneath the hood, sharp as a predator’s. Ten years had passed since that night — the night his family was taken from him, the night his childhood ended.

Below him, the first of his targets stepped out of a black car. A man in his fifties, surrounded by bodyguards, laughter echoing in the dark. He didn’t recognize the scent of death watching him from above.

Rowan’s fingers brushed the edge of a silver dagger, the same blade his father once carried.

he murmured. 

In the shadows, he moved like smoke — silent, fluid, unstoppable. Each step brought him closer to his first mark… and closer to the heart of the company that destroyed his family.

The rain began to fall — soft at first, then heavier, washing the city in silver streaks.

Rowan crouched on the rooftop edge, his breath calm and even, eyes fixed on the man below. Mr. Han — one of the executives of LYRA Corporation, the same company that orchestrated the massacre years ago. The same company Leo’s father once worked for.

Han adjusted his coat and hurried through the rain toward the warehouse entrance. Two guards followed behind him, unaware of the golden gaze tracking their every move.

Rowan whispered under his breath,

A blur — then silence.

By the time one guard turned, the other was already on the ground, throat slit clean. The sound of rain drowned the drop of his body. Han froze, confusion flashing across his eyes before terror replaced it.

He spun around — too late.

Rowan stepped out of the darkness, hood dripping, eyes glowing faintly gold beneath the shadow.

“You don’t remember me,” 

he said quietly.

“But I remember everything.”

Han stumbled backward, slipping against the slick pavement.

“W–Who are you?”

“You signed the order,” Rowan whispered. 

“The order that sent those men to burn the woods.”

Han’s eyes widened. 

“You… you’re one of them—those creatures!”

A faint smirk curved Rowan’s lips.

“The last of them.”

The wind howled. The dagger flashed.

Moments later, the rain was the only sound left.

Rowan knelt beside the lifeless body, wiping the blade clean with the corner of his cloak. His expression didn’t waver, but deep in his chest, something tightened — not guilt, not mercy, just the faint ache of memory.

---

The city lights glimmered beneath the drizzle as Rowan walked through the quiet streets, his hood pulled low. The metallic scent of rain mixed with faint traces of blood still lingering on his gloves. He had finished his task — another name crossed from the list.

But even victory felt hollow.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, walking aimlessly through the crowded street. Neon signs blinked overhead, laughter and music spilling from the nearby café. He barely noticed — until a familiar sound reached his ears.

A laugh.

Rowan froze.

He turned his head slowly toward the sound — and his breath caught.

Across the street, beneath the glow of a lamppost, a young man stood with another boy, laughter in their eyes as they shared an umbrella. His hair was lighter now, styled differently, but Rowan knew that face. The same eyes, same gentle smile that once looked up at him on that cliff years ago.

Leo.

Rowan’s pulse stuttered.

For a moment, the world blurred — the noise of traffic faded, and all he could hear was the rain between them. Leo was smiling, carefree, tugging at the sleeve of the boy beside him. The other one — taller, confident — intertwined their fingers without hesitation.

Rowan’s jaw clenched.

He didn’t know why his chest ached the way it did. He told himself it was nothing. That Leo’s life had nothing to do with his mission. That he had buried that part of himself long ago.

But as he watched Leo laugh — that same boy who once wrote him a letter with trembling hands — something in him cracked.

Leo looked happy.

Peaceful.

Unaware that the man standing in the shadows once shared his world.

Rowan exhaled, barely a whisper leaving his lips.

“You don’t even remember me, do you?”

A flash of thunder lit the sky.

Leo turned his head slightly — for a second, his gaze brushed in Rowan’s direction, as if sensing something. But then, he smiled again at the boy beside him and walked away.

Rowan remained there, still as stone, watching until the two figures disappeared into the night.

His golden eyes dimmed, swallowed by the dark.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he murmured.

He turned his back to the light and vanished into the rain-soaked alley —

each step echoing with the ghost of a name that once meant warmth.

Leo.

The city had gone quiet by the time Rowan reached his apartment.

Rain still whispered against the windows, tracing slow, silvery lines down the glass. He tossed his soaked jacket over a chair and sat at his desk, the dim lamp throwing tired shadows across the room.

Before him lay a spread of documents — photographs, reports, and a small black notebook filled with names.

The next target was already circled in red ink.

He should’ve felt the usual thrill of the hunt, that cold focus that guided his every move. But tonight, his hands hovered over the paper without purpose.

His mind wasn’t here.

It was still back on that street — the lamplight, the umbrella, the way Leo laughed.

Rowan leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply.

He tried to shut it out, to force the image away, but it lingered stubbornly like a scar that refused to fade.

“Did he looked that cute when he was smiling for me?” 

The words slipped through his mind uninvited.

He hated how it made his chest tighten — a strange, unwelcome ache that had no place in the life he’d chosen.

He reached for the small knife resting on the table, letting the blade glint beneath the light.

This was who he was now — the weapon, the shadow, the consequence. He didn’t have the luxury of distraction.

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Leo again — smiling, hands intertwined with someone else’s.

Rowan gritted his teeth, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“Focus,”

 he muttered under his breath.

 “You don’t have time for this.”

He opened the black notebook again, flipping to a page filled with scribbled notes.

The next target — Park Haneul, one of the board members who’d profited from his parents’ deaths.

He’d already mapped out the man’s routine, his security, his weaknesses.

Rowan’s eyes scanned the details, but none of it stayed in his head.

Instead, flashes of Leo’s expression — the joy, the light — kept cutting through the paper, blurring the words.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, Rowan slammed the notebook shut.

The sound echoed through the silent room.

He stood, walking toward the window. Outside, the city was alive in its restless glow, unaware of the war burning in his chest.

His reflection stared back at him — the same golden eyes that once looked innocent under the moonlight, now clouded with vengeance and something dangerously close to longing.

“Why now?” 

he whispered, voice low and raw. 

“Why him?”

He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, shutting his eyes as if that could block out the truth.

Because deep down, no matter how many years passed or how many lives he took, there was one memory he couldn’t kill —

the sound of a boy’s laugh beneath the stars, and the letter signed:

“Your maybe-friend, Leo.”