Lire's POV
Lire lay on his bed, eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the ceiling, his mind tangled in thoughts he could barely name. Just across the room, Mike—or rather, the person everyone else believed to be Mike—was stretched out on the other bed, their breathing soft and rhythmic as sleep began to claim them. But Lire couldn't sleep; his thoughts churned, his instincts gnawing at him, whispering that something wasn't right.
Their mission tonight loomed over them like a storm cloud, but it wasn't the danger that kept Lire awake. It was Mike—the silent mystery, the fierce yet strangely vulnerable warrior who had somehow become more than just a fellow Academy student. Lire's gaze shifted to Mike's sleeping form, and a strange protectiveness stirred within him, a feeling he had long buried beneath layers of hardened discipline and icy resolve.
How had Mike slipped past his defenses? And why did he feel this pull, as if fate had entwined them in a way he couldn't escape?
The minutes passed, stretching into hours as the city outside their window hummed with life. The lights sparkled across the lake, their reflections shifting on the water, as restless as Lire's mind. The sight was beautiful, but tonight, it felt like a mockery—a reminder that while the rest of the world lived in freedom, he was trapped in a cage of secrecy and duty.
Just as he closed his eyes, hoping for a few minutes of rest before the mission, a faint sound caught his attention. He opened his eyes, focusing on Mike, who had started to stir, a murmur slipping from his lips. Lire's eyes widened as he saw a tear glinting in the dim light, sliding down Mike's cheek.
Unbidden, Lire's body moved on instinct. He got up, crossed the room silently, and crouched down beside Mike's bed, his hand hesitating over their shoulder. He had no right to intrude on this private moment, yet something about the sight of Mike's quiet sorrow felt like an invitation—like he was being asked to see the truth hidden beneath the mask.
His fingers brushed Mike's cheek, wiping away the tear with a touch softer than he'd thought himself capable of. And in that fleeting moment, something inside him shifted a realization as undeniable as the breath that left his lungs.
He wanted to protect Mike. Not as a fellow warrior, not as a friend, but as something deeper—something he was only beginning to understand.
Mike stirred, their eyes fluttering open, hazy with sleep. Lire froze, his hand still resting on their cheek, and for a brief, breathless moment, they stared at each other, words forgotten, boundaries dissolved.
But then reality reasserted itself, and Lire drew back, his expression hardening. "It's almost time," he muttered, masking his emotions as he stood up. "Get ready."
Mike nodded, their gaze lingering on him for a second longer before they sat up, rubbing their eyes. Lire turned away, his chest tight, and began gathering his gear. The mission awaited them, and he couldn't afford distractions—no matter how much he wanted to protect the person standing across from him.
Aira's POV
The lingering warmth of Lire's touch haunted Aira as she prepared for the mission. She could still feel the ghost of his fingers on her cheek, how he had looked at her—soft, vulnerable, almost as if he had seen through her disguise.
She shook off the thought, her heart pounding as she strapped on her weapons and tightened her bandages beneath her clothing. She couldn't afford to think of Lire that way. He was dangerous, and the closer he got, the more likely he was to unravel the truth she had spent years concealing.
But even as she tried to focus on the mission, her thoughts kept drifting back to that moment by the bed, the intensity in his gaze, the way he had reached out as if to shield her from the world.
No. She couldn't allow herself to fall into that trap. Her life depended on keeping her identity hidden, and any slip-up could mean the end of everything she had worked for.
When they were both ready, Lire gave her a brief nod, his expression carefully neutral. "Let's move."
They exited the hotel, stepping into the cold night air as they navigated the quiet streets. The city was a maze of shadows and neon lights, and the thrill of the mission hummed through Aira's veins, sharpening her senses, and giving her purpose.
They moved swiftly, slipping through alleys and side streets until they reached the location—a sprawling, decrepit warehouse at the edge of town, its windows dark and foreboding. Aira's heart raced as she surveyed the building. The Wolf Gang leader they were after was known for his cruelty and his defiance of the Academy's authority. Tonight, he was their target.
Lire motioned for her to take a point, and she nodded, slipping into the shadows with the ease of someone who had done this countless times. They moved like ghosts, silent and deadly, every step calculated, every breath measured.
As they entered the warehouse, Aira felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the sense of purpose that came with each mission. Her identity as Mike was easier to maintain in these moments; here, in the thick of the fight, she was just a warrior—a weapon in the Academy's arsenal.
They crept through the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps muffled by the thick layers of dust coating the floor. Aira's eyes adjusted to the darkness, her senses attuned to every creak, every distant echo. Lire was a steady presence beside her, his movements smooth and controlled, his gaze sharp as he scanned their surroundings.
At the far end of the warehouse, a faint glow seeped under a door, the flicker of candlelight casting eerie shadows along the walls. Aira signaled to Lire, and he nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade as they approached.
Lire reached for the door handle, glancing at Aira for confirmation. She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it.
He pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking as the room came into view. The gang leader sat at a table in the center, surrounded by a few of his men, their eyes gleaming with malice. The leader's gaze snapped to them, his expression darkening as he took in the intruders.
"End of the line," Lire said, his voice cold, lethal.
The gang leader sneered, rising from his seat, his fingers flexing as if eager for a fight. "You think you can just waltz in here and take me down? You have no idea who you're dealing with."
Lire's eyes narrowed, and in a heartbeat, the room exploded into motion. Aira lunged forward, her blade flashing as she took on one of the gang members, her movements precise and deadly. She could feel the heat of the fight, the thrill that came with each strike, each narrowly avoided the blow.
Beside her, Lire fought with the same fierce determination, his movements fluid and powerful. They moved in tandem, their rhythm synchronized, an unspoken trust binding them as they cut through their enemies.
But the gang leader was a force to be reckoned with. His attacks were wild and unpredictable, each strike a testament to his desperation. Aira dodged a blow that came dangerously close, her heart racing as she twisted out of reach.
In the chaos, a flash of movement caught her eye—a figure lunging toward Lire from behind, a dagger gleaming in the dim light. Without thinking, Aira moved, her instincts overriding her sense of self-preservation. She threw herself between them, her body absorbing the blow meant for Lire.
The pain was sharp, slicing through her with brutal clarity, but she held her ground, her grip on her weapon unwavering. Lire's gaze snapped to her, his eyes widening as he took in the blood staining her side.
"Mike!" he shouted, his voice laced with panic.
Aira gritted her teeth, forcing a tight smile. "Focus on the mission. I'm fine."
Lire's jaw tightened, a storm brewing in his eyes, but he didn't argue. He turned back to the gang leader, his movements a blur of fury as he brought the man down with a swift, merciless strike.
As the dust settled, the room fell silent, the bodies of the gang members sprawled across the floor. Aira swayed, the pain in her side intensifying, but she forced herself to stand tall, refusing to show weakness.
Lire crossed the room in two quick strides, his hands steady as he caught her before she could fall. His gaze was fierce, his expression unreadable as he looked her over, his fingers brushing against her wound with surprising gentleness.
"You didn't have to do that," he muttered, his voice tight with anger.
Aira managed a weak smile, her vision blurring at the edges. "Couldn't let you get hurt."
Lire's gaze softened, his hand lingering on her shoulder as he helped her to her feet. They stood there in the silence of the aftermath, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them, a fragile, tenuous connection born from the blood they had shed together.
For a moment, Aira allowed herself to lean into him, to let his strength support her. She didn't know what the future held, but in that instant, she felt safe.
TO BE CONTINUED...