The breakfast was in a small, cozy café. Walkyria had spent the entire night tormenting herself, questioning whether it was worth it or not. Or at least part of the night. At one point, she almost tore the card in half in a sudden fit of anger, remembering how carelessly he had walked out of that room.

  But most of the night had been spent listening to Luna’s passionate storytelling.

  “Wal, he was...” she sighed, dreamy. “...he was so, so...”

  Walkyria only sighed back, resigned, resting her chin on her hand as she watched Luna flop onto the bed beside her, still in her work clothes, perfume thick in the air, makeup smudged. Luna’s eyes sparkled in that unmistakable way: something had changed that night. Something impossible to ignore, and somehow, it had to do with Grey.

  “Okay, Luna...” Walkyria said, trying to sound firm, and failing. “You’ve made it pretty clear: he fucked you good.”

  “No!” Luna squeaked, offended. “That wasn’t fucking, Wal. That was... passion. Intense.”

  Walkyria groaned, falling flat on her back.

  “I’m serious, Wal...” Luna continued, almost tearful with indignation. “I just can’t believe he didn’t feel something too...”

  “Of course he did.” Walkyria said, voice sharp but with a faint smile. “You’re gorgeous. You slept with him for how long? Hours?”

  Luna just sighed dreamily. Walkyria sat up suddenly, still trying to process it.

  “How did you even last that long?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  Luna’s grin turned wide and mischievous.

  “Love, maybe?”

  Walkyria rolled her eyes and huffed, collapsing back onto the bed, though she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

  “Fuck you Luna. Or better yet, stop getting fucked for a while.”

  Luna let out another squeak, but the tension melted into laughter. The night drifted on with Luna narrating her road to infatuation, and Walkyria just listened amused, intrigued, imagining how Grey could possibly be that captivating despite his cold exterior.

  Now, back in the present, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread hit her almost indecently hard. She inhaled deeply and let out a small, helpless moan of pleasure. Her eyes, which had just closed, shot open and caught Grey’s. He was sitting in the corner, coffee cup in hand, as if he’d been there for a while.

  Almost instinctively, Walkyria ran her fingers through her hair. She still wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice by coming, but the possibility of a job outside that place... wasn’t something she could just throw away.

  She sat down, tense, not quite ready to meet his gaze. Grey kept that same usual, easy smile.

  “Good morning, Walkyria. Sleep well?”

  She raised a brow, her voice rough, betraying her sleepless night.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Grey. What’s the offer?”

  He smiled wider, amused, leaning back against the seat, cup near his lips.

  “Straight to business, huh? So much steel inside something so... rawly beautiful.”

  Walkyria sat a little too sharply, still questioning whether coming here had been a mistake. She brushed her fingers through her hair again. Loose, thick, defiant waves cascading just below her shoulders. She flipped them aside without even realizing how soft the gesture looked.

  Grey watched her quietly, the faintest curve to his mouth.

  “Interesting...” he murmured, twirling the cup between his fingers. “So rigid with words, and yet you give away grace without even trying.”

  She averted her gaze, irritation flickering.

  “We’re not here to talk about me.”

  He chuckled lowly, just once, before leaning forward, closing the distance between them.

  “Fair enough.” His tone shifted heavier, more grounded. “I’ll be direct, then. There’s a man I need removed from the picture. Regular at your workplace. You could help me with that.

  The words hit her like a punch.

  “Removed from the picture? —” she whispered, disbelief tightening her throat. —” Are you asking me to kill someone?

  Grey met her stare without hesitation. The smile stayed, but it dimmed, subtle, controlled.

  “Not asking. Inviting.” he corrected softly, as if discussing a game. He spun the single ring on his finger lazily. “And really, you’d only assist.” he paused, smirk tilting. “Wouldn’t want you to dirty those lovely fingers of yours, Walkyria.”

  It took her a moment to process that. The ease in his voice talking about killing sent a chill crawling down her neck.

  “You’re with the Order” she asked, voice barely a breath.

  Having belonged to the Shrouded Society — even if only for a few years — had already exposed her to hushed conversations and whispers about the Order. As far as she’d been able to gather, it was some kind of parallel society, responsible for… alternative services, as they liked to call them.

  Her understanding of the Order had remained shallow, like overhearing an old piece of gossip with no real context. She remembered bringing it up once with Johnny — who, to her surprise, nearly choked on his wine.

  He had shut the conversation down so nervously and clumsily that Walkyria had decided it was wiser to let the subject fade into oblivion.

  Until now.

  Grey only smiled and nodded, as if it were nothing of importance.

  “And you could join, too... if you decide to cooperate.”

  Her heart raced. Taking a life had never once crossed her mind. And his calm, that soft-spoken calm, made the idea all the more unsettling.

  “If it helps.” his voice turned almost gentle. “The man in question already left a few permanent marks at your workplace.”

  Something in her shifted.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  She’d never heard of any real danger there. Sure, the place attracted questionable types, but murder? No way. His smile widened, amused by her obliviousness to the underworld she worked in.

  “You’ve got a lot to learn, Walkyria,” he murmured, leaning back and sipping his coffee with infuriating ease. “Ask your coworkers about Aurora.”

  Her brow furrowed. The name wasn’t entirely foreign; she’d heard it somewhere. He went on, indifferent:

  “He’ll be there soon.” He slid a small, discreet communicator across the table. “Direct line to me. Turn it on if you decide to help.”

  Her fingers trembled and she cursed herself for it. She hesitated before touching the device, but as soon as she did, his hand covered hers. There was no force in it, just enough pressure to draw a short, involuntary breath from her.

  “Give it some thought, Walkyria.”

  It sounded almost like an order, but felt like an invitation.

  Grey released her hand, left a few coins on the table, and stood. As he passed behind her, he leaned close enough for only her to hear:

  “Ask about Aurora... and turn it on when you’re ready.”

  The warmth of his breath against her ear sent a shiver through her whole body. She stayed rigid, afraid even to move, afraid it would betray her reaction. Only after he walked away did she realize she’d been holding her breath and it escaped in a trembling sigh.

  The communicator spun nervously between her fingers, heavy as lead. The idea of taking part in something that dark turned her stomach. Yet that name, Aurora, kept hammering in her mind. Where had she heard it before?

  With a sudden motion, she pushed the chair back and stood. Her coffee sat untouched on the table. She left the café with quick, determined steps, heart still racing. If Grey thought he’d leave her in the dark, he was wrong.

  She would find out, on her own, who the hell Aurora was.

  ? ? ?