Viola went to her apartment and had a drink for herself. Then, she thumbed Ethan's number like it was a trigger, then hit the call.

She kept the line open with Xavier on another private line. He didn't need to say much. He gave her one-word cues, and it was enough for Viola to understand him.

"Ethan," she said when he answered, voice sliding warm and low. "Got a line for you. You want Xavier dead, right? But I have an opportunity so that you can kill him with your own hands. Of course, no extra charge."

Ethan laughed low. "You sure you can do that? It better not be smoke."

Viola kept it simple, like Xavier had told her. "I earned his trust. He's soft when he shouldn't be. I can make him available. You show up, you get what you want."

"Why would you do that for me?" he asked, suspicious.

"Because it pays," she said. "Because I can. And because you'll make it worth my while." She added the line Xavier asked for — the bait to hurt his pride: "He's naive. Gullible. Let his guard down. It's pathetic how easy it was."

Maximillian's grin pushed past the edge of common sense when Ethan bit. "Do it," he'd said, leaning in. "Bring him to us. Let me see it." He liked being the hand that pushed a plan into motion. Ethan, hungry and loud, needed no more coaxing.

Viola took the call like someone placing the last chess piece. On Xavier's word she said yes, set the time, kept her voice small and even. She told them the place — one of the half-built towers outside the city — and didn't bother to sugarcoat it. "Private property. No witnesses. Quiet." They wanted quiet. They took the bait.

They should've known what the location meant. They should've remembered. But men like Ethan and Maxmillian bury their own memories under swagger until the past doesn't sting. This site had a history: a night they swore would vanish, a thing they thought they owned. The city had tolerated their filth for a long time. Tonight the city answered back, in a way they didn't expect.

It was the same construction site where they had violated Mira. It was once owned by Alexander Sterling, but now it was abandoned.

After a few more words, she hung up. Her hand trembled slightly before she set the phone down.

"He took it," she said quietly.

"Good," Xavier muttered, his tone calm but his eyes cold. "That's two down. Now let's move on to the real part."

Just then, his other phone buzzed on the table. The screen flashed Kane Medical Tower.

He answered.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Xavier, your shipment's been processed and cleared. It's being transferred to the nearest dropbox now," the voice on the other end said.

Xavier leaned back in his chair, a faint smile ghosting across his face. "Perfect timing."

He ended the call, and slid the phone into his pocket. "Everything's falling into place."

Xavier stepped out of the apartment, slipped on his gloves, and pulled his helmet down before kicking the bike to life. The night air brushed against his jacket as the engine's growl broke through the silence of the street. He didn't head straight to the dropbox. That would've been stupid. John Kane might've played it straight this time, but Xavier didn't trust men who smiled too easily.

He'd given Kane the wrong address anyway — not far from the real one, but enough to throw off anyone trying to track the shipment. It was a habit that had saved him before when he suddenly became a celebrity, and he wasn't about to stop now.

The city lights slid across his visor as he rode, cold and sharp against the dark. When he reached the area, he parked the bike near a rundown store instead of pulling up to the dropbox directly. A few people were moving around, nothing suspicious — mostly workers, late-night wanderers, and one guy playing music from a broken speaker.

Xavier leaned against a lamppost and scanned the area through his smart glasses. The display flickered faintly, feeding him thermal readings, camera loops, and random digital noise. Nothing out of place, but he still waited. One hour passed. He watched. People came and went. The crowd shifted. The city kept breathing around him.

Then he noticed the homeless man sitting a few feet away, wrapped in a torn blanket and mumbling 'Gimme pot' to himself. Xavier approached him quietly and crouched beside him.

"Want a smoke?" he asked, pulling a small wad of bills from his jacket. "Ten thousand. You can smoke till your lungs give up."

The man's eyes widened in disbelief. He nodded immediately, words stumbling out, "Y-yeah, anything, boss."

Xavier transferred the money and then leaned closer. "You'll get another ten if you do one thing for me. There's a metal dropbox near that streetlight. Go there, enter this code, and bring me what's inside. Don't open it. Don't look around. Just bring it back."

The man hesitated, glancing at Xavier's face as if trying to figure out what he was walking into. But the money did the talking. He got up and headed to the dropbox, moving fast despite the limp in his leg. Xavier stayed where he was, his glasses still running scans across the area — alleys, windows, rooftops. Still clean.

The beggar reached the box, punched in the passkey, and after a few seconds, pulled out a medium-sized black package. He tucked it under his arm and returned with a nervous grin, breathing heavily like he'd just outrun something.

"Got it," he said, holding it out with shaky hands.

Xavier took the package, transferred the money, and patted him on the shounder. "You've earned it. Ow, get lost."

The man didn't need to be told twice. He disappeared into the street, vanishing with the crowd.

Xavier had no sympathy or Empathy who were out there trying to kill themselves for a few moments of pleasure.

He climbed back onto the bike, revved the engine once, and drove off into the blur of streetlights.

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