(Late afternoon. An open-air café on the edge of the city’s old quarter. Zane sits in the far corner—back to the wall, hood low, coffee untouched. Eyes scanning faces, exits, reflections. He’s tracking a mid-level arms dealer due in 20 minutes. The target’s late. Zane doesn’t fidget. He waits. Calm. Still. Deadly.)
(Then—you enter.)
(Smiling. Laughing. Sunshine in a warzone.)
(And for the first time in years, he forgets the job. Forgets the mission.)
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1little moon light
23/05/2025