THE MISSION AND A QUEST

There’s a silence that screams louder than any voice.

And for the past few days, that silence had been living inside my head, clawing through the gaps in my memory like it owned the place.

Something was missing—something important.

And that was a problem.

Not for most people, maybe. But when you're a government-trained killer with platinum status and a photographic memory, forgetting isn’t just suspicious—it’s lethal.

“This is bad,” I muttered, staring blankly at my ceiling.

Then the phone rang.

Sharp, cold, and right on cue. The sound of a mission calling.

I answered.

“Details.”

There was a pause. Not hesitation—just the kind that happens when someone’s trying to figure out how much they should say before you start asking questions they don’t want to answer.

“Lea,” said the voice on the other end.

It was Marrek. Old school, loyal to the High Table. “You’ve been one of our most valuable operatives.”

That sentence alone made my skin crawl.

“You’re stalling,” I snapped. “Spit it out.”

“This isn’t a mission,” he said slowly. “It’s a quest.”

My eyes narrowed. “That’s not possible. I haven’t completed the required missions to even qualify.”

“No one else is available,” he replied. “And we’re authorizing a fast-track promotion. Welcome to Black Rank.”

My heart didn’t skip a beat. It never did anymore. But I hesitated—just for a second.

Black Rank.

Unlimited access. Unlimited authority. And the last rank before becoming the Table’s deadliest shadow.

“And the catch?” I asked.

“You’ll understand once you reach the assignment location. Consider this… personal.”

I paused, staring out the window, then smiled.

“Fine. But I’m doing it my way.”

“You always do.”

The line went dead.

Seven Days Later

The file arrived within the hour. I memorized every detail.

Location: A secluded coastal town called Mystique Gore. Population: 3,000. Tourism: None. Surveillance: Zero.

Assignment: Serve as a personal assistant to the master of a private estate.

Conditions: Fulfill all his requests. Avoid any injury—especially from sharp objects.

Note: Owner’s name unknown. Personality described as detached, emotionally distant, and potentially volatile.

Great. Babysitting a depressed ghost in a mansion with no guards.

“What a dream gig,” I muttered sarcastically.

The rest of the file wasn’t helpful either. The mansion’s layout was strange—like it had been drawn up by someone who hated logic. Rooms looped into other rooms. Hallways with no exits. Empty ballrooms. Servants with no assigned names.

And the most interesting detail?

No security. No cameras. No staff records.

Like the house didn’t exist.

Like it was watching itself.

The day I left, I didn’t say goodbye to Shiela. I just dropped a letter through her window.

She’ll cry, maybe. Pretend to miss me. But she’ll get over it.

People always do.

A sleek black car arrived outside my apartment. The driver stepped out, gave a small bow, and opened the door.

“You’re on the path now, Black Rank,” he said. “May you complete your quest with honor.”

I rolled my eyes. “Spare me the poetry.”

We drove in silence, but just before the coast, the man asked the kind of question that didn’t belong in this world.

“Do you believe in vampires and werewolves?”

I didn’t even look at him.

“I believe in finishing what I start. And right now, that’s surviving this quest.”

He didn’t speak again.

We arrived at the edge of the sea. Fog curled over the water like smoke from an old war.

“Mystique Gore is across that,” he said, nodding at the boat. “This is where we part.”

“Thanks for the ride.”

Then...

A single shot. Straight through his head.

He slumped over, blood trickling onto the dock.

He did it himself.

I didn’t blink.

The High Table’s rule: when a mission ends, so do you. There are no old operatives. Only useful ones and corpses.

“Loyalty is a leash,” I whispered. “And you just choked on yours.”

I stepped over his body and climbed into the boat.

Open water. No land in sight.

The sea whispered, restless. I increased the throttle, the wind whipping against my face.

“I hate boats,” I muttered. “But at least the ocean doesn’t lie.”

For hours, I sailed in silence—thinking, questioning.

Who was the owner of the mansion?

Why was this marked as a quest?

Why the hell was I being warned not to bleed?

The last time I ignored a vague order from the High Table, three people died. I wasn’t one of them—but I still had blood on my hands.

Was this another trap?

A setup?

Maybe.

But honestly?

I didn’t care.

Because even if it was...

They’ll regret choosing me.

The horizon split open like a secret as the island came into view.

Jagged cliffs. Fog-thick trees. And at the center of it all, perched like a vulture’s nest, stood the mansion.

Black stone. Gothic towers. Windows that looked like eyes.

Welcome to Mystique Gore.