Parallel Troubles

(AURIANNA'S POV)

I hate packing.

Not because it's hard-hell, I can disassemble and reassemble a sniper rifle in less than two minutes-but because it's always the same story. The sound of zippers, the neat folding of clothes, the quiet that fills the room like a thick fog. It's the calm before whatever storm O.A.S.I.S. is about to throw me into.

I grab another shirt from the closet, fold it, and toss it into the box on my bed. My suitcase is half-full already. It's muscle memory at this point: mission briefing, pack light, kiss normalcy goodbye.

Just as I'm reaching for another stack of shirts, there's a knock on my door.

"Come in," I call without looking up.

The door creaks open, and I hear that familiar voice-soft, worried, and always too gentle for this world.

"Anna, you're packing? But you just came home."

I turn around, and there she is.

Mom, standing in the doorway in her robe, her brown hair pulled into a messy bun. She looks like she hasn't slept much, which, knowing her, she probably hasn't.

"I got assigned a new mission," I say, keeping my tone light as I sit on the edge of the bed. "So I'll have to leave the house for a while."

She walks in slowly and sits beside me, her eyes scanning the box of folded clothes. "For how long?"

I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, actually thinking about it for the first time. "To be honest... I have no idea."

She sighs, her shoulders sagging. "So, if you don't know how long you'll be gone... when am I supposed to see you again?"

I laugh softly, bumping her shoulder with mine. "Mom, it's not like I'm leaving the country. I'll still be here in L.A. I'll visit as much as I can."

She hums but doesn't look convinced. Her fingers trace the edge of the box absentmindedly. "Can you at least tell me what this mission's about?"

I smirk. "Protecting some rich asshole from another rich but criminal asshole who's trying to kill him."

She gives me that look. Like I'm crazy and she's in utter disbelief of what she just heard.

"Anna. Why don't you quit that job and find something else? Something that doesn't involve you constantly putting your life in danger."

I groan, tipping my head back dramatically. "Mom, we're really doing this again?"

She crosses her arms. "Yes, because one of these days, I'm afraid you won't come back home."

Her words hit deeper than I want to admit. I inhale slowly, then reach over to take her hand. "Mom... you worked your ass off for years to give me everything I needed. Food on the table, clothes on my back, a roof over my head. You remember that shitty little apartment we lived in?"

She chuckles softly, nodding. "The one with the leaky ceiling and that nosy neighbor who always asked if I was seeing someone?"

"Exactly." I grin. "We got out of there because of this job. Because of O.A.S.I.S. I know you hate what I do, but I love my job. It makes me feel like I'm doing something that matters. And you've gotta stop trying to talk me out of it, because I'm not quitting."

She looks down at our joined hands, silent for a moment. Then she squeezes my fingers gently and says, "Fine. But promise me you'll be careful."

"I always am."

"Anna." Her tone sharpens just enough to make me look at her. "Promise me."

I smile. "I promise."

That seems to ease her a little. She pulls me into her arms, holding me tight like she used to when I was little. I close my eyes, breathing in the faint scent of her lavender lotion. It hits me right in the chest-nostalgia, love, warmth-all tangled together.

When she pulls back, she cups my face in her hands and kisses my forehead. "No matter how strong you think you are, you'll always be my baby girl."

I laugh, though my throat feels tight. "God, Mom, you're gonna make me cry before I even get shot at."

She chuckles, shaking her head. "You always use humor when you don't want to feel things."

"Guilty as charged." I smile, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.

We sit there quietly for a moment, holding onto each other.

And for a brief second, I almost forget that I'm about to walk into another storm.

(ZAYNE'S POV)

I toss my phone onto the couch, flop down beside it, and scrub a hand over my face.

What a fucking day.

By evening, I'm home, trying to pretend like my world isn't spiraling into chaos. The whiskey in my glass helps a little. I swirl the amber liquid, take a sip, and stare blankly at the wall across from me.

My phone buzzes, Cameron's name flashing on the screen. I swipe to answer, switching to FaceTime.

"Cam," I start immediately, "you are not gonna believe what happened today."

Cameron grins from ear to ear. "What, did another supermodel reject your DMs?"

"Ha, ha." I roll my eyes. "No, worse. Remember that psycho from the club?"

"The chick that kicked your ass in front of half of Los Angeles?"

I deadpan, "Yeah, her."

"Okay?" his brows furrow slightly. "Go on."

"She's my new fucking bodyguard," I say flatly.

"You're kidding," Cam gasps. "She's the one O.A.S.I.S. assigned to protect you?"

"Do I sound like I'm kidding?"

"Hey, look on the bright side," he smirks. "At least she's hot."

"Yeah," I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Hot enough to give me a goddamn black eye."

He chuckles, leaning forward. "You've had worse."

"Not from someone who's supposed to keep me alive," I mutter, taking another drink.

Cameron grins like he's enjoying this way too much. "Oh, come on, Z. You love a challenge. Maybe she'll humble you."

I glare at him through the screen. "I don't need humbling, Cam. What I need is for her to stay the hell out of my house, but the head of O.A.S.I.S says she's supposed to live here to keep a close eye on me or whatever."

"What?!" Cam's eyes widen. "She's moving in?"

I nod. "Sadly."

He whistles. "Damn. The tabloids are gonna have a field day with this one when they find out."

"Great," I say dryly. "Maybe they'll finally stop writing about the club incident."

He snickers. "Oh no, that one's eternal. The internet never forgets, my friend."

I flip him off, but it just makes him laugh harder.

"You know, if she's this scary in real life, maybe she'll scare off whoever's trying to kill you," Cameron adds. "Silver lining."

"Yeah, or she'll just kill me herself," I mumble.

The doorbell rings.

I pause mid-sentence, lowering my glass. "Wait, hold on."

Cameron's still grinning. "Oh? Who is it? Another one-night stand coming to drop off your shirt?"

"Very funny." I stand and start walking toward the door, still holding my phone. "Probably just the staff. Or one of the security team."

"Or maybe," Cameron teases, "it's your psycho guardian angel coming to tuck you in."

"Yeah, right," I mutter, setting the phone against my ear as I reach for the door handle. "That's the last thing I need right now is some control freak with an ego complex telling me how to-"

I pull the door open mid-sentence and freeze.

Aurianna's standing there.

Dressed casually, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, an unreadable expression on her face.

There's a moment of pure silence before her lips curve into the faintest smirk.

"Control freak with an ego complex, huh?"

Fuck.