Aveline's Mansion | 5:14 AM
The alarm went off and Adrian was already awake.
He'd been awake for a while, actually the specific, ungenerous wakefulness of someone whose body had decided that sleep was no longer a productive use of the remaining time. He lay there for a moment after the alarm sounded, staring at the ceiling, and let the feeling settle over him the way it always did before something like this.
Not panic. Not fear, exactly. Something quieter and more thorough than either | the particular dread of walking into an exam you haven't studied for, except you'd studied extensively and the dread was still there, which meant it was never about preparation to begin with.
Today could be the last day, some flat, factual part of him noted. That's just true. That's always true on days like this. Very motivating. Really gets you out of bed.
He got up.
The shower was hot and he stood in it longer than he had time to, letting the heat work on the tightness in his shoulders that three days of training had installed and three nights of not-quite-sleeping had maintained as a permanent feature. He dressed carefully civilian cut, nothing tactical, nothing that said law enforcement to anyone doing a quick read in a corridor. Dark jacket. Dark jeans. Boots broken in enough to move in without announcing it.
The gun went in his jacket pocket last.
He held it for a moment before it did. Felt the weight of it specific, familiar, the weight of something that had a purpose and knew it. Thought about Yuki downstairs with her cold mug and her too-steady voice. About Elias on the phone. About green light on the operation becoming today with the cheerful inevitability of all deadlines everywhere.
Right, he thought. Let's go get the apocalypse samples then. Great. Wonderful. Love this for me.
He put the gun in his pocket and went downstairs.
The Hallway | 5:31 AM
He heard her before he saw her.
Not movement | she didn't make noise when she moved and he'd stopped expecting her to | but the small, precise sounds of equipment being checked. The specific mechanical language of someone who had done this many times and was doing it correctly and found nothing remarkable about either fact.
He came around the corner.
And stopped.
Oh, some part of his brain said, with the eloquence he'd come to expect from it under pressure. Oh. Okay. Right. That's.
Aveline stood in the hallway running a final check on the MP7 slung across her back with the unhurried efficiency of someone completing a routine they could run in their sleep.
The suit was matte black glitter | not costume glitter, not performative glitter, the specific glitter of something that caught light like crushed glass and didn't apologise for it. Silver filigree detailing climbed the centre panel in deliberate patterns, structural and precise, and through the corset through the whole chest panel lightning. White-silver cracks branching outward from the centre like something had been struck there once and the fabric had decided to remember it. The same lightning bled into the filigree, threading through the silver like it had always been part of the design, like it had grown there.
Full length arm sleeves, matching black glitter, silver filigree running down to|
The gloves. Fitted. Black. The lightning continued from the sleeve onto the back of each hand, branching across the knuckles in thin white-silver lines that caught the hallway light every time her fingers moved.
Hip holsters, both sides. Shoulder holster. Knife niche flush against her left ribs. MP7 across her back, fully loaded. Boot knife low against the ankle.
And at the centre chest | the red gem iron piece, seated in the black like it had always lived there, catching light differently than everything else. Darker. More deliberate.
The cape started at her shoulders structured, dramatic, the pointed angular shoulders of it rising like something architectural, silver glowing detailing running along every edge in tribal patterns that suggested wings without committing to them. It fell to exactly her knees. Not floor length. Not short. Knee length | the precise calculation of someone who had decided exactly how much cape they could move in before it became a liability.
Where the cape caught movement, where the fabric shifted, the lightning ran through the lining too. Not everywhere. Just enough. Branching white-silver veins that appeared when she moved and went dark when she stilled.
Her hair was down in the bob. Small sections pulled into tiny braids, red ribbons threaded through them, the ends trailing against her jaw.
She looked like lightning had taken a personal interest in being dangerous.
Shecould die today standing in the hallway, and she genuinely doesn't care. She has red ribbons in her hair and she is wearing actual lightning and she cares about neither of those things and I have been awake since before five in the morning for this.
Aveline turned.
Her eyes moved over him in one quick pass | the assessing pass, the one that arrived at conclusions before you'd finished presenting evidence.
"You're staring," she said.
"You're wearing lightning," Adrian said. "Before an apocalypse mission. Lightning. On a suit."
"Noted," she said, and held out an earpiece and a small radio unit. "Channel three. Don't switch it. Don't lose it."
He took them. Fitted the earpiece. Clipped the radio.
"How do I look?" he asked.
"Alive," Aveline said. "Maintain that."
She turned toward the living room.
Alive, Adrian thought, following her. She said alive like it was a low bar I'd just about cleared. That's how my morning is starting.
Living Room | 5:33 AM
Yuki was sitting on the edge of the mattress by the fireplace with both hands around a mug that had long gone cold, dressed and upright and trying very visibly to look like she was fine about all of this.
She wasn't fine about any of this. It was in every line of her | the spine too straight, the hands too steady, the way her eyes moved over Aveline's suit and stayed there.
The lightning detailing. The cape. The gloves.
The red gem.
"You look|" Yuki started.
"Terrifying," Aveline said. "You always say that."
"I was going to say like something out of a nightmare," Yuki said. "Affectionately."
"Mm."
Yuki stood. Crossed the room. Stopped in front of Aveline and looked up at her with the specific expression of someone who had decided what they were going to say and was going to say only that.
"Come back," she said. Quietly. Just those two words. Carrying everything they were carrying.
She was looking at Aveline when she said it.
Aveline looked at her for a moment with the expression that wasn't an expression | the flat, pale look that said things in the space between words.
"Have dinner ready," she said. "We won't be long."
Yuki received it like it was exactly what she needed. The tension in her face released slightly and she nodded once and didn't push it further.
Adrian looked at her | tired, trying, stubbornly present | and said, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"You'd do everything," Yuki said. "That's not useful advice."
"Yeah," he said. "I know. I stand by it."
He followed Aveline out.
The Helipad | 5:47 AM
The cold hit immediately and had opinions. The storm had spent itself overnight, leaving the air sharp and clear and the helipad dusted with the last of the snow.
Adrian came through the rooftop door first.
Garrick was outside the helicopter, doing a pre-flight inspection of the hull | running his hand along the underside of the rotor housing with the focused attention of someone who took this part seriously, headset around his neck, back partially to them.
He was also, incidentally, looking down at the street below.
On the street below, a woman in a red dress was walking. Six in the morning. Red dress. Full makeup. Heels on the pavement with the specific confident click of someone who knew exactly how they looked and had made complete peace with it.
Garrick watched her for a moment with the appreciation of someone who had forgotten he was supposed to be inspecting a rotor housing.
Adrian stopped beside him. Looked down at the street. Looked at Garrick.
"Pre-flight going well?" Adrian said.
"Fantastic," Garrick said, not moving his eyes. "Very thorough."
Adrian heard the rooftop door behind him.
Garrick heard it too. Turned around.
And looked at Aveline.
The lightning suit. The winged cape falling to her knees. The gloves. The red ribbons. The MP7. The red gem catching the early morning light.
Garrick stood very still for a moment with the expression of a man whose entire morning had just been restructured by a single visual.
"So," he said. "You're Aveline."
"You're the pilot," she said back.
His eyes moved over her | the suit, the cape, the filigree, the lightning detailing | with the unhurried appreciation of a man who had been handed something excellent and was taking a moment with it.
"I have to say," Garrick said, "the briefing really didn't|"
"I'm a lesbian," Aveline said.
Garrick stopped.
Blinked.
"I-"
"Full stop," Aveline said pleasantly. "Complete sentence. No addendum."
Garrick stood with the expression of a man whose opening strategy had been surgically removed before he'd finished deploying it.
Adrian, standing beside him, made eye contact with exactly no one and looked at the helicopter.
"Right," Garrick said. He blinked again. Recalibrated. The easy grin came back | different now, the grin of someone who had adjusted expectations and found the new view perfectly workable. "You got a sister?"
Aveline looked at him.
"With your genes," Garrick clarified. "Asking for completely professional reasons."
"No," Aveline said.
"Cousin?"
"Garrick," Adrian said.
"I'm being resourceful"
"She told you she's a lesbian and you immediately-"
"Lateral thinking," Garrick said. "It's a documented skill."
Aveline had already stopped listening.
Her eyes had moved past Garrick, past the helipad railing, down to the street below where the woman in the red dress was still walking. Still that specific confident click of heels on pavement. Still that red dress at six in the morning.
Aveline looked at her.
Kept looking.
And then | without preamble, without warning, with the complete unbothered ease of someone doing something entirely natural at five forty-seven in the morning before an apocalypse retrieval mission
She whistled.
Loud. Clear. The full thing. The kind that carries two blocks in cold morning air without any trouble at all.
The woman in the red dress looked up.
Aveline raised one hand from the helipad railing. Not a wave. Just an acknowledgment. The calm universal language of
Isee you and I want you to know that I see you.
The woman smiled. Kept walking.
Aveline watched her go.
Adrian stood on the helipad and stared at the side of Aveline's face with an expression that had moved so far beyond the side eye that it had entered entirely new territory. Something that didn't have a name. Something that needed its own category and possibly a support group.
"You," he said.
"Mm," Aveline said, still watching the street.
"You just-"
"Red dress," Aveline said. "At six in the morning." She tilted her head slightly. "Discipline."
"You whistled," Adrian said.
"She deserved it," Aveline said simply.
"We are on a HELIPAD—"
"I'm aware of where we are—"
"You have an MP7 on your BACK|"
"Also aware-"
"It is SIX IN THE MORNING and you are wearing LIGHTNING and you just-"
"The dress was red, Adrian." Aveline finally turned to look at him with the flat unbothered expression of someone who has done nothing wrong and is completely settled in that position. "What did you want me to do."
Adrian stared at her.
Opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Turned to Garrick.
Garrick had both hands on the helicopter with the expression of a man at the best free show of his entire life.
"She whistled," Adrian said to him. "You saw that. You heard that."
"I did," Garrick confirmed.
"At a woman on the street."
"In a red dress," Garrick added helpfully.
"In a RED DRESS at SIX AM while wearing LIGHTNING and an MP7|"
"It was a good whistle though," Garrick said. "Technically. Very clean. Excellent range."
"GARRICK—"
"What?" Aveline said, turning back to look at Adrian with the expression of someone who has genuinely lost track of what the problem is.
"I may have the body of a woman," she said, with complete serenity. "But the mind of a lovesick man."
The helipad was silent.
Garrick made a sound into his fist.
"Don't," Adrian said.
"I'm not—"
"You're laughing."
"I'm processing," Garrick said, shoulders shaking. "I'm having a quiet personal—"
"You're laughing because she rejected you in four seconds and then IMMEDIATELY whistled at a stranger|"
"It's funny, Adrian," Garrick said, with genuine helpless warmth. "It's objectively completely funny."
Adrian turned back to Aveline.
Aveline was checking her hip holster with the serene efficiency of someone who had done nothing unusual this morning and found the suggestion that she had mildly baffling.
"Ducks," Adrian said, quietly, to himself. To the sky. To no one. "Garden. Pond. Retirement. Ducks. Simple animals. Uncomplicated lives. No lightning suits. No whistling at six AM. Just ducks."
"You keep saying that," Garrick said.
"I keep meaning it more each time," Adrian said.
They got in.
Garrick ran the startup sequence. The rotors picked up. The mansion fell away below them and Adrian looked out the window at it getting smaller and thought about Yuki inside with her cold mug and her come back and her dinner that would be ready when they returned.
If they returned.
When, he corrected himself. When.
The building appeared on the horizon.
Arrival | 6:22 AM
The sky was doing something grey and orange that would have been worth stopping for under different circumstances. The medical complex rose against it | mid-rise, all glass, every floor lit, cameras on every visible corner.
They landed two blocks out. Covered the distance on foot, masks on black, clinical, anonymous moving at the measured pace of people who were supposed to be here.
Two blocks, Adrian noted internally, is a long walk toward a building where people are going to shoot at you. Really gives you time to reflect on your life choices. Highly recommend for personal growth.
The main entrance: bulletproof glass, card reader, a security guard visible through it who had the posture of someone eight hours into a twelve-hour shift thinking about breakfast.
Aveline didn't slow down.
She produced Marcus's ID | dead man's card, flat and unremarkable in her gloved hand | and ran it across the reader without breaking stride.
The reader beeped.
A pause of approximately one second in which Adrian thought, with enormous and completely misplaced optimism, maybe it'll just|
Every alarm in the building went off simultaneously. A wall of sound. Red emergency lighting flooded the lobby. The guard inside was already on his feet and already reaching for something and already having a significantly worse morning than he'd planned for.
Aveline regarded this for one second.
"So much for subtlety," she said, and pushed the door open.
There it is, Adrian thought, following her in. There's the mission briefing. Concise. Efficient. Accurate.
Ground Floor
The first guard came fast too fast, overcorrecting, running his training instead of reading the room, already closing the distance when Aveline shot him. Clean. Economical. No drama. He went down and she was already tracking right.
The second was smarter. Wider angle, the reception desk between them, better geometry. He got a shot off.
Aveline sidestepped and dropped one fluid motion, down and firing from the floor and the second guard went down and she stood and brushed her knee off and kept moving.
Blood spatter caught the edge of the reception desk. The fluorescent lighting rendered it in unhelpful clinical detail.
She said nothing. Already at the stairwell door.
Two down, Adrian noted, clearing left, falling into step. She dusted off her knee. Like she tripped on a cerb. Like that was the mildly inconvenient part of what just happened.
I need several therapists. Multiple. Simultaneously. I've said this before. I continue to mean it.
Floor 4 | 6:31 AM
The guard came from the side room.
Adrian didn't see him until the knife was already moving | aimed at the back of Aveline's neck, fast, committed, the strike of someone who had been waiting for exactly this angle with exactly this much patience.
Aveline's hand came up.
The blade caught her palm, cutting through the tactical glove, and Adrian saw the dark line of it open across her hand before she'd finished closing her fingers around the guard's wrist.
She held the knife.
Looked at it for a moment in her hand, through her hand, her blood on the blade and the guard still attached to the other end of it with the expression of someone who has received mildly inconvenient information and is deciding what to do with it.
She turned the knife around.
And put it in his skull.
The sound was brief and specific and not something Adrian was going to stop hearing for a while. Blood spatter hit the wall in a dark arc that the corridor lighting caught in full unhelpful detail, and the guard dropped with the immediate complete finality of a system that had been shut off at the source.
She used the falling weight of him pulled him in front of her as the guards at the far end of the corridor opened fire, three of them, the shots hitting the body she was holding while she walked forward behind it, returning fire around it with her unwounded hand, and when she ran out of useful corpse she'd closed enough distance that the geometry had changed entirely.
The remaining guard discovered he had a significant problem.
He stopped having any problems.
Aveline set the body down. Looked at her hand glove destroyed, wound deep, blood coming through in steady dark lines. She pulled the glove off, looked at the cut with the clinical interest of someone assessing a minor equipment malfunction, and wrapped it in a strip from the guard's jacket.
Kept moving.
She looked at her hand, Adrian thought, following her, the way you look at a receipt that came out slightly wrong. Inconvenient. Noted. Moving on.
She has a knife wound through her palm and she's already in the next corridor.
I had a splinter last Tuesday and I thought about seeing a doctor.
Floor 5 | 6:44 AM
The side room was dark enough to use for thirty seconds and they used it Adrian with his back to the wall, Aveline checking the makeshift wrap on her hand, the building's alarm system doing its sustained committed work around them.
The shot came from behind the ventilation unit.
It missed her head by inches Adrian heard it pass, the specific sound of something moving very fast through air it had no business occupying and hit the wall behind her and left a pale divot in the plaster.
Aveline turned.
Her expression did something Adrian hadn't seen before. Not fear, not shock something more specific. The particular quality of someone who has encountered a variable they find genuinely interesting.
"Oh," she said, and there was something in her voice that wasn't quite amusement and wasn't quite hunger and lived somewhere between them. "We've got a sneaky one."
She moved.
Fast, the word was technically accurate and experientially inadequate, because one moment she was against the wall and the next she was across the room and the guard behind the ventilation unit had approximately no time to process the distance closing before she'd closed it entirely.
She hit him low. They went down together.
And then—