As the mirror lingered on them, it seemed to reveal their secret—an unspoken bond that needed no words. It reflected the quiet understanding between Marcus and Lucia Maren, something subtle but undeniable. Their connection wasn't loud or dramatic, but it was there, steady, and real. In a world of chaos, suspicion, and shadows, it gave them both something rare—a sense of hope, even in their most uncertain moments.
The night draped itself over the city like a worn cloak. Marcus shifted in his position, eyes scanning the street below from the vantage of a shadowed rooftop. The target's convoy wouldn't move until morning, and Renji and the others were deep in logistics, rerouting traffic cameras and decoding patrol paths.
Marcus turned his radio on and clicked twice—an unspoken call. A moment later, a faint buzz signaled Lucia's line going active.
"This is exciting," he murmured dryly, leaning on his elbow as he watched a lone pedestrian struggle with a jammed umbrella. "We get the boring route while Renji's out there tracing GPS signals."
Lucia's voice came through, thick with her accent but clear via the translator. "Quiet is good. Means we're not needed yet. Or means they're late," Marcus replied, watching the cafe lights flicker across the street. "I've already counted the same drunk guy pass by three times. Either he's lost, or he's got a thing for this alley."
"Or maybe he knows you're watching," she replied through the translator.
Marcus grinned to himself. "Wouldn't be the first stalker I've had. It's the jawline. Brings out the worst in people."
A short silence followed—not awkward, just... still. Their stakeout fell into rhythm again, both trained on their zones, yet a subtle current now pulsing through the radio. Eventually, Marcus spoke again, his voice lower, a little less sharp around the edges.
"So… when this is over—when all of this is done… how about I take you out to dinner?" A pause followed. Not the radio kind. The real kind—the sort where thoughts shuffle too fast for words to catch up.
Lucia didn't answer right away. When she finally did, the translator's voice was quieter too, mirroring her tone. "I don't know, Marcus. This life… it doesn't leave room for things like that. I've never been good at making plans beyond tomorrow."
Marcus leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the clouded sky. "Hey," he said, letting a smirk creep into his voice, "I'm not asking you to pick a wedding dress. Just dinner. You know, food, talking. Maybe a drink that doesn't taste like jet fuel. I'll even promise not to bring a weapon to the table. Unless they're serving steak."
He could practically hear her exhale through the radio. Amused. Maybe even tempted. But the conversation drifted after that. Their mission picked up again. More voices filled the line, more orders, and the moment quietly folded into the routine of the job.