MISSION 032: THE REISS OPERATION.
IN THE EVENING,
AT A FAMOUS LUXURIOUS HOTEL,
IN ORION CITY,
By the time I reached the hotel, I had already read through the documents twice.
The Reiss family file sat heavy in my bag, heavier than its thin pages suggested. A neat summary on the surface. Rot underneath.
The father—gambling addict. Debt stacked on debt. Bad choices that spiraled until they weren't just his anymore. He had sold what he couldn't afford to lose: his wife and his eight‑year‑old son, handed over like collateral to men who didn't see people, only leverage.
The goons he owed money to weren't just street-level thugs either. They had ties—deep ones—to a mafia group that operated quietly in the city, protected by money and fear.
And then the father was dead.
A "traffic accident," the report said. Hit-and-run. No witnesses. No suspects. Clean. Too clean. The kind of clean that made my stomach twist. Accidents don't usually come with perfect timing.
Now the debt had transferred.
To the wife.
To the child.
I felt sick reading it. Genuinely sick. Not shocked—this world had long burned that out of me—but angry. Coldly, quietly angry. This was the kind of cruelty that didn't make headlines, the kind that survived because it hid behind paperwork and silence.
But this was my job.
I couldn't save the world.
I could save them.
I squared my shoulders as I stepped into the hotel lobby, slipping back into control. The lights were warm, the air smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive perfume—too calm for what was unfolding behind closed doors.
At the reception desk, I asked for information about the Reiss family.
The receptionist hesitated.
"I'm sorry, miss, we can't share guest information."
I met her eyes, steady, unblinking. Not threatening. Just… certain.
"I'm here on official business," I said calmly. "Room one-three-four."
Another pause. A glance at the screen. A decision made in silence.
She exhaled and slid the keycard toward me. "Third floor. Please… be discreet."
"I always am," I replied.
The elevator ride felt longer than it was. The soft music, the mirrored walls—it all felt wrong. I stepped out onto the third floor and walked down the carpeted hallway until I reached room 134.
I knocked once.
The door opened almost immediately.
He was taller than I expected, broad-shouldered, alert in a way that couldn't be faked. Dark clothes, no unnecessary movement, eyes that scanned before they settled on me.
"Nyx?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
He stepped aside without another word, letting me in and locking the door behind me. The room was sparse, curtains drawn, lights low. No family inside yet—good. Safer this way.
"Dorian," he said. "I'll be leading movements. You're on close protection."
I studied him for a moment. I hadn't heard much about him, which in our world usually meant one of two things: either he was new, or he was very good at staying invisible. Cassie had said he was trustworthy. I decided to believe it—for now.
"Good," I replied, setting my bag down. "Because once they arrive, there's no room for mistakes."
His jaw tightened slightly. "I know."
I glanced toward the window, the city stretching out beyond it—busy, indifferent, alive.
Somewhere out there, people were hunting a woman and a child for a debt that should have died with the man who created it.
Not on my watch.
I heard the quiet hum of the hotel hallway before the car even stopped outside. The tires whispered against the asphalt, subtle but precise. I moved to the window cautiously, lowering the blinds just enough to watch.
The car pulled up smoothly, a sleek black sedan, and the driver opened the rear doors for them.
The woman stepped out first—tall enough to command attention even in quiet, careful steps, her face lined with worry that hadn't left her in years. Her hands clutched a small bag tightly, knuckles white.
And then the boy. Eight years old, innocent, oblivious to the danger that trailed him like a shadow. He peeked around the doorframe as his mother guided him out, eyes wide with curiosity and that subtle fear children always carried when life felt too big.
I crouched slightly behind the window, studying them. Every movement they made, every glance they shared, was data. Timing. Patterns. Weaknesses and strengths. My heels pressed into the carpet as I memorized the scene.
Dorian stepped out of the room behind me, low voice barely audible. "We'll guide them in carefully. They shouldn't notice anything unusual."
I nodded once, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "I'll handle the perimeter. No interruptions."
The mother looked around as she entered the hotel, scanning faces, the lobby, the decor. Fear, exhaustion, but also a quiet defiance. She was used to being aware, to surviving.
The boy clung lightly to her hand, trusting, but cautious. My heart tightened for a moment—I couldn't let anything happen to them. Not here, not now.
Dorian's hand rested briefly on the small of my back as he guided them toward the elevator. "Stay sharp. No one follows," he murmured.
I nodded again. Every muscle, every sense, was alert. The elevator doors closed, swallowing them in soft metal and quiet machinery, but I could track every move through the security feed and my vantage points.
Once the doors reopened on the third floor, Dorian led them swiftly to the room we had prepared. Room 134. The mother's steps were careful but steady; the boy's little feet barely made a sound, but I could hear every shift, every shuffle.
Inside the room, I stepped forward, presenting myself calmly. "Mrs. Reiss," I said, voice soft but firm. "You're safe here. Everything is under control."
She looked at me, eyes tired but grateful, and let out a slow breath. "Thank… thank you," she whispered.
The boy peeked around her legs, shyly studying me. I crouched slightly, putting myself at his level. "Hi there. I'm Nyx. I'll be around, making sure you're okay. Nothing's going to hurt you while I'm here, alright?"
He nodded slowly, a faint, trusting smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
I straightened, glancing at Dorian. "We need to get them settled, secure the room, and set patterns. No interruptions."
Dorian nodded, professional and calm. "Understood. We'll keep them protected. You watch the perimeter."
I moved toward the window again, heels soft against the carpet. Outside, the city seemed oblivious. But inside, in this room, the Reiss family had just stepped into a fragile bubble of safety—one I wasn't about to let break.
And somewhere out there, the people who wanted them gone were moving.
But not tonight. Not while I was here.