I waited until both figures moved deeper into the darkness beyond the shed. Their footsteps faded toward the east wing of the garden wall. Not rushed. Not careless. Controlled.
Professionals.
Good.
That meant they wouldn't expect someone to follow.
I slipped from the bushes, keeping low, every step placed with intention. The gravel path was a risk, so I avoided it, cutting across the softer grass instead. My breathing slowed automatically — in through the nose, out through the mouth. Training taking over. Emotion shutting down.
The shed door was closed again.
Locked? Maybe.
I reached it and pressed my ear lightly against the wood.
Silence.
No movement inside.
I tested the handle slowly. It didn't budge.
Of course it didn't.
I crouched, pulling a thin metal pick from inside my sleeve. The lock was old — mechanical, simple. Whoever they were, they didn't expect resistance here.
Thirty seconds.
Forty.
Click.
The sound was tiny, but in the still night it felt thunderous.
I froze.
Nothing.
No alarms. No footsteps.
I eased the door open just enough to slip inside, closing it gently behind me.
The air inside smelled like dust… and something sharper. Oil. Metal.
Moonlight filtered through the small cracked window, casting pale streaks across stacked crates and black duffel bags. Not gardening supplies. Not tools.
I moved to the nearest crate and opened it carefully.
Inside—
Weapons.
Clean. Polished. Organized.
Not random. Not chaotic.
Prepared.
My stomach tightened.
This wasn't some small side operation. This was planned distribution. And it wasn't junk either — high-grade equipment. Military-level.
I moved to the table in the center of the shed.
There were papers.
Shipping routes.
Dates.
Coordinates.
And one name circled in black ink.
I leaned closer.
My breath caught.
It wasn't Alexander's.
It wasn't anyone from the mansion staff.
It was a name I recognized from my mission files.
Which meant one thing.
This wasn't about the Quinn empire.
This was connected to something much bigger.
Something my handlers never warned me about.
I heard footsteps outside.
Close.
Too close.
Voices returning.
I extinguished the small flashlight instantly and slid behind the stacked crates, pressing my back into the cold wood.
The lock turned.
The door creaked open.
Light from outside spilled across the floor — inches from my boots.
One of them stepped inside.
"This is one big deal," the second voice muttered from the doorway, "we are back in it now."
My pulse pounded, but my body remained still.
Silent.
Invisible.
And listening.
I stayed perfectly still as one of them moved deeper into the shed, boots scraping against the concrete floor. The second remained near the door, half inside, half outside, arguing in low, irritated whispers.
"Shipment moves tomorrow," the first one muttered. "No delays."
"Then don't mess it up," the other replied.
Their attention shifted to the table. Papers shuffled. A crate lid slammed shut.
That was my window.
Slowly — painfully slowly — I slid sideways behind the stacked boxes, keeping my breathing shallow. They were focused. Distracted. Frustrated with each other.
Good.
I eased toward the back corner where the window sat slightly ajar. It was small, barely wide enough — but I've fit through worse.
Another argument flared between them.
Perfect.
I lifted myself silently onto the crate beneath the window and pushed it open just enough. The old wood creaked softly — I froze — but their voices rose at the same time, covering the sound.
Thank you.
I slipped through, landing lightly on the grass outside. No hesitation. No looking back. Once my feet touched ground, I moved — low, fast, controlled — weaving through hedges until the shed was out of sight.
Only then did I allow myself to breathe fully.
My pulse was racing, but my mind was already processing.
Weapons. Shipping routes. A name from my files.
This wasn't random. This wasn't personal. This was organized.
And it wasn't something I had been briefed on.
I circled back toward the mansion from the side path, avoiding the main entrance. Lights still glowed warmly through the tall windows, soft and elegant — such a contrast to what was hiding in its garden.
From the outside, this place looked untouchable.
Inside? Something was rotting beneath the luxury.
I slipped in through a side door used by staff, moving quietly through the dim corridor. The house was calm now. Most lights were off. The echo of distant footsteps from night staff faded somewhere downstairs.
I reached my room and locked the door behind me.
Only then did I allow the mask to drop.
I leaned against the door, eyes closing briefly.
This mission just changed.
Either my handlers were keeping secrets from me…
Or I had just stumbled into something off-script.
I crossed the room and pulled my phone from its hiding place. No messages. No updates.
Fine.
If they weren't going to tell me the truth…
I'd find it myself.
I walked to the window, staring out toward the dark garden where the shed sat hidden behind trees.
Tomorrow, I'd need answers.
And tonight?
Tonight I had just crossed a line. It's time to break more of my boundaries now, because l guess these past few days l was distracted and didn't get anything done.
I didn't know he had a girlfriend and by the way it looks,like she is already his fiancee.
It's not like l was even expecting any romance from him but he doesn't seem like that kind of person. Maybe he should have said it beforehand but it's really not my business.
He always makes me gets things tangled up, so whatever l was doing am going to get it over with and go back to my vacation.
I wonder where this mission even came from, like in all the days l had freely got normal simple jobs but now, it's all about this mafia people.
That's one reason driving me crazy now, and l really don't want to keep on seeing his face, he is too good to be true and the fact that we live in parallel universes.
Just makes me quinch for more.
But hey Evie stop daydreaming about him, it's about my bedtime so l better get ready.
I told myself...