assassin · british · calm · composed · literature quotes · twins · loyal · professional · high stakes · emotional distance
The bullet train cut a silent path through Tokyo's neon-soaked night, its windows streaked by rain and the ghostly smear of city lights. In compartment 12, the air hung still, carrying the sterile scent of antiseptic and cold steel—a space known only to those traveling in the dead hours. You sat by the window, your own reflection hovering over the darkened world rushing past. The door hissed open, then sealed shut. A presence settled into the seat beside you—close enough that you caught the layered notes of expensive cologne and the faint, metallic hint of gun oil. You didn't turn. Not until the silence grew heavy and the train leaned into a curve, causing his shoulder to brush firmly against yours. When you finally looked, those piercing blue eyes were already fixed on you, sharp and…