The facility was silent, save for the faint hum of energy pulsing through its reinforced walls. Cold white lights flickered along the curved bridge platforms that spiraled down toward the central chamber. The air was sharp with sterilized chill, carrying the metallic tang of machinery and tension.

  A group of masked intruders moved through the shadows. They dismantled guards with precision, their weapons flashing briefly under the low light before the bodies hit the floor. No alarms, no screams. Just motion and silence.

  Their leader stepped forward, holding up a device as he keyed in a sequence on the terminal beside the glowing containment field at the chamber’s center. The security locks hissed and disengaged. The platform unfolded like a blooming mechanism—

  Revealing the empty heart of the vault.

  “What—where is it?” one of them hissed.

  Another swore under his breath, scanning the platform as the leader’s composure slipped. “It was supposed to be here. The coordinates were exact.”

  Before anyone could respond, one of the men staggered backward, a muffled grunt caught in his throat. He collapsed silently, a thin streak of light cutting through the dim air. The others froze. A second body followed, then a third. The remaining criminals spun around, weapons raised, breaths sharp and quick.

  A shadow dropped from the ceiling.

  He landed without a sound.

  A white cloak rippled as the figure straightened, silver and blue streaks glinting faintly across the hound-shaped mask. The Dawn Hound moved with controlled precision. The faint light caught on his double-ended blade as he spun it once by the circular handle, the motion clean, effortless, and deliberate.

  From behind the mask, Akio watched them. His breathing was steady, his mind already several steps ahead. The vault was exactly as he’d predicted—empty, because he’d emptied it himself hours ago. The criminals had walked into a snare designed specifically for them. Akio had secured the contents, hidden it where they would never reach it. This confrontation was simply the cleanup. Everything had gone according to plan.

  Now, all that remained was elimination.

  The intruders fanned out, their weapons raised, black steel gleaming under the dim light. He could read every hesitation in their stance, every twitch of uncertainty. Akio’s stance was loose but poised, his focus narrowing into the familiar sharpness that always preceded the first strike. He could see the rhythm of the fight before it began—their movements, their fear, their inevitable collapse.

  He exhaled once.

  Then—

  He moved before they could react.

  His blade sliced through the air, cutting into flesh. A nearby man dropped, his gun clattering uselessly to the floor. Another fired, muzzle flare lighting the dark chamber, but Akio was already gone, slipping past the line of fire in a blur of white and motion. He pivoted low, kicked the gun from the shooter’s grip, and drove his blade cleanly through the man’s chest in one smooth arc. The motion barely broke his rhythm.

  The weapon spun once in the air. Akio caught it without looking, reloaded, adjusted the aim, and fired three precise rounds across the room. Each shot found its mark. The criminals staggered and fell, their bodies folding into silence before they even hit the ground.

  The others reacted with panic, circling him with desperate shouts and clumsy coordination. Akio didn’t waste breath on threats or quips. He read them the way others read text—every misstep, every hesitation.

  One lunged, he sidestepped. Another swung, he ducked low and countered, disarming and disabling in one seamless movement. The air filled with motion and metallic clangs, until one by one, they crumpled beneath the weight of his precision.

  Each time his blade struck true, faint, holographic feathers materialized in the air above his fallen targets—glimmering constructs of light and data, drifting weightlessly before fading into blue shimmer. They weren’t quite technology, not entirely magic either. Just something innate, an ability he’d long since stopped questioning. They followed the rhythm of his strikes, marking weakness, guiding intent.

  He flicked his wrist, and the spectral feathers shot outward, streaks of azure cutting through the dim light to mark critical points on the remaining enemies. The last few fell before they even understood what they were fighting.

  Only the leader remained.

  He hesitated for half a second, then fired a smoke charge and bolted for the upper platform, vaulting up the railings in a frantic scramble.

  Akio exhaled once. With a fluid motion, he spun his weapon by the circular handle, the segmented metal rearranging with a sharp click. The twin blades folded inward and reshaped into a sleek, curved bow.

  He nocked a glowing arrow of condensed light, drew, and released. The shot flew soundlessly, then another, and another. Three blue flares pierced through the smoke. The fleeing man jerked midair, hit the railing hard, and collapsed in a heap.

  The chamber fell quiet again. Only the faint hum of the containment systems remained.

  Akio lowered the bow, letting it fold back into its compact form before hooking it onto his belt. Around him lay the scattered remnants of the mercenaries. The vault’s core was already secured; the authorities would find it soon enough and claim credit for the recovery. His job, as always, was the part that no one saw. He surveyed the aftermath once more, ensuring nothing had been overlooked. Then he turned toward the exit, the faint glow of emergency lights reflecting off the edges of his cloak.

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  The mission had gone flawlessly.

  The real challenge, however, was just beginning.

  Akio moved swiftly across the rooftops, each step calculated and soundless. His mind worked ahead of his body. Every route, every angle, every contingency. Aira was probably home by now.

  And somehow, he needed to sneak in without getting caught.

  The principle was the same as slipping into a high security facility: avoid detection, maintain silence, neutralize witnesses. Only this time, the witness was his nosy little sister, and failure meant social humiliation rather than death.

  He perched at the edge of the apartment complex, surveying the building. The window to his room was high up, flanked by Aira’s on the far side. Between them, the living room window glowed faintly from a lamp left on. Through the glass, he caught a glimpse of her moving around—likely cleaning up her desk or pacing while she brainstormed another article.

  He inhaled once, slow and steady, mentally outlining his plan.

  Slip through the window. Stow the gear. Change clothes. Leave through the front door. Reenter as if nothing happened. Simple. In theory.

  He launched upward, scaling the side of the building with practiced precision. The faint scrape of his gloves against the concrete was swallowed by the hum of the city. A moment later, he slipped through his window with barely a sound.

  Inside, the air was still. Faint music drifted from Aira’s room, soft vocals underlined by the steady rhythm of her humming. The sound was oddly grounding. Akio moved quickly, removing his mask and setting it carefully within the hidden compartment under his desk. He’d done this countless times before.

  But before he could store the rest of his gear—he heard it. The creak of a chair. The muffled shuffle of footsteps. Then her voice, clear and casual, filled the space.

  “Akio, are you home? Can I borrow your stapler?”

  His breath caught mid-motion. His pulse spiked, but his expression didn’t change. He glanced around the room in a split second scan—no cover, nowhere to stash the armor. The only thing he’d managed to remove was the mask.

  No, no, no, please don’t come—

  Footsteps.

  They were getting closer.

  He acted on instinct. In one swift motion, Akio vaulted upward, catching the ceiling beam with both hands just as the door handle turned. His muscles tensed, holding his body perfectly still, cloak swaying faintly behind him. The door creaked open.

  Aira stepped inside, completely unaware.

  “Oh, he’s not home yet,” she murmured. “I don’t think he’d mind if I borrowed the stapler.”

  She crossed the room toward his desk, humming the same tune as before, papers tucked under one arm. Her presence filled the space—light, unbothered, completely oblivious to the danger dangling just above her head. She set down her papers, straightened them with exaggerated care, and began stapling them together, mumbling something under her breath about deadlines and ink stains.

  Akio hung there in absolute silence, every muscle screaming. His cloak drifted dangerously close to the crown of her head. One wrong move, one stray flick of fabric, and it would brush her hair.

  He stared down, barely daring to breathe.

  If she looks up, he thought grimly, I’m cooked.

  Akio held perfectly still, his body pressed close to the ceiling. On the outside, his expression was composed, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. The longer he stayed suspended like this, the higher the chance Aira would glance up and see him dangling there like some kind of deranged bat. He could not afford that.

  Slowly, deliberately, he began to inch along the ceiling beam, moving with the kind of precision that came only from years of training—and years of cleaning up his sister’s chaos without being caught. His eyes never left her. Aira was still at his desk, humming softly as she stapled a stack of papers together, completely unaware of the absurd game of stealth happening above her head.

  When she finally turned away from the door, he moved. A fluid, soundless swing carried him through the open doorway. He landed silently in the living room, the faint rustle of his cloak the only trace he’d ever been there. He had just enough time to breathe before he heard the creak of his chair from inside his room.

  “Wait—” he heard her say, her tone curious. “Is there new vigilante footage? No way.”

  Akio dove beneath the couch, pressing himself flat against the floor just as she stepped into the living room. From his vantage point, he could see her feet cross the matted floor and stop near the television. She picked up the remote, the screen flaring to life. The evening news echoed through the room, cheerful anchors recounting the latest breaking story.

  Akio’s eyes flicked to the TV. Grainy footage played of masked mercenaries being dragged away by authorities. A few frames even showed the familiar white silhouette of the Dawn Hound moving through the smoke. Aira sat down directly above him, absorbed by the broadcast, leaning forward with growing excitement.

  He stayed motionless, his heartbeat steadying as his mind calculated options. If he waited long enough, she’d get distracted.

  “This is insane,” he heard her murmur. “They’re saying the Dawn Hound singlehandedly stopped them!”

  Akio began to shift, inch by inch, slipping out from beneath the couch when she gasped at something on the screen. Each time she moved or laughed, he froze again, body coiled tight, waiting for the next window of silence.

  Finally, he made it past the couch’s shadow and onto the open floor. One more clean escape.

  He slipped back into his room. The gloves came off first, then the cloak, then the light armor—each piece stored methodically in its hidden compartments. He changed into civilian clothes, the loose collared shirt and soft fabric feeling almost weightless after the heavy plating. His reflection in the dark window barely looked like the same person who’d fought in a secure vault hours earlier.

  Akio peeked around the doorframe. Aira was still glued to the television, eyes wide as she watched the replay of his infiltration—his masked figure cutting through smoke and steel. If he walked out now, she’d see him immediately. Too suspicious. He needed a distraction.

  He raised his hand, channeling a thin glimmer of light at his fingertips. A small, spectral feather flickered into existence, glowing pale blue against the dim room. He calculated the angle and flicked it toward the open door of Aira’s room. It struck the leg of her desk with perfect accuracy, sending one of her pencil containers crashing to the floor in a clatter of scattered pens.

  “Huh?” she said, startled. “What was that?”

  She got up instantly, heading toward her room. Akio seized the moment, quietly grabbing his bag and moving toward the front door with the kind of precision born from desperation and habit. He reached for the handle, turned it, and slipped outside into the cool air of the building hallway.

  For the first time in hours, he let himself breathe. The rush of adrenaline that had carried him through the mission and the escape finally broke, leaving a faint tremor in his hands. He closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a slow, deep breath.

  Made it.

  He counted to three, just enough time for his heartbeat to steady, then turned the handle again.

  “I’m home,” he called, voice easy, casual, perfectly ordinary.

  Aira appeared almost immediately, wide-eyed and animated. “Akio! Where were you? You’re usually home by now!”

  He smiled faintly, projecting the kind of calm that had saved him countless times before. “I was busy,” he said evenly. “Had a few extra things to take care of.”

  “Come here—you have to see this!” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the television. “There’s been a new Dawn Hound sighting!”

  Akio set his bag down by the door, every motion smooth and controlled. On the screen, grainy footage replayed of a white figure moving through smoke and steel. Aira spoke over it in rapid bursts of excitement, her hands gesturing wildly as she speculated on tactics, theories, and the Dawn Hound’s true identity.

  He listened with a faint smile, answering with practiced neutrality, every nod perfectly timed. Beneath the calm, he felt the last traces of tension drain from his body while Aira laughed at something on the screen, oblivious.

  Akio’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, warmth flickering in his eyes. Then he looked back at the TV showing the faceless figure of the Dawn Hound frozen mid strike.

  He exhaled quietly, closing his eyes for a moment as the weight of the night settled over him—not heavy, but familiar.

  Another mission done. Another secret kept.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Akio