YAN
“YOU HAD ONE JOB.”
Rayla narrowed her eyes. Her husky voice was quiet, but the sound of it sent a chill down his spine. “One job, Yanick. And what did you do? Instead of focusing on the mission, you get yourself tangled in a romance. And with who? That bastard’s daughter.”
Yanick clenched his fists, fighting the rising frustration. He knew too well Rayla had no tolerance for unnecessary words. It was better to keep the mouth shut now than provoke one of her outbursts.
“Relax,” Big Mike interjected, ever calm, as if nothing happening around concerned him directly.
Yanick envied that kind of detachment. He’d give anything to approach things the same way right now. Hearing Rayla spit out Ama’s name with such disdain ignited a silent rebellion inside. The words dug into his stomach, tightened around the throat, but he didn’t have time for personal battles. The mission was more important.
“I am relaxed,” Rayla replied through gritted teeth, though her tone betrayed the tension, like she was holding back something much more than just emotion.
“I think we shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Mike added, his voice as steady as ever.
Rayla shot him a cold look.
“I wouldn’t have to,” she said, enunciating every syllable. “If this idiot had just brought the documents.”
She snarled the last words and fixed a furious gaze directly on Yanick.
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Mike mused. “Maybe it’s just letters to him, nothing important. We don’t know.”
Rayla scoffed, her voice sharpening further. Her tone almost turned into a growl. She was a wolf on the hunt.
“How the hell is it even possible that you’ve never seen him? Your little damsel’s father?”
Yanick shrugged, masking the irritation growing inside.
“He’s away a lot,” he answered quietly. “Travels often. Business, apparently.”
Rayla flicked a glance toward Mike, who nodded a few times, as if piecing together the next move. Maybe she was officially in charge of the group, but in reality, it was Big Mike who was the brains of this operation.
“We need to find out what those documents are,” Mike finally said after a long silence that felt like an eternity.
“How?”
Big Mike turned to Rayla, waiting for her call. She hesitated but then nodded in approval.
“Might as well,” Mike said. “The kid can be trusted. He proved many times before. Even today, by coming here.”
Rayla exhaled sharply, squinting as if Yanick had long since used up whatever trust she’d had for him.
“Of course,” Yanick replied, meeting her gaze. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”
Big Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular metal object, smooth and glinting in the candlelight.
“Here,” he said, handing it to Yanick.
“What is it?”
“The Spy’s Mirror.”
Yanick raised an eyebrow, feeling the cool metal between his fingers.
“Don’t look into it like a normal mirror,” Mike said. “It won’t reflect your face. Just place your finger here and hold it. You hear that?”
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The device gave a faint vibration and emitted a melodic sound, like the chimes of a harvest festival procession.
“And then?” Yanick asked, still examining the strange object.
“Then you say, ‘snap.’”
At those words, the device let out another sound, this time like glass shattering against stone.
“And that’s it?” Yanick glanced at Mike, unsure.
“That’s it,” Mike confirmed.
Yanick studied the Mirror, its surface resembling liquid obsidian, swallowing light instead of reflecting it. A mix of fascination and unease coiled in his gut—this thing held more secrets than just musical chimes and vibrations.
“How do I know it worked?” Yanick asked, his voice betraying a hint of hesitation. “How do I know I did it right?”
“For safety, do it a few times,” Mike advised. “Just make sure you aim this side of the Mirror at the documents. Not too close. Like this.”
Big Mike demonstrated the ideal distance using his enormous hand as an example.
“And how do you actually see anything in this weird mirror?” Yanick pressed, curiosity and doubt mingling in his voice.
Rayla smirked mockingly.
“Not your problem. Just bring it back.”
***
“WAIT,” THE MAN INTERRUPTED.
He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening.
Yanick raised an eyebrow.
“This Big Mike…” the man spoke in an indifferent tone, but Yanick picked up on the subtle shift. A small crack in the facade. “What did he look like?”
Yanick smirked slightly and leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance.
“I thought Rayla was the focus of our conversation,” he said, giving away no more emotion than necessary.
The interrogator frowned, clenching his fists.
“You don’t want to piss me off,” he said slowly, emphasising every word. “Trust me.”
Yanick met his gaze, counted silently to five in his head, then spoke.
“Tall. Broad shoulders. Black hair, short, cropped. Skin…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Light, but not like a Nordling. Almost white, but you can tell it’s not natural. More like…”
The man stiffened.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know how it’s possible, but Big Mike looks like a Svart whose skin has been lightened somehow.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. The interrogator’s face paled. Something in his eyes shifted. Not just anger now, but something deeper. Unease.
“Did he have a tattoo on his wrist?”
The question came quickly, his voice giving away everything.
Yanick nodded slowly. His face remained neutral, though inside, the hope of escape was already tapping its foot impatiently.
“Old runes,” he said.
That was all it took.
The interrogator shot up from his chair, knocking it over. Without another word, he stormed out the room, nearly slamming the door off its hinges.
Yanick waited a few seconds, listening. Nothing. No footsteps in the hall.
Slowly, he rose and approached the desk. Embedded in the surface was a Spy’s Mirror, a massive slab resembling polished obsidian. Dark and lightless.
He searched the first drawer of the desk. Nothing.
The second one.
Empty.
The third one…
His eyes lit up.
To be continued...
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