CHAPTER 112: EXTERMINATION

The lock clicked.

Mara pushed the apartment door open, the hinges groaning softly. She stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind her with her heel. The briefcase hit the floor near the entranceway with a dull thud. She slid her keys onto the small entryway table, the metal scraping faintly against the wood surface.

She stood motionless for a moment, shoulders slumped slightly beneath her damp coat. The silence of the apartment pressed in. She kicked off her shoes, one after the other, leaving them near the mat. She ran a hand through her hair, loosening strands from the tight bun at the nape of her neck.

She walked towards the kitchen. The overhead light flickered once before settling into a steady, pale glow. She opened the refrigerator, the soft hum momentarily louder. She scanned the contents. Milk, some leftover takeout containers, half a block of cheese. She closed the fridge door.

Her gaze shifted to the small wine rack beside the counter. She selected a bottle of deep red, pulled it free. She opened a cabinet, retrieved a stemmed glass, closed the cabinet door softly. She peeled the foil from the bottle top, inserted the corkscrew, twisted. The cork came out with a subdued pop.

She poured a measure of wine into the glass, the liquid dark against the clear crystal. She picked up the glass, leaving the bottle on the counter.

She turned, walking back towards the living room archway, glass in hand.

She stopped dead in the archway.

A figure sat on her sofa. Legs crossed casually. Dark trousers, a simple grey tunic – clean, dry. Hair dark, neatly cut, framing a face she recognized instantly. His expression was blank. Eyes forward, not quite looking at her, more through her, towards the wall beyond.

Fin.

The wine glass slipped from her fingers.

CRASH.

Glass shards skittered across the floor. Deep red wine splashed outwards, staining the light-colored rug beneath the coffee table, droplets spattering against the sofa’s edge near his foot.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react to the sound, the mess. His head turned slowly towards her. His eyes met hers. They were brown. No glow. But flat. Empty.

"Hi boss," he said. The voice was his, but the tone was wrong. Level. Devoid of inflection.

Mara stared, her hand still frozen halfway to her mouth where the glass had been. Her breath hitched. Wine seeped into the rug fibers.

"F-Fin?" The name came out as a choked whisper. Her eyes darted from his face to the spreading puddle of wine, then back to him. "What... What are you doing here?" Her voice trembled slightly. "How did you get in?"

He looked at the shattered glass on the floor, then back at Mara. The spreading red stain on the rug seemed to hold his attention for a moment.

"The door was unlocked," he said. His voice remained level, offering no further detail. He unfolded his legs, placing both feet flat on the floor. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

Mara stared at him. Unlocked? She knew she locked it. She always locked it. She took another hesitant step back, her hand gripping the edge of the archway trim. The wood felt cool beneath her fingers.

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "No, it wasn’t. I locked it."

He didn’t argue. He just looked at her, his expression unchanging. "I need to talk to you."

"About what?" Her voice was sharper now, suspicion replacing the initial shock. "How you break into people’s apartments?" She gestured vaguely towards the mess on the floor. "Or maybe how you plan on explaining the Association kill order plastered all over the Guild network?"

He tilted his head slightly. "You saw that." It wasn’t a question.

"Everyone saw it," she countered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Rogue Hunter. Murderer. Thief. Extreme threat." She listed the accusations flatly. "Sound familiar?"

"Lies," he stated simply.

"Are they?" she pressed. "Because Juna seems to think—" She cut herself off, biting her lip. She turned away from him slightly, looking down the hallway.

He watched her posture shift, the way her arms tightened. He waited.

After a moment, she turned back, her face set. "Why come here, Fin? Harboring you is treason. If they find you here..." She didn’t finish the sentence. She walked past the archway, stepping carefully around the broken glass, and went to the kitchen counter. She retrieved a roll of paper towels and a small dustpan and brush from under the sink.

He stood up from the sofa. He walked over to the edge of the rug, stopping near the stain. He watched her kneel down, carefully sweeping up the larger shards of glass into the dustpan.

"I need your help," he said.

She paused, brush hovering over the dustpan. She didn’t look up.

"Help with what? Fighting the entire Association? Or maybe just adding ’accomplice’ to my resume?" She dumped the glass shards into a nearby waste bin with a clatter. She began blotting at the wine stain on the rug with wadded paper towels.

"They sent someone," he said. "Not just agents. A specialist."

She stopped blotting. Her hand froze on the damp paper towel. She slowly looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. "A specialist?" She lowered her voice. "Jericho?"

"so that’s his name."

Mara’s hand stilled on the damp paper towel soaking up the wine. She looked up, her eyes fixed on his. The casual way he confirmed the codename, the lack of fear in his voice... it didn’t make sense.

Jericho wasn’t just a specialist. He was the specialist. S-rank, minimum. Likely higher, operating outside normal parameters. Whispers said he hunted rogue top tier hunters.

’He’s here?’ she thought, her mind racing. ’Jericho is in Arclight? No. Fin just confirmed his name. That means... he met him. Fought him?’ She looked at Fin again – standing there, looking almost bored, not like someone who’d just tangled with an Association ghost. ’He beat Jericho? How?’

"You... you met him?" She asked.

He nodded once. "He came into my... place." He glanced around the apartment, then back at her. "Wasn’t friendly."

’Not friendly?’ That was the understatement of the century. Jericho didn’t do friendly. He did efficient, brutal termination. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, dropping the soiled paper towels beside the spreading stain. She took a step back, putting the coffee table between them.

"And?" she prompted. "What happened?"

"He’s handled," he said. He walked back towards the sofa, picking up a fallen cushion and tossing it back into place. He sat down again, leaning back, looking comfortable.

Handled. Mara stared. He said it like he’d taken out the trash. Jericho. Handled. She felt a tremor run through her, a mix of disbelief and a new kind of fear. What had Fin become?

"So," he continued, looking over at her. "He found me easily. That means the Association can find me easily. Or they can send others who can." He leaned forward again, elbows on knees. "I need information."

Mara crossed her arms again, her suspicion returning full force. "What kind of information?"

"Association Hunters," he said. "Everyone currently active. Names. Ranks. Affiliations. Known abilities, if possible. Especially anyone operating near Arclight or Valerius."

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "You want... a personnel list? Of active Association Hunters?" The sheer audacity of the request struck her silent for a moment. "Fin, are you insane?"

"Probably," he conceded without changing expression. "But I need it."

"Why?" she demanded. "What are you planning to do with a list like that?"

His eyes glowed, "extermination. "