CHAPTER 8: KNIVES AND SABERS

The alley door clicked shut behind him, letting in a breath of night air that was colder than expected. Lachlan rubbed his hands together, exhaling sharply as he pocketed his phone. The message had come through coded and short: "City H. Military base. Same team. One hour."

He wasn’t surprised. They’d been due. In fact, his feet were almost itchy, wanting to get back to work. The work that paid for the gym.

He was still tucking the phone away when the weight room door creaked open. A figure stepped out—quiet, careful.

Seraphina.

Lachlan straightened, eyes narrowing slightly as he caught sight of her.

"You still here?" he asked, swallowing back his accent. Here, no one looked at him twice, and not having a Country A accent came in handy for that.

"Locker mix-up," she said smoothly, barely pausing in her stride. "I thought I left something behind."

He nodded once. It wasn’t a good excuse—too clean, too quick—but he wasn’t going to call her on it. Everyone had their secrets. Some just wore them quieter than others.

"You’re off tomorrow," he reminded her. It was better that she was off tomorrow, since he was probably not going to be around either. That way, she wouldn’t be asking where he went.

"I know," came her casual shrug.

He studied her a beat longer. Her shoulders were too relaxed for someone retracing a mistake. But her eyes—he didn’t miss the sharpness there, the edge of alertness that didn’t belong to someone fresh out of a locker room. There was something else about her eyes that seemed off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It almost looked like she was wearing contacts, but the brown color was so mundane that he didn’t see why anyone would want to change their eyes to that color.

Ignoring his thoughts, he just jerked his chin toward the front. "Go home. Rest. You look wiped."

She smiled faintly. "Thanks, Lachlan."

He grunted, already checking his phone again.

By the time she stepped out into the night, he’d pushed her out of his mind.

He had a team to meet.

------

Forty-five minutes later, the massive gates of City H’s military compound groaned open, and Lachlan stepped out of the armored vehicle he had commandeered as his own. He was dressed down in his most comfortable pair of black cargo pants and a canvas jacket. The place always smelled the same—oil, sweat, metal. Like steel nerves and silent weapons.

He didn’t have to look to know that most of his team were already there. The Government of Country N called them the KAS, but as far as anyone could tell, those three letters didn’t mean much.

Well, that wasn’t true. It meant that they were dangerous and disposable. However, the name DND was already taken.

The hangar they used was buried at the back of the base, a building that looked like nothing and meant everything to the kind of people who didn’t officially exist.

Lachlan walked through the reinforced doors and found them where they always were—half in shadow, half in readiness.

"Miss me?" he called, voice echoing in the concrete.

"Like toothache," came the reply. The man’s voice was heavily accented Country S, but it only emphasized the coldness that seemed to come out of his very pores.

Alexei Morozov leaned back against a weapons crate, his arms folded across his chest as his mouth quirked in a smirk. He was in full black gear, chest rig half strapped on, and hair too neat for a man who’d probably already killed twice today.

Lachlan grinned in reply, clasping him on the shoulder.

Alexei always looked like a military advertisement and a cold-blooded aristocrat at the same time. Tonight, he wore the ghost of old medals—his bearing too straight, his cheekbones too sharp, his uniform crisp enough to cut glass. Eyes the color of pale green jade watched the room like they were weighing its worth. Everything about him said predator, even when he smiled.

And he was not smiling now.

Near the center of the room, Elias was organizing the med kits with the same reverence a priest might give to holy relics. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms lined with scars that didn’t interrupt his precise movements. The man was a machine on the battlefield, but here—among supplies and silence—he moved like a surgeon sketching poetry.

He glanced up once and gave Lachlan a nod. No words, just calm recognition.

Zubair arrived last, as always—like time bent for him.

He stepped out of the side corridor like a shadow peeling from stone. His eyes, dark and unreadable, took in the scene with surgical precision. There was no warmth in his face, no greeting, no shift of expression. Just quiet calculation.

His build was lean, not slight—coiled steel beneath weather-worn flesh. Camouflage clung to him like a second skin, and the blade sheathed at his hip was probably older than half the base staff combined. Zubair’s stare landed on each man like a silent command.

Lachlan was used to it.

Zubair Hossaini didn’t speak unless it mattered. And when it mattered, people listened—or they didn’t live long enough to regret it.

"Briefing?" Lachlan asked, taking his seat. Zubair held up a flash drive and tossed it across the table.

Alexei caught it midair, barely glancing at the movement. "Another diplomat?"

"No," Zubair replied, voice low and clipped. "A scientist this time."

Elias straightened, one brow rising. "Civilian?"

"Not exactly," Zubair said.

He let that hang. The kind of not-exactly that meant labs with armed guards and research no one was supposed to admit existed.

Lachlan ran a hand through his hair. "So... high profile?"

Alexei cracked his neck. "Then we do it pretty."

"Not our mission to look good," Zubair cut in. "Our mission is to leave nothing behind."

Lachlan’s grin faded.

He knew what that meant. No traces. No mercy. No footprints, bodies, or regrets.

Alexei sighed, mock-dramatic. "You never let us have any fun."

"You don’t know what fun is," Elias muttered.

Alexei only smirked. "I know exactly what fun is. You just lack imagination."

Zubair stepped forward, voice ice. "This isn’t a debate. Load out. We move at dawn."

And just like that, the moment snapped into efficiency.

Elias packed the med kits without hesitation, Alexei began checking silencers and ammo counts, and Lachlan—Lachlan just stood there for a second, watching the men he trusted with his life fall into rhythm.

This was his world.

Fast, cold, quiet.

And somehow... no matter how dangerous it was, it was still easier than the weight room back home.

He’d rather face bullets than a question he couldn’t answer.

Even ones that sounded like "Where’s the front desk?"