CHAPTER 479: CHAPTER 479: WHAT DID I SIGN UP FOR (PART 9)

Hours later, Don was out cold.

The mattress dipped under his weight, one arm tossed over his chest, briefs clinging low on his hips.

Knock-knock~

His eyes cracked open. A long breath pushed out of him, half sigh, half yawn. He rolled onto his side, then sat up slow, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the door across the room.

’What time is it...?’

He reached over, dragging his phone from the dresser. The glow lit his face for a moment: 7:38 PM.

The screen dimmed again as his head turned toward the bed.

Trixie was sprawled on her stomach, bare back rising with slow breaths, black-and-pink panties riding low on her hips.

The rest of her was uncovered—shirt abandoned somewhere, hair splayed across the pillow.

Don’s lips tugged faintly. He lifted a hand, leaned closer, and smacked her ass with a lazy flick. smack~

Her body shifted with the contact, a muffled groan slipping out. She pushed up onto her elbows, hair falling over her face as her tail gave a half-hearted curl.

"Mm... time for another snack?" Her voice was husky, eyes half-lidded, words drifting like she was stil dreaming.

Don stood, stretching once before he answered. "No. Someone’s at the door. Cat form."

She pouted, lips pulling into a mock frown. "Really? Right when I was dreaming of—"

"Cat. Form."

The look on his face left no room.

She groaned, then rolled over onto her side with all the exaggeration of a child denied candy. A second later—pffft~—a burst of pink smoke swallowed her frame.

When it cleared, the cotton-candy feline shook herself off, eyes glaring up at him in theatrical disappointment.

Don ignored it. He crossed the room, phone still in one hand as he reached for the panel. His other hand brushed hair back from his face, the last remnants of sleep clinging to his shoulders.

The knock came again, lighter this time. tok-tok~

He thumbed the lock.

The door slid open with a soft shffft~.

Samantha stood there.

Loose, homey pants rode her hips, snug where they shouldn’t have been on a figure like hers. A simple vest hugged her chest, modest on its own but straining to contain what it framed. Glasses perched on her nose, hair pulled into a ponytail that fell neat against one shoulder.

Her eyes lifted, and the faintest blush colored her cheeks. The smile that followed was warm—though thinner than usual.

"Hi, sweetie... sorry, were you sleeping?"

Don leaned against the frame, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. "Yeah. Had a longer day than expected." He tilted his head. "How’d yours go?"

She shrugged lightly, her smile softening. "Just fine, you know... boring stuff. You wouldn’t be interested."

Don’s lips curved. "I’m interested in anything that involves you, mom."

The blush deepened instantly. She pressed her lips together, shook her head like she couldn’t decide whether to scold or smile. "O-oh, you..." The words trailed into a breathy laugh, and then she exhaled, helpless. "Stop teasing your poor mother and come join us to eat. Or are you also skipping like your sister?"

Don rubbed the back of his neck, gaze sliding aside. "Yeah, I think so. Sorry, mom. I just want to rest up some more. I’ll eat later."

Her smile stayed, though a trace of disappointment tugged at it. The sight nudged him with an ache he didn’t care for.

"That’s fine, sweetie. Get your rest." She turned, bare feet padding against the floor as she stepped away—then paused mid-stride. Looking back over her shoulder, her glasses caught the light.

"I’ll probably be catching up on my shows in the living room," she said, voice softer. "So... feel free to join me if you want later."

"Will do," Don answered.

She smiled again—smaller this time—then disappeared down the hall. The door closed with a low thmp~.

Don stood a moment longer, phone still in hand, before turning back inside.

On the bed, a pair of eyes blinked up at him. Trixie, still in her feline disguise, sat curled with her tail flicking, expression smug enough to translate across any form.

"Don, you dirty, dirty dog," she purred, her voice rolling out of the cat’s mouth with uncanny ease. "I could sense something went down in here, but I didn’t think..." Her grin widened. "Next time... can I watch?"

"No."

She pouted instantly, tail whipping once against the blanket. "Aww... at least tell me the details."

"No."

Don didn’t wait for the whine that followed. He dropped back onto the edge of the mattress, thumbed his screen awake, and scrolled until Gary’s name filled the display.

The call rang. He lifted the phone to his ear.

brrr— brrr~

The call clicked through.

"Evening, sir," Gary’s voice came, smooth as always.

Don paced across the room, phone to his ear. His bare feet pressed into the carpet with each step. "Evening. About the mission..."

"Ah, yes. About that." Papers shuffled faintly in the background, Gary’s voice never losing its polish. "Several factors have emerged. I wanted to analyze them with the young Madam before confirming with you, but—" he paused, "—I feel it may be best if you were here."

Don exhaled through his nose, eyes drifting toward the window. "No problem. I’m ready to start off anytime now."

"Wonderful. I’ll arrange transportation."

"Alright." Don ended the call, screen dimming to black in his palm.

He turned back toward the bed. Trixie had rolled onto her back, paws in the air, tail swaying.

"You coming?"

Her eyes blinked wide once, then narrowed with theatrical disgust. "Ew. Work. No thanks. I’m just gonna be a housecat tonight." She curled her tail smugly and wriggled further into the sheets.

Don’s lips curved faintly. "Suit yourself."

He set the phone down on the dresser and drew a long breath. His right arm flexed.

"Inshroud."

The sleeve ink writhed instantly, black tendrils sliding up his arm like spilled oil crawling against gravity. His torso vanished beneath liquid dark, the weave forming plates that hardened into seamless arcs of gold and black.

The mask sealed last. The gold skull flickered into place, sockets hollowed by the faint glow beneath. In a breath, Don was gone—Predator stood in his place.

Trixie lifted her head, eyes sweeping him over with zero awe. That is until her gaze lingered—low. A smirk tugged her mouth soon after.

Predator turned toward her. The lights overhead flickered once—buzzing faintly—then cut out with a dull thnk~.

When they flared back on, the space Predator had stood on was empty.

Trixie only yawned at, then curled tighter against the blanket, and shut her eyes.

Here’s the continuation—anchored in your beats, kept tight in tone and movement:

———

Meanwhile, far from Don’s path, a different exchange played out behind the reinforced walls of SHQ.

Director Graham’s office was wide but bare of ornament. Dark steel panels lined the walls, interrupted only by a single stretch of glass spanning floor to ceiling—a one-way wall that overlooked the complex below.

From this height, the movement of agents looked more like currents than people.

Graham stood behind his desk, one hand braced against the polished surface, the other resting on his cane.

Behind him, Benjamin leaned against the edge of the desk. A lighter flared between his hands. A cigarette caught, smoke rising into the stale air.

"I thought you quit those," Graham said, voice low, his gaze unmoving.

Benjamin pulled in the first drag, exhaled slow. "I did," he muttered, the smoke curling past his head, "until this whole Barclay mess buried me in a new workload."

He shook his head, eyes narrowing. "How the hell did he survive the vote of no confidence?"

Graham’s shoulders rose, then fell in a long breath. "Is it really surprising? With his connections? The rest of the council hates him, yes—but I’d wager he’s holding something over them. Or perhaps they’re just unwilling to make him an enemy." His cane clicked once against the floor. Tap~

Benjamin grimaced. "This organization is getting more and more political."

"It always has been," Graham replied flatly.

Benjamin took another drag, the cigarette glowing. "Well then... at this rate Barclay really may end up taking your position, sir."

The director turned at last. His eyes found Benjamin over the rim of his glasses, expression unreadable.

"Not necessarily."