Raze lay flat on the rooftop, his body molded into the concrete like he'd done it a thousand times which he had. The sniper was steady in his hands, scope adjusted just right. He inhaled once, slow and calm, then pulled the trigger.
Crack.
The target's head snapped back. Clean shot. No noise, no panic just one more body down.
His phone vibrated against his chest.
"Target eliminated."
"Return to base."
He didn't respond. He just stood, dismantled the rifle like clockwork, and disappeared into the city shadows.
Back at Black Vanta, the place was alive in the worst kind of way. It wasn't just a base it was a breeding ground for killers. No one joined Black Vanta. You were raised in it. Taken in as a toddler. Trained like an animal. Your first blade was handed to you before your first book. This wasn't a job. It was the only life they'd ever known.
The training grounds echoed with violence guns firing on one side, blades clashing on another. In the far end, Tesmee was locked in with a punching bag, her fists landing heavy, brutal. She wore hand wraps stained with old blood, her focus razor-sharp.
Raze approached, wiping sweat from his brow after a quick cleanup.
"You'd get more out of hitting an actual person," he said.
Tesmee didn't break her rhythm. "Offer on the table?"
She finally stopped and turned, tightening the straps on her hands, her tone cool. "I could use something that hits back."
Raze smirked. "Wouldn't hurt."
He stepped forward, and just like that—routine turned into sparring. Because in Black Vanta, pain wasn't punishment. It was practice.
"You got it," Tesmee said as she turned around, rolling her shoulders and stepping into position. Her stance was firm, grounded—like someone who wasn't just trained to fight, but made for it.
Raze mirrored her. No hesitation. No countdown.
The fight started fast. Blows exchanged, dodges tight, each move calculated and clean. No wild swings, no wasted breath. Just skill.
To anyone else, it would've looked like a real fight. Life-or-death.
But to them?
It was a game.
This was how they were raised—fighting wasn't something they did. It was something they were. Whether it was a sparring match in the base or a hit in the field, the approach was the same. Sharp. Unbothered. Almost playful.
Raze ducked a punch and grinned. "Sloppy, Rous."
Tesmee smirked back. "Says the guy who just opened his ribs."
And then she landed a hit—clean to the side. He staggered, laughing under his breath. She didn't let him recover. Not fully.
Because in Black Vanta, nothing was ever just practice.
"Meet with her that day," Raze said as he stood up, brushing off his hands.
Tesmee didn't even look at him. "With her husband and the rest of the Volkov cheerleaders? What a warm, happy reunion," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Raze scoffed. "Sounds like you're not a fan of the guy."
"I've never been a fan," she muttered. "He's too damn determined. Always digging, always covering. The type who'd burn a whole city just to hide one dirty secret."
She paused, tightening the bandages on her wrist. "I swear, if the Vanta gets the green light... I'll be first in line to wipe that entire bloodline off the map."
Raze raised a brow. "That bad?"
She turned to him, dead serious but with a hint of dark amusement in her tone. "He's a pain in the ass. A mafia boss who plays king, but all he's really doing is delaying the inevitable. Truth has teeth, and so do I."
Raze tilted his head. "So, you're saying it's not if he dies, but when."
Tesmee gave a small, wicked smile. "Exactly."
"I don't get it," Tesmee muttered, pacing. "Since five years ago, I knew that bastard was onto something. I hate that damn mask. I specifically requested one that didn't show the eyes, and of course, the one they gave me did. Now the guy's sniffing around my trail like a damn bloodhound."
Raze leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "Well... the Vanta will do what they do best. Keep this buried."
She stopped and gave him a look. "And that won't require me to talk to him, right?"
He didn't answer at first. Then, after a moment, "The boss... yeah, it does. You know how it works. He'll already know what's going on before you even open your mouth. But he won't step in unless you ask him to. He watches us like we're some damn test subjects wants to see how far we fall before we beg for help."
Tesmee scoffed and looked away. "Like we got into this shit on our own. As if the Vanta didn't raise us into it."
Raze's voice dropped, almost a growl. "Exactly. He calls it discipline. I call it manipulation."
"This leaves me with no fucking choice but to take on a pleading mission with him," Tesmee said, rolling her eyes.
"Just in case," Raze muttered.
"And guess what"
"He'll tell you you're weak for playing it safe," Raze finished for her.
"Exactly," she snapped. "Tyric is almost fucking equal to the organization. A solo wolf, but dangerous as hell. I've seen that motherfucker in action."
"And the Masked Man won't care," Raze said, voice thick with bitterness. "He'll just remind you the Vanta's the death bringer. We don't run from death—we are it."
"Exactly," Tesmee said.
"What y'all fuckers going on about?" Craig's voice cut in loud and sudden.
"Why you always loud, man?" Tesmee muttered, sounding more tired than annoyed.
"And you always sad," Craig shot back with a grin.
She scoffed, shaking her head. Typical Craig.