Family Secret

Chapter 33

The night air bit cool against Alexia’s skin as she moved across the rooftops, her dark cloak snapping lightly with every leap. Leather straps creaked softly as she landed, rolling with precision before pushing forward again. Not once did her boots scrape stone. She was a shadow made flesh, a whisper above the city.

Her hood cast her face in darkness, the black cloth veil covering her mouth and jaw. Only her eyes—sharp, glinting with purpose—showed in the sliver of moonlight.

The Orders’ History Museum rose ahead, its jagged roof and arched windows reflecting firelight from the skirmish inside. She slowed, crouched low, and scaled the final ledge with practiced ease, perching atop the glass ceiling. The faint vibrations of chaos below thudded up through her palms as she steadied herself against the steel framework.

Her orders were simple. Direct. Kill the Order agents.

Unclipping the rifle from her back, she slid into position, every movement controlled. The metal was cold against her gloves as she adjusted the scope. Through the glass panes, the battlefield revealed itself: flashes of gunfire, shouting, shadows ducking behind statues and broken displays.

Her gaze locked onto three agents who had somehow held their ground against the Resistance soldiers. One tall, sandy-haired man firing bursts with cool precision. A woman crouched tight, moving with almost feral efficiency. And the third—her scope centered on him.

He moved differently. Strong, deliberate, yet strangely… protective in his stance, as if every bullet he fired was meant to shield someone else. A mask covered most of his face, the filters designed to block out the haze of smoke curling through the museum. She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t care.

Through the scope, she drew her breath steady.

The red dot slid across his chest, pausing right where his heart would be. Perfect shot. Clean kill.

Her finger tightened on the trigger.

A single, soundless breath escaped her as she pulled.

The rifle cracked.

The bullet split the air—

shattering the fragile stillness above the chaos, aimed directly at the masked man’s heart.

Ryan’s heart hammered in his chest. He had only seconds—he saw the faint glint from above, the way the sniper’s barrel lined up squarely with Nate’s chest. His little hands clenched tight around the bag of marbles, and instinct took over.

Without thinking, he hurled the entire pouch toward the marble floor where Nate stood. The tiny glass orbs scattered, clattering loudly, rolling in every direction like spilled stars.

The rifle cracked.

Nate stepped back at that very moment—his boot landing square on one of the marbles. His balance tipped, his body twisting sharply. The bullet tore past where his heart had been a split second ago, grazing the flesh of his left shoulder instead.

A white-hot sting ripped through him. He grunted, his muscles flaring with pain, but his reflexes stayed sharp. His eyes shot up, catching the faint outline of the sniper retreating against the glass ceiling.

He raised his rifle in an instant and fired back, bursts of sparks exploding against the steel framing where the figure had been. The sniper hissed a curse—“f**k!”—her voice faint through the echoing rafters, before vanishing into the night.

Smoke curled in the air as the museum fell silent for a beat. Rose and Kevin swung their rifles up, scanning.

“All clear!” Kevin barked, though his chest rose and fell heavily.

Nate’s breath came ragged as he lowered his gun, his shoulder bleeding from the graze. His gaze dropped to the ground, to the thing that had nearly saved him.

A marble.

He bent slightly, ignoring the pain, and picked it up between his fingers. The polished glass glinted innocently against the harsh fluorescent lights. His brow furrowed.

What the hell was a marble doing here?

Ryan grabbed Kyan’s hand, his pulse racing so hard he thought Nate might hear it from across the museum. “Come on!” he whispered fiercely, tugging her toward the side exit.

Kyan clutched her slingshot tight, eyes still wide with fear and adrenaline, but she nodded. Together they scrambled through the shadows, weaving between toppled crates and shattered glass displays. Every second felt like a lifetime, but somehow no one saw them.

The cold night air hit their faces as they slipped out through a cracked service door. They ducked low, darting down the alleyways, keeping to the darkest corners. Their small feet were quick, almost like whispers against the cobblestones.

It was nearly an hour later when their familiar street came into view. Ryan pushed open the front door with careful hands, wincing at the faint creak. They crept up the stairs on tiptoe, pausing every time a floorboard groaned.

At last, their room. Safe.

The twins quickly shed their dark “spy” clothes, stuffing them into a pile beneath the bed, and changed into their soft pajamas. Ryan flopped back onto his mattress, chest rising and falling heavily. Kyan crawled beneath her blanket, hugging it to her chin.

For the first time all night, relief washed over them. Nate was alive.

They exchanged a silent glance, the kind that said everything without words, before closing their eyes. Sleep came fast, heavy, and merciful.

---

Meanwhile, across the city, Alexia moved like liquid shadow across the rooftops. Her hood still cloaked her features, her cape snapping faintly behind her as she leapt the last gap. Her boots touched down against the stone ledge with a soundless grace.

She descended a wall into a vacant alley, her figure blending seamlessly with the dark. She crouched low, pulled her sniper rifle from her shoulder, and with practiced motions, dismantled it piece by piece. The broken-down weapon clattered softly into the depths of a dumpster.

Her jaw clenched.

There was no way I missed. No f*****g way. She never missed. Yet she’d seen the man stagger, not fall. The bullet had only grazed.

The thought burned her pride as she melted back into the night, slipping home unseen.

At last, she scaled the wall of her house like a cat, fingers gripping brick and ledge with ease until she reached her bedroom window. She slid inside and exhaled, peeling the hood back from her head.

The assassin’s cloak dropped onto the floor. Her long blonde hair tumbled loose before she quickly gathered it into a messy bun. She stripped off the leathers and weapons, replacing them with soft cotton shorts and an oversized sweater that hung lazily from one shoulder.

Home. Normal. Safe.

Almost.

She padded barefoot toward the door, intent on checking the twins. But as soon as she pulled it open and stepped into the dim hallway—

She collided with someone.

Nate.

He stood there quietly, his silhouette sharp in the low light, his expression unreadable.

Alexia froze.

Nate stood in the hallway, his usual attire crisp despite the lateness of the hour—tweed vest over a white button-up shirt, tie knotted neatly at his throat. He inclined his head slightly, his voice even.

“Apologies. I didn’t hear you come out of your room.”

Alexia let out a soft chuckle, brushing it off with ease. “That’s because I was trying to be quiet. I was going to check on the twins.”

Nate cleared his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets with practiced calm. “Of course. They didn’t give you much trouble, did they?”

They fell into step together, walking silently down the narrow hall toward the children’s door.

Alexia shook her head lightly. “No, actually they were perfect. Watched their show, ate some pizza, and went to bed early.”

Nate’s brow furrowed, the faintest hint of suspicion lining his features. “Odd. Normally they fight bedtime.”

Alexia smirked sideways at him, her eyes catching his for a flicker longer than necessary. “Yeah, they do. But not tonight.”

She reached for the doorknob, careful as her fingers turned it. The door creaked open just a sliver, enough for her to lean in.

The twins were sprawled beneath their blankets, their soft snores rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. The spaceman nightlight glowed faintly from the corner, projecting a galaxy of stars that shifted lazily across the ceiling in blue and silver light.

Nate leaned closer, his chest brushing against Alexia’s back as he peered in. The contact was barely there—just the faintest graze—but it was enough for Alexia’s breath to catch in her throat.

Nate inhaled subtly, unable to stop himself from taking in her scent—fresh apples and vanilla, a mix that was soft yet distracting in its intimacy.

They stepped back into the hall together, the door clicking shut behind them. Alexia turned to speak—

And froze.

Her eyes locked on the small patch of red blooming through his white shirt near his left shoulder. Fresh blood, dark against the fabric.

Her lips parted in a quiet gasp. “You’re bleeding.”

Nate followed her gaze, then quickly dismissed it with a smooth, practiced lie. “Oh—one of my patients had an episode. Must have caught me when I tried to calm him down. Nothing serious.”

He moved as though to brush it off, to keep walking, but Alexia’s hand shot out and gently gripped his arm. Her eyes were sharp, unyielding despite her soft voice.

“Come on. Let me help you clean it up.”

Before Nate could protest, she was already steering him toward the bathroom.