Finding The dead

A full-length silver-framed mirror stood quietly in the corner of the room, casting back the image of its owner lying still on the bed. Her thick, black hair was rolled into a tight bun, neatly centered on her head. She had warm brown eyes, softly pursed lips, and an hourglass figure that gave her an effortless grace. But there was no peace on her face—only purpose. The digits on her digital clock glowed: 4:33 a.m. “It’s not too early to start,” she thought, sitting up with quiet determination. She showered, changed into her running gear, and stepped out into the crisp morning air. As she jogged through the sleepy streets, her thoughts elsewhere, she collided hard into someone. “Ouch!” she gasped, stepping back. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you.” She didn’t wait for a reply—she was already sprinting off again. The man she’d bumped into adjusted his coat and exhaled heavily. His name was Theodore Mickelson, and he was on his way to the airport. His assistant, Caleb, reminded him with a grim face that they were nearly an hour late. The commercial flight had taken off. Caleb quickly arranged a private jet. Across town, Rachael returned home in a panic—she had missed her flight. She dashed back out and rushed to the airport. At the check-in desk, her fears were confirmed: the flight was gone. Desperate, she leaned across the counter. “Please. Are there any other flights heading to Mandiria today?” The receptionist hesitated. “Not commercial, ma’am. But… that gentleman over there is about to board a private flight to the same location.” Rachael turned—and froze. It was the same man from earlier. She approached him slowly. “Excuse me, sir. I—uh—sorry again for earlier. I was in a rush this morning. The receptionist said you’re heading to Mandiria too. Would it be too much trouble if I... rode with you?” Before the man could answer, Caleb cut in sharply. “My boss doesn’t fly with—” “Yes,” Theodore interrupted coldly. Caleb shut his mouth. Theodore didn’t look at her again. As they walked off, Caleb lugged both their bags. Rachael placed her purple suitcase beside Theodore’s dark grey one. The color contrast almost looked… matching. She shook her head. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. This isn’t a rom-com. Theodore glanced back at her. She looks… uneasy, he thought. Why do I even care? He stopped abruptly. “Ow!” she said, bumping straight into him. “Why’d you stop?” Instead of answering, he asked something that had haunted him for years. “Did you ever stay in Caritia?” Rachael blinked. “Yes. Why?” He looked away. “No reason.” Without another word, he stepped onto the plane. She followed him in. The attendants greeted her politely, but she only nodded. Her attention was on Theodore, who said nothing. They moved to the back of the luxury jet, where two doors faced each other: CEO'S ROOM and SPECIAL ASSISTANT. “Where should I stay?” she asked, watching him unlock his door. “The one opposite mine,” he said curtly. “Thanks,” she replied and shut herself inside. Alone, Rachael pulled out her phone and dialed a number under the name Travis. As it rang, her thoughts drifted—back to that bitter, broken night. Her father’s murder. Wandering the streets cold, hungry, and alone. And the stranger under the lone working streetlight—tall, dangerous, with a lollipop in his mouth. “I can help you,” he’d said. She didn’t know him then. But somehow, she trusted him. He brought her father’s killer to a slow, painful end. The line connected. “Sorry,” came the familiar voice. “I don’t know any Travis. Only Desáun.” She grinned. “Desáun?” “Yeah, bae. What can I do for you?” he teased. “Mika, is he talking to me? Because he can’t be calling me that,” Rachael said, feigning irritation. She heard shuffling, then Mika came on. “Don’t worry, I’ll beat him.” “Thanks,” Rachael chuckled. “But I actually need your help.” “Name it.” “I met someone. I need to know who he is. Everything.” “Name?” Rachael froze. Her cheeks warmed. “You… don’t know?” “I just rode on a private jet with him, okay?” she defended. Mika laughed. “You’re a level three assassin and don’t know the name of the man you just flew with? Our whole organization’s doomed.” “I’ll get his name soon. I’ll call you back.” She hung up. Rachael stepped out of her cabin and knocked on his door. No answer. She opened it. He was finishing a call—probably with his father. She waited, watching. After ten minutes, he turned to her with a sharp expression that screamed: What do you want? “I’d like to know your name,” she said simply. He smirked. “Guess.” She raised an eyebrow. “Isaac? Charles? Kim? David?” He chuckled. “Stop. It’s Theodore. Theodore Mickelson.” “Oh,” she said. “Nice name.” “And yours?” “Why do you want to know?” “Call it part of your payment plan.” She smiled faintly. “Rachael. Rachael Chu.” “You’re Asian?” “Half. My dad was. I’m American,” she replied, frowning slightly. Theodore noted her shift and backed off. Too many questions, he thought. “I’ll need a car when we land,” she said. “Why would I arrange that?” “Because my future husband is the richest man in Mandiria. He’ll pay you double,” she said, tongue-in-cheek. “I’m not lacking in anything. You’ll ride with me.” “And why would I do that?” “You’ll see.” She stood. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he added cryptically. Before she could ask, the intercom came on: “Please settle down, we are preparing to land.” “Thanks,” she said, returning to her cabin—mind spinning with more questions than answers.