Agent 004

3 : Agent 007

June says he’ll send everything I need to know about Agent 001 the second I arrive at my destination.

It’s Monday. The air is cool, the sky still painted in deep shades of navy. The sun is just about ready to rise, the horizon glowing faintly like it’s hiding a secret.

A private jet waits in the middle of the airfield. From afar, I make out a familiar figure watching me from the plane, one hand tucked in his pocket like he owns the place.

There’s a helicopter somewhere behind me. The second it begins to take off, the gust nearly whips my hair into a bird’s nest. I hold it down with one hand, muttering a curse under my breath.

Agent 007 leans casually beside the plane’s entrance with that knowing smile, dressed in a deluxe Tuot ensemble and sporting Gucci shades that reflect the soft lights of the runway. He greets me like a gentleman—hand slightly raised, a mocking half-bow—but I keep my face neutral.

“What time is it?” I mumble, still half-asleep.

“Four in the morning. Prime time for world-class espionage,” he says like he’s narrating a commercial.

I just stare at him. “You’re too cheerful for someone who probably hasn’t had breakfast.”

“Oh, I had breakfast,” he says, smirking. “Croissants. From Paris. You wouldn’t like them.”

He steps aside and gestures for me to board, leading me toward a window seat. The jet is mildly full; other agents are scattered around, their expressions ranging from focused to bored. Most of them wear black.

Tyler takes the seat across from me, crossing one leg over the other like we’re in a coffee shop instead of a jet. I haven’t said much yet—just nodding or humming to whatever he throws my way.

He knows I’m the quiet type. Aside from Axeyl, he’s one of the few people who gets that. He might get on my nerves sometimes, but he’s still someone I’d pick over most others if I had to spend hours trapped in one place.

We practically grew up in the agency together, and that kind of history is hard to fake.

“Here,” he says suddenly, sliding a black file toward me with a grin.

“What’s this?”

“June told me to give this to you later, but where’s the fun in that? Everything you need to know about Agent 001 is in there. You’ll be surprised who he is.”

Curiosity sparks instantly. I open the file. Neat handwriting lists his history—where he used to live, where he lives now, hobbies, likes, dislikes. No picture.

“Seriously? No photo?” I glance up.

“June’ll send it later. I was just told to hand you that.”

The agency’s core rests on eight key individuals, each heading different departments. Without them, we wouldn’t be where we are.

June Travers—Agent 003 before becoming head—was brilliant, manipulative in the best way, able to twist a situation before you could blink. He wasn’t the strongest physically, but his mind was unmatched. That flaw kept him from becoming top-ranked, but it also made him the perfect leader when the position opened.

Now, Giyoon Min holds the title of Agent 003. He’s quiet, an insomniac who also loves sleep—don’t ask how that works. Every piece of intel passes through him before it reaches anyone else. He’s a hacker, a strategist, and when needed, a field agent who works with stealth.

The file tells me everything except Agent 001’s face.

“You’re not gonna tell me who he is?” I ask.

Tyler smirks. “Nah. Spoils the fun.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Guilty,” he says, leaning back. “But hey, you’ll thank me when you meet him. Or hate me. Could go either way.”

I shake my head, sliding the file into my backpack. The engines hum louder, the jet beginning to taxi down the runway.

“You packed light?” he asks, glancing at my bag.

“As always.”

“You’re impossible. I swear, if they ever drop you in the Arctic, you’ll still bring just that one backpack.”

“It’s called efficiency.”

“It’s called reckless,” he fires back, but he’s grinning.

It’ll take two to three hours to reach the destination, so I put in my earphones and lean back, letting the faint music drown out the rumble of the jet.

•••

Axeyl walks down the quiet street, two heavy grocery bags in hand, whistling along to “DNA.”

He wasn’t joking when he said he felt guilty about leaving Elka alone so often. He’s supposed to watch over her, yet missions keep pulling him away. Maybe a month’s worth of groceries will help make up for it.

He imagines her sleepy face when she opens the door at three in the morning—lights still on, because she never sleeps early.

But tonight feels different.

The cold wind brushes against his neck, and the moment he spots her front door slightly ajar, his steps slow.

Fishing out the spare key, he pushes the door open. Darkness swallows the space inside. His brows furrow before he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Late again,” he mutters, kicking the door shut behind him.

He flicks the light on with his elbow and heads straight to the kitchen. The groceries are put away quickly, each item in its place like muscle memory.

He lingers for a moment, scanning the empty apartment.

When he comes back in a few days, he plans to have a serious talk with her about these late-night walks—before something happens that they can’t take back.