Evening sun cut amber bands through the windshield, turning the highway molten. Three hours in, the car hummed beneath my palms. New leather hung thick and acrid in the air, pressing at my temples. I rubbed my thumbs over the wheel's cool grip, willing the ache behind my eyes to fade.
Fifteen minutes past the city limits, Michael and Hadal had both drifted off. Michael's head lolled against the headrest; Hadal slumped sideways, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.
Sometimes the monotony outpaced the fear of what lay ahead. If we'd used cloud-chasing, New Lekki would shimmer into view in thirty minutes. But on my first mission, any extra risk of exposure tightened every nerve. A shiver crept down my spine at the thought.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Michael's face shifted in and out of sleep, shadows playing across his features. The distance meter glowed on the dash: four hours to go. Three behind us. One to go. Each mile unfolded slowly, as if the world beyond the glass were suspended in amber too.
A low yawn split the cabin's hush. Michael's eyelids fluttered open, glassy blue eyes blinking twice before focusing. He reached into his messenger bag, produced a slim laptop, and adjusted his glasses until they sat squarely on his nose. Across the seat, Hadal stirred, a thin trail of drool at his lip.
Michael nudged him with an elbow. Hadal grunted but stayed dozing. When that failed, Michael tapped his temple sharply—a click that cracked the silence. Hadal jolted upright, spine rigid.
"OW, WHAT—" he barked, swiping at his chin, eyes darting.
I cleared my throat. "Mission assignment. Full attention." I tapped my seatbelt buckle. Hadal shifted toward Michael; I leaned in on the other side.
Michael double-tapped the trackpad. The desktop blurred, revealing a folder labeled MISSION DEBRIEF. Files lined up like soldiers. The car felt smaller all at once.
"You two listen up," Michael said, voice calm but firm. "As Lance Corp spies, every mission comes with one of these." He swept a hand over the screen.
Hadal straightened, chest puffing. "Objectives in there, right?" he asked, pride in his tone.
"Half right," Michael replied, adjusting his glasses as sunlight flashed off the rims. "This debrief includes objectives, threats, terrain layouts, enemy forces—everything, down to building schematics. Don't speculate on what you haven't read."
"Yeah… sure," Hadal murmured, jaw working as he forced himself to focus.
Michael's lips curved into a small smirk. "Let's move on. We need proof of that illegal flow technique in action."
I leaned closer, catching a hint of Michael's pine-and-metal cologne. "That means capturing the Muscle-Head High-Top crew," I said quietly, voice firm. "They slipped through my cleansing. A confession from them—case closed."
Michael studied Hadal, then fixed me with a steady gaze. Both of us wore the same grim smile: revenge served cold. "So it's a retrieval mission—fancy talk for kidnapping," he said softly, the words bouncing off the leather seats.
"Sounds accurate," Hadal shrugged, fingers drumming the upholstery.
Michael rubbed his chin, scrolling the debrief with precise care. The engine's hum filled the pause. Finally, he exhaled. "I've revised the mission statement."
Hadal's head snapped up. "How revised?"
Michael flipped the laptop so we could all see an ancient scroll illustration. "No more chasing the Muscle-Head crew. Instead, you're after the technique itself—this scroll."
My heart thudded. "Wait. The crew's best proof we have—"
"This isn't personal," Michael interrupted, voice gentle but firm. "Revenge blinds you to the real target. We need the scroll's contents. That's indisputable evidence."
His words hit me like a weight. I sank back, guilt twisting in my gut. I'd nearly dragged Hadal into a vendetta, not a mission.
I turned to Hadal. "Sorry, man. I shouldn't have pulled you into my anger."
Hadal studied me, then dropped a solid hand on my shoulder. "Water under the bridge," he said, voice low. "But next time, I want a cut for the trouble." A crooked grin surfaced, and I clenched my fist, ready to laugh—until Michael's sharp voice cut through.
"Guys, focus!" he barked, the cabin falling silent again.
He clicked to the next folder. "You'll infiltrate the Sankoré estate to steal the Terror-Beast Transformation Scroll. Rose and Chioma provided detailed mansion maps. The scroll's locked in Tajudeen Sankoré's private study, at the far end of the grand library on the top floor."
Michael tapped the screen and the assignment details glowed. "Spy numbers assigned: Hadal, you're LCS-455. Joseph—you're LCS-456. Once you're in the field, Chioma and Rose will guide you. Questions?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What do the spy numbers mean?"
He allowed a brief smile. "LCS for Lance Corp Spy. The numbers are your test IDs from the blessing-percentage evaluation."
Hadal nodded, processing the data. "Smart system."
Michael snapped the laptop shut. "Rest up. We hit the estate in thirty minutes."
Outside, the road unfurled ahead, miles still to go—but now we knew exactly where we were headed.