"If she dies, you die too."
San's voice thundered across the room, cold and venomous. Jenny froze. Rose trembled on the screen, tied up, bloodied but alive. A masked figure stood beside her, gripping a pistol and grinning with sick anticipation.
Jenny's voice shook. "You have to believe me, I didn't know they would go this far."
Before Jenny could realize it, tears were running down her cheeks. She tried so hard to start explaining but the words wouldn't come out. But San yelled again,
"Then start explaining," San snapped, stepping closer. "Or so help me, I'll stop caring if you're lying or not."
"I can't prove anything now," she said, keeping her hands up. "But let me go to them. I know what they want. I can buy us time."
San's jaw clenched. He didn't trust her. Not anymore. Not after this. He didn't even want to give her the benefit of doubt.
The masked figure spoke through the screen, voice distorted. "Bring San Moretti to the warehouse at 86th and Broadmore in one hour. Or the girl dies."
Jenny's chest tightened. She stared into Rose's terrified eyes. She had to save her. She had to do something to help her.
"I'll do it," Jenny whispered. "But I'll go alone."
San's voice dropped to a deadly calm. "If she dies, Jenny, I won't ask questions. I'll end you."
She nodded once and walked out the door.
The warehouse loomed like a shadowed tomb under the dark clouds. Jenny entered cautiously, hands raised, unarmed. Floodlights blinded her momentarily. Rose was there—tied to a metal chair, blood trickling from her temple. Jenny didn't go there because she liked Rose of course but because she was San's hitman. After Rose had gone rogue, she was working with San. San took her in and taught her a few things she had to know about the business.
"Where's Moretti?" the masked figure asked.
Jenny's voice was steady. "He left. After everything, he doesn't trust me either. He won't come. But I will do whatever you want. Let her go."
The figure laughed. "Oh, you're good. Too good. Do you think I called you without expecting any of this. I mean you're the pro when it comes to pretense and undercover. You think you can fool both sides and walk out alive?"
Jenny swallowed hard. "No. I just want to get her out."
Behind them, hidden in the shadows, San's men—Marco, Dante, and two others—took positions. San himself was nowhere in sight, but his presence lingered like a ghost.
At exactly 8:47 PM, the assault began.
A flashbang shattered the warehouse calm.
Gunfire roared.
Screams echoed.
Jenny ran to cover with Rose by her left hand to the back of the table which had been turned over . Marco stormed in, clipped the masked man with a shot to the leg, and yanked Rose to her feet. He didn't even look back at Jenny. Of course he isn't like her.
"Move!"
Jenny followed, limping slightly, ears ringing. They escaped through the side door into a black van.
Rose sobbed. "You came... you actually came..."
Jenny nodded, eyes filled with unshed tears. "This doesn't mean we're back to being friends of course."
The next morning, Jenny stood in front of the Bureau Headquarters.
Her hair was still damp from the rain. Her leather jacket bore the smudge of a bullet graze. And in her hand—a sealed folder that could destroy careers.
She entered the sterile building, all glass and silence. Agents watched her like a ghost had returned.
On the top floor, Director Ward leaned back in his chair. Colhart stood at his side, arms crossed, smug.
"Agent Parker," Ward said. "You're quite audacious."
Jenny dropped the file on the desk.
"In there are directives, signed orders, falsified assessments, and recommendations to 'terminate assets'. If this goes public, the Academy will burn."
Colhart scoffed. "You wouldn't dare."
Jenny stepped closer. "Try me. I was one of your best. You abandoned me. Used me. Lied to me. And now you've got blood on your hands. Civilian blood."
Ward opened the file, eyes narrowing as he flipped pages. He didn't speak for a long moment.
Finally: "What do you want, Parker?"
"Reinstatement. My records cleared. And a desk far away from your circus. I'll play by your rules again—but only because I need access. Not because I trust you."
Ward looked at Colhart, then back to her. "Fine. You're back. But watch your step. One wrong move, and you're gone."
Jenny turned to leave. "Then you better make sure I don't find more files like this."
That night, in a downtown club that doubled as a Moretti front, San met with his lieutenants.
"The Bureau let her go?" Marco asked, surprised.
"They reinstated her," San replied. "Probably to keep her close. Or to control the narrative."
"You think she flipped back to them?"
San swirled the scotch in his glass. "I think she's playing both sides again. And this time... she's better at it."
"What now?" Dante asked.
San's eyes sharpened. "We go back to running things our way. No more trust. No more outsiders. The wolves take care of their own."
Jenny stood in her new office at the Bureau.
The windows were high. The room small.
But the access? Priceless.
She looked down at her ID badge. A fresh photo. No more undercover status. Just "Special Agent Parker."
She sat at her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a second folder—one the Bureau never saw. Inside, scribbled notes and redacted files about one name:
Cassandra.
She whispered to herself: "Who were you to him?"
She didn't notice the camera in the corner swivel slightly.
Or the quiet click of her office phone recording.
Meanwhile, San stood alone on the balcony of his penthouse.
The wind ruffled his shirt. Below, his city buzzed.
He lit a cigarette and stared into the night.
"We're back where we started, Parker," he muttered.
And somewher
e, a sniper's scope settled over his heart—but didn't fire.