Face-off

I had my arms folded over my chest.

The car ride to my place from the fight scene was brief, and after no longer than twenty minutes, I found myself staring at my apartment building.

It was a simple complex with several stores within reach.

I had chosen to get a place in this lot, knowing I'd be too lazy to buy too many things in one go. I limit my grocery to a week's worth.

Wizardo disapproved but failed to talk me out of it. I mostly eat out for two reasons.

One was because I was lazy. I'm not particularly eager to cook my meal. Much less prepare and enjoy it by myself. Perhaps I might feel inspired to do it more often if I had a roommate.

But having someone living with me, unless it was Wizardo, was a big no. It couldn't be.

My identity would be at risk. Not to mention, the roommate could be nosy.

This assassin's life doesn't give space to allow anyone in. It explained why I had always been adamant about meeting Wizardo.

He was the closest person I could call family.

However, recently, he has been nothing but annoying.

Still, it doesn't change the fact that I'd like to have the chance to meet him one day. We'd be sharing a bucket of fried chicken and pouring abundant gravy on it.

We may differ in most things, but we could agree on sharing the same love for decent meals and wines.

Reason number two had something to do with the thought of eating alone in my apartment. Having meals outside at least eradicates the feeling of loneliness.

For a while, I got distracted.

I had no idea how long I had zoned out, but Jace didn't say anything. His gaze lingered on the apartment building while tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"So," I started, tentatively breaking the silence that passed between us. The car was parked outside the apartment complex where I live in. I had to remind myself never to drink carelessly again.

"We keep running into each other."

Jace hummed. He clicked his tongue, killing the engine of his car, before glancing in my direction.

I had no choice but to sit in the passenger's seat today. He was insistent I didn't make him play as my driver.

"It seems like it," he remarked. "You should have stayed out of that mess. It was none of your business."

I scoffed.

"What a great way to say thank you," I mumbled, unbuckling the seatbelt.

"Stop," Jace commanded, halting me from removing myself from his car. I turned and faced him, opening the door and slamming it shut without breaking eye contact.

"You have one chance to convince me you're not part of the same mafia sect."

Jace scoffed. He momentarily let his gaze wander outside the window of his car. There were people and cars and lights all blurring in my vision as I followed where he was looking at.

"I'd die first before doing something incredulous."

His response gave me something to ponder upon. The sound of his voice told me there was more to the story. But we weren't close enough for him to just tell me about it.

That also crossed out one of the possibilities I had considered while musing about who Jace was.

His fighting skills were on the same level as mine. To think that he had the same rigorous training as I did, made me question why.

Why did he learn to fight? What was his life story?

Jace piqued my interest deeper. He had a lot of things he wasn't telling. But so did I.

"Who are you then? And who was that old man? Why was he involved with Phoenix?"

Biting my lower lip, it was too late for me to take back mentioning the name of the mafia group we keep encountering and fighting together.

Its name alone brought thousands of memories I didn't want to think about or remember.

Recalling those made my blood boil.

"How did you know about Phoenix?" Jace turned to me, his expression deadly serious.

My skin prickled with annoyance and something else I couldn't name. At that instance, I wanted to stick my tongue out at Jace and leave him hanging.

But then, his question gave me an idea.

Folding my arms over my chest for the second time, I caught his gaze and smirked.

"I'll tell you if you tell me who you are and whom you are working for."

Jace and I had a stare-me-down contest. Neither of us blinked or looked away.

"I'm not working for anybody," Jace stated. "Who I am is not important. Don't even try to search for me. You'll be disappointed."

"Ohoho," I whistled. "A man of mystery. He has mad fighting skills—one you couldn't simply learn from the streets. He is friends with people being chased by the kingpin of the mafia community, and he left no trace about him or anything related to him on the internet. Are you an assassin?"

That came out faster than I could stop myself. But my curiosity was taking its toll.

I'll take Wixardo's scolding later.

But fellow assassins wouldn't hurt each other. It was an assassin code.

Unless, of course, it was the job of one.

No hard feelings.

A job is a job.

Jace chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. He eyed me up and down, assessing me. It made my heart pound a little, my pulse quickening under his analyzing gaze.

"What about you? Do you think I'd believe that you're an ordinary librarian after witnessing how you fight so well? Not to mention, you purposely stayed behind tonight, knowing you were being monitored. Are you, perhaps, an assassin?"

Jace and I looked at each other, my heart beating unsteadily. Something strange was passing between us, and the longer he held my gaze, the more I was convinced that he knew more than he was letting on.

He must know something about me.

It was a gut feeling, and I desperately wanted to know what he knew. But that line of questioning was going to be dangerous—too dangerous.