Timothy facepalmed; while saving his life, he had made someone lose theirs, but it was all in the past.

Timothy exhaled slowly, thumb tapping idly on his thigh.

I'll have to send the money before the month ends.

No matter what as he thought of his sister, another person came to mind.

Then, suddenly, her face flickered across his mind.

Miriam.

He frowned.

She hadn't appeared since the B-rank raid.

No texts.

No check-ins.

Nothing.

Was she… okay?

A crash? A breakdown? It wouldn't be surprising.

That mission wasn't the kind anyone walked away from untouched.

And Miriam… she'd always carried a bit more than she let on.

A little too calm.

A little too composed.

There was Dike, too; the guy left an impression on him. He'd love to get close to the buy, but that'll be another time.

He sat forward slightly, feeling a knot of guilt tighten in his chest.

'Damn… I'm a terrible friend' he thought

She'd been there for him often enough.

Had his back.

Shared intel.

Warned him.

He couldn't just disappear on her in return.

Good thing she'd saved her number into his phone before.

He scrolled through contacts, found her name, and hit call.

The line rang.

And rang.

Then clicked.

"Hello?" came a bright, airy voice that wasn't Miriam's.

Caught off guard, Timothy blinked.

"Uh… is Miriam there?"

"She's not available right now," the woman said, voice lilting, almost sing-song.

Then, with a chuckle that teetered somewhere between teasing and flirtatious, she added,

"But you could always come to check on her yourself. I'm sure she'd be happy to see you."

Timothy raised a brow.

"And who am I speaking to?"

"Oh, just a roommate," she replied coyly.

"Nothing serious. I'll send you the address."

Before he could ask anything else, the call ended and a second later, the location dropped into his inbox.

He stared at it for a moment.

She's okay enough to have company, he thought at first, a wave of relief brushing through him.

But not okay to pick up his call? And it was okay for him to come by? His female mathematics wasn't working at the moment so he could only sigh

But then the darker part of his mind whispered, What if they've come for her?

She had warned him and told him she was bound to become a target because of the double dungeon incident.

Because of what they'd gotten involved with.

Because of them.

He sighed, raking a hand down his face.

He was a bad friend.

"Change of destination," he told the driver, voice quiet. "Sending you the new address."

The car turned off its current route, easing into a different lane.

Timothy didn't speak again.

He just stared out the window, watching the city roll by, eyes sharp now and alert, despite the fatigue.

By the time Timothy arrived, night had settled in.

The car slowed to a stop, headlights casting long shadows over the high gate before him.

He glanced down at his phone to confirm the address again, brows furrowed, then looked back at the building behind the gate.

This… is it? He thought

He'd seen a mansion before, lavish, towering, full of glass and wealth.

He'd seen banks, with their clean-cut designs and stiff formality.

This wasn't quite either.

It wasn't small enough to be called a bungalow, nor tall or ornate enough to be a mansion.

A single-story structure, sure, but the space it occupied… begged for attention.

The front was wide and carefully maintained.

The building sprawled more than it climbed.

From the street alone, Timothy could tell the house had depth more land behind it, maybe even a garden or backyard.

And the gate? Black, solid, guarded.

Still uncertain, Timothy was just about to text for confirmation when one of the gate security personnel stepped forward, voice curt but respectful.

"Are you Mr. Timothy?"

He nodded.

"Yes."

"May I see proof of identification?"

Timothy nodded and showed his Hunter ID

The man tapped a comm device clipped to his ear, murmured something, then gestured.

"You can come in."

Timothy paid the Uber driver, offering a quiet thank you, and stepped out.

As the vehicle pulled away behind him, the gate parted, and he was guided inside.

He took a slow breath as he entered the compound, taking it all in.

The building was milk and grey, a subtle, calming color scheme that contrasted beautifully under the faint garden lights.

Smooth tiles, intentionally mismatched in pattern but arranged with purpose, lined the outer walls.

It gave the structure a sort of quiet elegance, one that didn't scream wealth but whispered refinement.

They didn't make it far into the compound, though, before a voice called out to them from ahead.

"There you are!"

He recognized her voice instantly.

The same playful, breezy voice from the phone earlier now attached to a slim woman stepping down the porch steps with a bright smile.

The way she moved, it was almost like she'd been waiting for this moment.

"Perfect timing," she said as she approached.

"Dinner just got served."

Timothy blinked, caught off guard. Dinner?

She tilted her head, a sly look crossing her face.

"You didn't know? Well, lucky you. You came at the right time."

Night had fallen completely now.

The compound was aglow with soft yellow lights from overhead bulbs and floor-level fixtures tucked into the garden edges.

So this is Miriam's world, he thought before getting softly tugged into the house.

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft thud, and Timothy found himself standing at the edge of another world.

The interior was nothing like he'd expected.

The walls were a smooth, creamy white, touched with silver trimming and cool lighting that lit the space with a gentle, welcoming glow.

The floor beneath his shoes was glossy some kind of marble, he guessed cool and unyielding.

A wide hallway stretched ahead, adorned with clean lines, minimalist décor, and the subtle scent of vanilla and cedar that clung to the air like a signature.

No gaudy displays of wealth.

Just elegance, measured and intentional.

He followed the lady whose name he still didn't know through the hall.

To his left, he caught a glimpse of a small sitting area with wide couches and throw pillows that looked like they cost more than his phone.

On the right, a staircase curled upward, sleek with metal railings and pale wooden steps.

Doors lined the hallway, half-open or shut, and he could only guess at what lay behind them, bedrooms, maybe a study, maybe even more living spaces.

They turned into a dining room just past the hallway.

That was when it hit him.

The room opened wide, airy with tall windows draped in sheer grey curtains, and lit by a low-hanging chandelier that managed to look both modern and vintage.

The dining table sat at the center, a long, polished stretch of dark wood surrounded by eight chairs already occupied except for two which were his, and the lady beside him

His gaze swept across the table.

A man old enough to be his father sat at the far end, sharp jawline, streaks of silver in his neatly trimmed hair, posture effortlessly commanding.

Beside him, a man in his thirties with piercing eyes and a clean-cut look sat with the air of someone used to being noticed.

Miriam sat across the table, her presence almost muted beside them.

Further down, a teenage boy leaned slightly on the table with casual disinterest while a young girl, chubby-cheeked, round-eyed, and likely no more than nine, swung her feet lightly from her seat.

They all shared a similar complexion, a smooth, warm chocolate tone, not quite dark, not quite light.

Even with their styles, there was a thread of resemblance between them that spoke volumes.

The kind only family carried.

But that wasn't what set Timothy off.

It was the girl sitting in the chair next to the one meant for him.

She was quiet, composed, maybe around his age, but unlike the rest, her skin was pale, olive-toned, likely mixed, and her expression unreadable.

She glanced at him briefly, then looked away.

A neutral kind of disinterest.

He was still processing it all when the lady who brought him in gestured to the chair beside her.

He sat down, stiffly, conscious of every movement.

The others hadn't said a word.

But their eyes were a conversation on their own watchful, curious, mildly amused.

They were studying him just as much as he was studying them.

He didn't need to be Sherlock to know he was out of his depth.

His hoodie and jeans didn't scream Hunter, let alone someone of his supposed rank.

And when you walked into a home like this, you were either born into it or deeply connected.

Timothy? He was just a visitor.

A broke B-rank visitor.

The soft rustling of cloth broke the tension.

The lady had returned, this time carrying a large tray with the help of someone else a woman in a casual maid outfit

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