nyctophilia
[ nĭk′tə-fĭl′ē-ə ]
n.
a preference for the night or darkness
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"Oh we're definitely killing them then, I need to pad my stats anyway."
"You sound like a serial killer."
"I know, I still wonder why...
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Yuri's POV
The next day, Wooyoung, Choi, and I left the resort and headed back to headquarters. My legs felt like jelly, every step heavier than the last, but the two usually annoying idiots were surprisingly helpful, each taking one of my arms to support me all the way home.
Despite the exhaustion, there was a sense of satisfaction. Wooyoung had managed to gather an impressive amount of information on the drug lord before killing him and leaving him to rot as he deserved. Even better, the rest of the couples staying at the resort had fled on their own, likely out of fear, which made our job of keeping our cover intact significantly easier.
Still, the weight of the mission lingered heavily in the air, and I felt particularly awkward around Choi. Considering the fact that he...I mean what we had to do--it was impossible not to feel self-conscious.
But Choi didn’t seem to care. Of course, he wouldn’t. To him, it was just part of the mission, nothing more. He’d only done it to help me, to ease the effects of the drug, and that was that.
No one else knew what had happened except Wooyoung and the two hackers. Eden didn’t know yet, but I had a feeling he’d find out eventually. At least I could trust Wooyoung to keep his mouth shut unless we gave him permission to talk, especially given how serious the situation had been.
As soon as we stepped into headquarters, I let out a sigh of relief. The familiar walls and atmosphere felt like a warm embrace after the chaos of the mission.
“Aish, it’s good to be home.” Wooyoung groaned, dropping his bag onto the floor with an exaggerated stretch.
“If Eden assigns me to another drug bust mission, there’s no fucking way I’m taking it.” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I kicked off my shoes.
“Same here. This mission was too much.” Choi agreed, sparing me a brief glance before dragging his suitcase toward his room.
I followed suit, grabbing my own suitcase and trudging toward my room. But the moment I opened the door, I froze in my tracks.
There was a woman sitting on my bed.
Her platinum blonde hair was tied into a neat bun, and a pair of reading glasses perched on her sharp nose. She seemed to be about my age, her brows furrowed in concentration as her eyes scanned the pages of a book in her hands.
Who the hell is this.
I narrowed my eyes, my hand instinctively reaching for the dagger on my belt. She hadn’t noticed me yet, which made her either very bold or very careless. Either way, I wasn’t taking any chances.
