Cain had lived a hundred lives in silence. She had worn a thousand names, spoken in twenty tongues, and killed in five continents—all in the name of peace, justice, or whatever her superiors whispered in darkened rooms. In the intelligence world, she was a ghost given form. No one outside of the highest levels of global intelligence knew her real name. She was simply "Cain"—a myth, a symbol of precision, and the embodiment of cold success. Her missions never failed. And that reputation made her dangerous—not just to her enemies, but to her own agency.
But even ghosts yearned for freedom.
She sat inside a secure facility beneath Geneva, watching fog roll past bulletproof glass. Her fingers, calloused from years of combat, curled around a silver ring she wore on a chain. It had been a gift from someone she loved—someone who still waited for her to come home, for good.
The Director entered without knocking, a dossier in hand. Tall, silver-haired, and spine-straight, he bore the weight of decisions that could collapse governments.
"Your final assignment," he said, voice clipped. He placed the dossier in front of her.
Cain opened it slowly. The name on the front read: DILWORTH HOLDINGS.
"They came out of nowhere six years ago," he continued. "A bankrupt import company turned global investment powerhouse. They've outmaneuvered Fortune 500 companies, bought entire economies, and their market predictions are always... perfect. Too perfect. We suspect insider trading, but no evidence. We need someone inside."
"What's the cover?" Cain asked.
"Live-in maid. You'll have access to the estate. There's something in that house we've missed, something hidden. Find it, document it, extract it. You'll be protected. But no backup. This goes to the highest levels. Even the Prime Minister doesn't know."
She stared at the boy's blurred photo tucked into the last page of the file. No name, no birth certificate. Just a note: Subject of interest—origin unknown.
Cain closed the file. "I'll need a week."
"You have three days."
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