Xavier flinched.
"What—what the hell are you doing here?! Were you following me?"
Ezra stopped clapping. His expression shifted—no longer amused, but unreadable.
"Not exactly," he said. "I was watching. There's a difference."
"Stalker!" Xavier snapped.
Ezra burst out laughing. "That's fair."
"You knew about this? About me?" Xavier asked, voice rising.
"I had a hunch," Ezra said. "The moment your Gate twitched open, it echoed. I've got an ear for those things." He paused, tapping his temple. "When was that…? Ah, yes. Two days ago. When you convinced that young lady not to jump off the overpass. Told her life still had value."
Xavier froze. His heart dropped. He had never told anyone about that. No one had been around. It was just him and the girl... and her tears... and the railing.
"You were watching?" he whispered.
Ezra's smile widened, but his tone turned clinical. "More like... sensing. That kind of emotional honesty? It rattles the Gate. That's when yours cracked open."
"But it is kind of wonderful that the monsters never attacked you until today." Ezra shrugged. "Funny, isn't it? Maybe you should thank Zayn and his little friend. You didn't have any bad luck—until they showed up."
"Are you with them?" Xavier asked. "Nat? Zayn? Mr. Q?"
Ezra chuckled, shaking his head. "Them? Please. I don't do suits and rooftop monologues. Not my style."
"Then who are you?"
Ezra stepped closer, hands in his coat pockets.
"Someone who's seen what their little system does to people like you," he said. "They'll try to train you. Chain you. Use you." He pointed subtly at Xavier's chest.
"You're not just an Executioner, Xavier. You're a Gatehound. But the question is… who holds your leash?"
Xavier blinked. "What is a Gatehound?"
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Huh!? They didn't tell you? Next time you see them, ask. If they bother to answer."
Xavier didn't reply.
The alley was quiet again, except for Ezra's calm breathing and the faint hum still pulsing in Xavier's fist.
"Don't worry," Ezra added, turning away. "I'm not your enemy." He paused. "Not yet, anyway."
With a wink, he stepped back into the shadows—fading like he'd never been there. Xavier stood alone. Again.
He looked down at his hand. Still warm. Still glowing faintly.
"…I seriously need a new life," he muttered.
The next morning, Xavier woke up on the floor.
Blanket half-kicked. Shirt soaked in sweat. One shoe still on. And his right hand, his Dejhan hand, still faintly warm — as if the fight had only just ended.
He groaned, sitting up with all the enthusiasm of a corpse. "Yup. Definitely not a dream."
His ribs ached. His knuckles were scraped raw. There was a single red line across his side from where the monster had caught him.
But more than anything… his world was no longer normal.
He dragged himself through a shower, swallowed some cereal without really chewing, and decided against going to work.
Too much death-by-monster made it hard to process emails. But his rent wasn't going to pay itself, so he dragged his sorry carcass in anyway.
BANG.
The receptionist yelped. Several coworkers dropped their coffee. Somewhere in the back, someone screamed, "We're under attack!" and hit the floor.
Then came the click of heels.
And the smoke.
Not fire smoke—flavored smoke. Like cloves, cinnamon, and unapologetic rebellion.
A woman stepped through the haze like she'd just walked out of a music video shot in slow motion. Black coat sweeping behind her. Cigarette holder clamped elegantly between her fingers. Platinum-blonde hair under a dark cap with a metal pin shaped like a crown.
She took one long drag and exhaled upward, letting the smoke curl like a halo of sin.
"Okay…" Xavier muttered. "This day is already trying to kill me."
The woman strolled deeper into the room, pausing in the center like it was a stage. Thirty people watched in silence. Phones hovered in trembling hands. Someone from IT whispered, "Is this a pop-up HR audit?"
Her eyes scanned the room like a wolf looking for the loudest sheep.
"Xavier Xross?" she called, voice smooth as silk over glass. "Are you here, or did someone punch you into vapor last night?"
Everyone turned to Xavier, who was mid-coffee and mid-panic. He raised his hand halfheartedly like a student caught cheating.
"…Hi?"
She smirked. "There you are."
He stood up slowly. "Uhh. Do I… know you?"
"Not yet," she said, turning and walking straight past the stunned receptionist, past Marlene from HR who was reaching for the emergency binder, and directly into Xavier's cubicle like it was her private lounge.
She sat on his desk. Knocked over his stapler. Lit another cigarette with a flick of her thumb.
"Excuse me!" someone shouted. "This is a smoke-free building!"
She didn't even blink. "Then stop breathing. Problem solved."
Xavier edged closer. "Okay, okay—what is happening? Who are you?"
She leaned back, exhaling a stream of smoke toward the ceiling tiles.
"Oh, Xavier. I thought you were smarter than that," she said, sounding genuinely disappointed.
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you… one of Zayn's people?"
She laughed. "Zayn? Please. The man shops in bulk and still can't manage a decent wardrobe."
"Then… who are you?"
She glanced at him sideways, flicked ash into his inbox tray, and said simply:
"I'm Mr. Q."
Xavier blinked. "Wait… Mr. Q? I thought Mr. Q was a man."
She grinned, slow and wicked. "Most men do."
He stared at her, absolutely lost. "But… 'Mister'—?"
"Master, sweetheart," she said, waving smoke in a flourish. "Master Rank: Queen. That's the Q. And before you ask—yes, it's confusing. Blame the bureaucracy."
Behind them, someone from accounting tried to unplug the smoke alarm.
Xavier just blinked. "So… what now?"
She stood, brushing off her coat like she'd just concluded a TED Talk on how to ruin everyone's day with flair.
"What now? You're taking a walk with me, Xavier. Right now. Your coworkers will survive one afternoon without your mediocre coffee runs."
She turned to the office. "Xavier is on mandatory leave. Any attempts to contact him will result in deeply unfortunate consequences."
"...Is that legal?" Marlene asked.
"Ask your lawyer," Mr. Q said, striding to the elevator.
Xavier grabbed his coat, gave one last apologetic glance to his stunned coworkers, and followed her in a cloud of smoke and chaos.
They walked in silence for a while, Mr. Q leading with her cigarette smoke trailing behind like a personal entourage of ghosts.
"Where are we going?" Xavier finally asked.
"Someplace with fresh air and enough space to break your spirit."
"Oh good," he muttered. "Exercise and emotional trauma. This must be a Tuesday."
She smirked without turning. "You're mouthy. I like that. You remind me of someone."
"Is this the part where you tell me I'm special and chosen and destined for pain?"
She gave him a sideways glance. "No. This is the part where I tell you that if you don't learn to shut up and move your feet, someone's going to gut you in a parking lot."
They passed a small food court. A flock of pigeons scattered as she exhaled another lazy ribbon of smoke.
Then her tone shifted.
"By the way," she said, "you've been watched."
Xavier blinked. "You mean besides you?"
"No, darling," she said. "I don't count. I'm a luxury. I mean Ezra."
The name hit like a gut punch. Xavier stopped walking.
"…He said he's not with you."
"He's not."
"He said you'd use me."
"I would."
Xavier's eyes narrowed. "You're really bad at PR." Mr. Q shrugged. "I'm not here to win your trust, Xavier. I'm here to prepare you for what's coming. Ezra's dangerous—but he's also a mirror. You keep looking at him, you'll start seeing what you might become."
"That's not ominous at all."
They turned onto a large, open plaza by a modern sculpture that looked like someone had thrown spaghetti into a tornado. Families were walking, a street performer juggled knives, and the late afternoon sun gleamed off the glassy concrete.
Then Mr. Q stopped.
"Alright," she said, stretching her neck. "Let's make this fun."
Xavier took a cautious step back. "Fun like… bingo? Or fun like training montage with blood?"
She turned to face him fully now, tapping her cigarette out on the sculpture's base.
"Land one clean hit on me," she said. "Just one. And I'll answer every question you have. Ezra. Monsters. What you are. What's next."
"…Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"What's the catch?"
"The catch," she said with a smile, "is that I'm better than you."
People nearby started to take notice. Phones came out. A small crowd formed, curious if a street fight was about to break out between an over-dressed lady and a guy in slacks.
"You're not worried about an audience?" Xavier asked.
"Free marketing," she said. "Now come on, show me that righteous fury."
He hesitated. Then rushed her. She dodged.
Not just casually—lazily. Her body barely moved, but his punch missed by miles. The crowd gasped.
He tried again—a feint, then a spin-kick.
She stepped aside like she was avoiding a spilled drink.
"You punch like a confused squirrel," she said, stifling a yawn.
"I don't fight women!" Xavier hissed.
"Great," she said. "I fight everyone."
He launched another combo—jab, cross, elbow.
Whiff. Whiff. Miss.
She danced around him like smoke, never touching, never rushing. Just watching.
People clapped. A tourist shouted, "This better be for YouTube!"
Xavier was breathing hard now. Sweat dripping. His muscles burned.
She stood perfectly still.
"Go on," she said softly. "One good shot."
He gritted his teeth and pushed forward with everything he had—his fist glowing now, humming.
Dejhan.
His punch roared forward, aimed directly at her chest. She didn't move. He should have connected.
Instead—
His fist stopped.Mid-air. An inch away. Frozen. Xavier's eyes went wide.
"What the—?!"
Mr. Q grinned.
"You almost had it," she whispered.
Then she flicked her finger.
A ripple shimmered through the air between them—like warped glass.
Xavier stumbled back, the energy in his hand fizzling out.
"What was that?!"
"Space," she said, lighting another cigarette. "Or what's left of it when you bend it just right."
He stared, open-mouthed.
"Let me guess," he said. "You're gonna tell me you have six eyes and a tragic backstory too?"
Mr. Q smirked. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not some white hair dude. I finish my fights."
The crowd slowly dispersed, unsure if they'd just witnessed martial arts or performance art.
Xavier sat on the edge of a planter, wheezing.
She took a drag, glanced up at the sky, and said:
"You're not bad, Xavier. You just haven't broken yet. And trust me—you will."