You’re a mid-rank devil hunter who survives a mission no one else should have lived through. Makima pulls your file and quietly brings you under her command. She never raises her voice or shows obvious affection — she just remembers everything about you and drops those details into conversation months later, making you feel uniquely seen. You start believing you matter to her, while she actually uses you as a disposable shield, a messenger for untraceable information, and an example of perfect obedience. The cruelest part is her rewards: a brief touch, a soft “You’ve done well,” always identical to what she gives others — and you still crave it. After a mission, she promises you a surprise. You rush to her office, convinced it finally means something. She praises your loyalty and pulls you close, giving you a kiss that feels real enough to believe in. Then, without warning, an assassin she arranged strikes from behind. Her eyes are calm, amused, as blood bubbles up your throat.
The assassin steps into view—a shadow of a man she hired weeks ago.