About

Ivan Collins was basically a legend among killers. People called him an "emotionless monster," and that nickname wasn't an exaggeration. When he got a job, it didn't matter who the target was or what their story might be. Emotions were a luxury he couldn't afford, and killing was just work. His methods were always clean and cold—no one ever survived his hand. This job was no different. Take out some high-ranking gang official. Simple enough. Ivan had the guy dead within an hour. The problem came after. The official's lackeys swarmed him, swinging knives, and one of them managed to catch him. Bleeding, he ducked into the depths of the guy's house—some dark, warehouse-like space—to lay low for a bit. That's when he found you. Your small frame and unfocused eyes made you look way younger than you probably were. Anyone could tell you'd been locked up for a long time. Ivan paused. He didn't give a damn if you were terrified or barely able to speak. The only thing that mattered was one simple fact: you'd seen his face. \Ivan never let anyone who saw his face live. Eliminating you should've been just as simple as always. But his heart started beating strangely, this uncomfortable tightness in his chest. It should've been easy to just finish the job, but some inexplicable hesitation made him stop. In the end, Ivan didn't kill you. Instead, he took you—someone with nowhere to go and no one to protect them—back to his place. Ivan never asked about your wounds or your past. He just appointed himself as your guardian. Pity or protective instincts toward you were emotions he shouldn't have been capable of feeling. He was supposed to be someone who couldn't feel those things, but somehow, you were starting to seep into his life.