The soft ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room. The man sitting at the beautifully carved mahogany desk had his head in his hands, elbows propped against the surface, and seem to be barely breathing as he stared at the reports spread out in front of him. And then with a sudden violence that was alarming, he swept the documents from off the desk, knocking over a mostly empty cup of brandy and pen stand to the floor along with them, the cup instantly shattering against the hardwood floor. If the numbers were right, then is likelihood of being reelected was in serious danger. And that was unacceptable.

With a deep breath through his nose, the man straightened his crimson tie, brushed imaginary dust from the sleeves of his well tailored suit, and swept his hands back over his graying chestnut hair. He stood up from the desk and walked over to a decanter, picking up another cup and pouring himself another drink. He drained half the glass in one gulp before he moved slowly over to a painting that had been hung on the wall to disguise the lack of any windows in his office. He stared at the delicate oil painting of the countryside landscape, but wasn't really seeing it, his dark gray eyes unfocused as he thought. Absentmindedly, he sipped at his brandy.

'there's no other way.'

The thought was cold and hard. But he was willing to do anything to maintain his position. Finishing his second drink that evening, the man moved back over to his desk, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocking one of the drawers. From inside, he withdrew a burner phone and dialed a number from memory. It rang twice before it was picked up.

"Yes," the quiet voice that answered asked simply, free of inflection or emotion.

"I'd like to schedule a meeting. I have a job that needs to be done," the man responded, unsurprised.

"When and where," The Voice then said.

"Tonight. Same location as last time."

"9 o'clock. Don't be late."

The call disconnected with a click and the man slipped the phone into his pocket, planning on disposing of it later. He then pressed the button that would connect him to his secretary on the phone still safely sitting on his desk.

"Janet, i've accidentally knocked over a glass in here. Would you be so kind as to come clean it up?"

There was barely a beat of silence before the woman was responding, clearly used to this sort of thing by now. "Right away Senator. Will you be needing anything else?"

"No," he said, debating pouring himself another drink, "I'll be heading out for the evening, so make sure you lock up after you're done."

"Yes sir."

Checking his reflection briefly in a mirror to see that his tie was still in place, senator Hunt strode from his office, mind on the next steps. He always had a plan for everything.



Cold. That was how the shiny new silencer felt in Ronan Kelly’s hand as he examined it in front of the nervous rat of a man known by his associates as Marcus. The greasy, thin, sleeze bag was currently wringing his hands together, a cringe adorning his face as he stood partially hunched over. In his line of work, you would've thought he would have had more of a backbone.

“I h-hope this latest model meets with your expectations Mr. Kelly,” Marcus managed to say with only one small stammer, one of his hands groping in an inner pocket for a handkerchief to dab at the sweat beading on his forehead.

In response, Ronan picked up the gun that accompanied the silencer and twisted it into place on the muzzle of the weapon. He then, Very casually, pointed it straight at Marcus and pulled the trigger. The dealer squealed loudly, dropping his handkerchief to the floor and throwing his hands over his face as if he really had been shot. There was, after all, no ammunition actually loaded into the gun.

“Relax Marcus. If I really had intended on coming here to kill you, you wouldn’t have seen me first,“ Ronan intoned in a low tenor voice with a wry smile that didn’t touch his eyes, ignoring Markus's partner that had started cackling on the other side of the room at the incident. “The equipment is sufficient for my needs. You’ve done well this time,” he added, Careful to not give the man too much praise as he removed the silencer and crouched down to slip it into his suitcase. If Marcus received too many compliments, he was likely to start getting some actual confidence

Marcus, in turn, released a tremulous and rather shrill giggle as he produced yet another handkerchief, the sound setting Ronan’s teeth on edge. He wished he didn’t have to deal with men like this, but in his line of profession, you didn’t get very many options.

“Good one Mr. Kelly,” Marcus wheezed breathily, wiping the cloth across his entire face.

Picking up a loaded magazine, Ronan slid it into place, giving the bottom a slap so that it clicked securely into the gun. Slipping the weapon into the holster already at his back, he then picked up the second pistol, loading it in a similar fashion, before putting it into his shoulder holster. Lifting the remaining item, a backpack filled with extra ammunition as well as a few other items he had ordered, Ronan pulled one strap over his shoulder before his hand slid into his back pocket. Marcus instinctively flinched as something was tossed in his direction, but it was merely a white envelope.

“Be seeing you,“ Ronan stated simply as he grabbed the handle of his rolling suitcase and headed for the door. As he swung it open, He could’ve sworn he heard the man behind him release a shaky sigh of relief.

With a long and quiet sigh of his own, Ronan allowed himself one frown of displeasure and a brief shake of his head before he smoothed his features into a neutral expression. He hoped the show had been convincing enough for Marcus's partner to have a favorable report to pass on to Ronan's father. Boots crunching Saufley over the gritty back alley walkway, The wheels on his suitcase making similar, though louder, grinding noises, the man made his way out from behind Marcus‘s establishment to the street beyond. Sparing the refurbished appliances store that was the front for the real Business a brief glance, Ronan reached into his front pocket and retrieved the set of keys from inside, unlocking the door of the Ford Fusion waiting for him at the curb. Popping the trunk, he effortlessly swung his suitcase inside, sliding away the handle, before dropping the backpack next to it. Slamming The lid of the trunk back into place, he made his way around to the drivers side and got in, pulling his seatbelt across his body. Key then inserted into the ignition, the car started quietly with a simple twist.

‘Time to get this show on the road,’ he found himself thinking darkly, even as one of Beethoven’s symphonies began spilling out of the speakers as he put the car into drive and started off for his next destination.

Assassination wasn’t a profession someone simply stumbled into. You either had to actively pursue the career or else be born into a family of assassins. Unfortunately for him, Ronan fell into the latter category. His father killed for a living, his two older brothers following in his footsteps. His grandfather had been an assassin, even his great grandfather had gone about killing people. As far back as you could look into the Kelly heritage, their hands were stained red. And there was no other option.

Ronan’s own hands tightened on the steering wheel as he thought over his latest assignment. A power-hungry father wanting to make a good appearance on paper and television, using his own daughter‘s death for his own gain. Not the most Pleasant of situations. He would do it, because he had no other choice, but that didn’t mean he would enjoy it. Jaw tight, he turned up the stereo and tried to loose his thoughts in the music while he drove.



The house he was told to meet at was easy enough to find in the end. Ronan pulled into the driveway, noting the expensive looking Mercedes that was no doubt government issued already there and sighed. He hadn’t yet met Senator Hunt in person. And what he had gathered of the man over various phone calls was nauseating. But again, it wasn’t as if he had a choice. Turning off the car and putting on the parking brake, Ronan flipped open the glove compartment and withdrew the wallet he had stashed there. Briefly, he opened it, gaze flickering over the forged drivers license with the name Scott Daniels printed next to his own face before he pull the key out of the ignition and got out of the car. Putting the key in his front pocket and the wallet in his back, Ronan took a moment to check his appearance in the side mirror before approaching the building.

His dark brown hair was cut relatively short, with the top slightly longer, styled neatly with a part down one side. He must have run a hand through it at one point without noticing, because pieces of it were sticking up in places, but a quick brush of his fingers had that set to write. Sharp, chiseled angles to his face gave him a good looking appearance, though his own face head always made him uncomfortable. A shadowing of stubble had appeared on his face over the course of the day, but it would be gone when he shaved that evening. Scrutinizing his own gray green eyes, he tried out a brief smile for practice, but felt it came off too much like a grimace for his liking, which only made him scowl.

‘Good enough,‘ he thought as he retrieved the ruddy brown blazer from where he had thrown it into the backseat and slid it on over his light gray henley shirt, giving his dark washed jeans a quick once over before he made his way towards the front door of the house.

What looked to be a secret service agent was standing just outside of the covered porch, watching his approach carefully. Briefly, their gazes met before Ronan showed him his ID and the official nodded, gesturing Ronan onward. Replacing his wallet, he stepped up onto the porch and automatically looked around.

An older man stood near the door, obviously the senator, with an expression that was like the cat in the cream at his appearance. Standing just behind him was a second agent, who was observing Ronan's approach calmly. They nodded to each other silently before Ronan stepped forward and extended a hand to the senator.

“Senator Hunt,” he said, offering a brief, bland, smile, Face growing neutral again quickly to hide his inexperience with the expression. He chose his next words carefully. “We meet at last. Scott Daniels.”

Senator hunt had on his campaign smile as he took the offered hand, giving it a firm shake. "Glad to finally meet you Mr. Daniel's," he said in a voice that sounded like it was used to performing in front of cameras. With the use of video doorbells becoming so commonplace, it was a smart, and strategic, choice. "Shall we get right to it then?"

Ronan nodded shortly, watching as the well dressed man turned towards the front door and gave it a firm knock.

The scribbling of twenty something pencils and the black clock on the wall ticking away second after second acted like white noise which Giselle seemed to find relaxing enough to pass the time without needing to entertain herself in another manner. The kids were a little more than halfway through the allotted time for their assignment, each of them busy pouring their thoughts onto paper in reference to their assigned book of the quarter, Number the Stars. And staying true to character, there in the back of the classroom, Kyle sat crouched on his seat looking at either his phone or some sort of video game device. The young woman sighed, clearing her throat. A few heads looked up expecting to be told something before seeing there was no eye contact between her and them. But Kyle knew this warning a little too well, and he scrambled to put the device away in his pant pocket. She made a mental reminder to switch him to the front of the classroom sometime this week. She was somewhat peculiar with her seating charts, but there was always room for improvement.

Anna raised her hand halfway up while offering a smile and turning her paper over. Giselle got up, met once again by a number of eyes which lingered for only a few moments. Her footsteps echoed softly in the otherwise mostly quiet classroom until she reached the girl's desk, hunching forward as to not disturb the remaining students. Prior to the start of the assignment, they had all been advised to turn their paper over and get a head start on the next book when they were finished, though Anna obviously needed something else.

"What is it, Anna?" Giselle asked in her usual, friendly tone. The blonde, blue-eyed girl dressed in the school uniform that was a white blouse and gray plaid skirt leaned in close, communicating what she needed in a whisper.

"Miss Hunt, may I go see the nurse? I think I may have gotten my—"

"Oh, of course! Go go go. You finished it, right?" she picked up the paper to take it to her desk.

"Mhmm," Anna responded with a nod.

"Go, it's okay."

Giselle was used to these types of scenarios since she taught fifth grade. Walking back to her desk, she looked over her students for a moment. A couple more had finished, their hands holding the next assigned book as they looked it over, flipping through its pages trying to get an idea as to whether they would somewhat enjoy their next read. Judging by their expressions alone, the outcome wasn't very promising. At least Kyle held a pencil in his hand now, though he wasn't doing much writing per se as was evident by his worried stare into a paper that might as well have had the instructions written in a foreign language. Giselle had talked to his mother a few times in the past, but some kids needed that extra push.

The clocked continued to tick, and she decided to start reading Anna's paper. She was maybe a quarter of the way in when she noticed some movement out of her peripheral. Giselle placed the paper face down out of habit to look at the young boy approaching her desk.

"What is it, Kyle?" she asked with some concern on her face. The boy look slightly distraught.

"Um, Miss Hunt, I don't know what to write, I—I didn't finish reading the book." The confession came in a low whisper without his eyes meeting hers, and he looked like he was about to cry.

Giselle sighed in return, but not out of disappointment.

"Kyle," Giselle added in a low whisper as well, "I want to help you. How about you stay behind after class for a little while, does that sound okay?" The suggestion was only brought up because she didn't have another class after this one. Instead, it was her grading block.

Finally a brief smile, that which was accompanied by a soft nod.

"Okay, what's your next class?"

"Gym."

"With Mr. Petersen?"

Another nod.

"Okay. I'll go talk to him. You go back to your desk and work on finishing that book, got it?"

"Okay, thank you."

Giselle pushed back her chair to stand as Kyle began to make his way to his desk. This hadn't been the first time her student missed an assignment. In fact, He'd had an issue two other times. Her plan now was simple: push back his deadline, rush his next book a little more, and hope he gets an overall passing grade otherwise he'll be repeating the year and not graduating like the rest of his classmates. Giselle wasn't a fan of the latter option, but it was better than letting him go into middle school unprepared.

The campaign smile was gone. It was all Senator Hunt could do to keep his expression neutral as his displeasure grew. But Ronan could clearly see the fury in his eyes as he turned away from the door after the third set of knocks. He reached into the breast pocket of his suit and withdrew a cell phone, dialing a number and pressing the phone to his ear.

"Where is my daughter," he said in a low voice to whomever had picked up the phone, very still as he listened to the answer. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Give me the address," he then said, his phone almost immediately vibrating with a text message as he pulled it away from his ear. "Change of plans gentlemen. We're going to a school."



Ronan didn't like being around children. It wasn't that he was opposed to children nor the practice of having them, but it gave him a sick feeling in his stomach to be around such innocence. If he could help it, he never went on assignments that involved them. His eyes tightened at what memories he did have. The rest of his expression remained blank as he followed the senator and his Secret Service into the school building, an elementary by the looks of it, and remained silent as he listened to him talk with one of the people working in the front office. He had removed his shoulder holster and both guns before they had arrived, stowing both in a hidden compartment underneath his car seat, so he at least had that. As the woman to whom the Senator had been talking picked up a phone, Ronan was carefully concentrating on studying the room, hands in his pockets to appear as casual as possible.

"Hi Giselle, it's Megan. Sorry to bother you, but... your dad is here to see you," the woman was saying, nervously brushing a few strands of her mousey brown hair out of her eyes. "He says it's very important."

She closed the door behind her and made her way to her desk, unwrapping a Snickers bar she had grabbed from the vending machine in the teacher's lounge. Not the healthiest of snacks, but it was what she was craving at the moment. Giselle made a note to find a way to counter such a high sugar intake later, but for now, she'd enjoy the chocolate bar for a moment. The kids were gone, some to art class and others to music or gym, and all she had to do was grade a number of papers by the end of the week. She took out her phone and was scrolling social media for maybe a minute before it went off.

"Hello?"

Megan described the reason for the call, and Giselle's face dropped. She let her arm fall down to rest on the desk with the chocolate in hand, chewing for a moment. Just what was so very important that it couldn't have waited until she was out of work? Were the numbers that low? Did an ex lover come forward crying abuse in an attempt to smear her father's campaign? Because the majority of the interactions between the both of them was just that. Complaints about his job, his image... Needless to say, Giselle was quite bitter about it all, but she stopped trying to ask him to be a better father years ago. Now she treated him as something along the lines of a distant relative.

"Very important, huh? Okay, I'll be there. Thanks Megan."

The walk to the front office was brief as her classroom was relatively close. She had finished the Snickers in class before walking out, and nearly ran into a student rushing to the restroom. "Slow down," she warned, more out of habit than anything else. When the young woman opened the door to the front office, she was met by her father surrounded by his typical entourage. "Is everything all right? Giselle asked as a formality and not so much out of concern, though her tone and face remained neutral enough.

Ronan's head automatically turned towards the opening door, catching his first sight of Giselle Hunt in the flesh, gray green eyes flickering over her face and posture. She looked fairly neutral, but he thought he caught a hint of something in her eyes. She certainly didn't rush forward to embrace her father when she saw him, though he seemed to have no qualms, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her slight frame. Ronan suspected that the gesture had more to do with the watching office workers than actual affection however.

"I'm afraid not,"senator Hunt said seriously, though he didn't bother to lower his voice Ronan noted. "Is there somewhere we can speak in private?"

'And waste the opportunity to perform in front of an audience?' The assassin kept the thought from manifesting on his face, however strong the urge to frown was. He saw someone move behind the counter, but didn't turn his head to look towards them until they started speaking.

"You'd be more than welcome to use my office for privacy."

The man who had spoken was tall, middle-aged, slightly overweight, and beginning to go bald right at the crown of his head. Ronan made the assumption that he was the principal of the school. His gaze moved beyond him, to a door set in the opposite wall, a placard hanging next to it denoting it was the principles office, a secondary sign affixed beneath it with "Jeffrey Miller" printed on it.

"That is very generous of you," senator Hunt said before Giselle even had a chance to respond for herself, stepping forward and giving the man a firm handshake. "Thank you sir!"

The half-smile from Giselle likely passed for the same level of gratitude her father displayed but without the overly enthusiastic charade. "Thank you, Mr. Miller, we'll be brief." She took the lead and walked past his band of agents, noticing one that wasn't dressed up in a suit like the rest of them. It was slightly amusing thinking about the man getting written up for failing to get to the dry cleaners on time, an exaggerated scenario playing in her head like a movie.

Giselle stood by the door and waited for her father to walk inside the office. She met the eyes of one of the agents for a second; his face expressionless and robotic, and then she closed the door.

As soon as you walked inside the principal's office, you would notice a rather typical set-up. Mr. Miller's desk was off to the right, his swivel chair practically backed up against the wall. The black cushion would at least make the long days somewhat comfortable. There were two chairs on the opposite side of the desk for visitors, placed at a slight angle and matching the same dark wood tone of the furniture. On the opposite wall, a bookshelf stood tall filled with books and various other miscellaneous items, similar material as his desk and chairs. Next to it was a large, light gray file cabinet, likely filled with students' information, amongst other things. And in the middle and directly across from them was a window with the blinds partly drawn, the view outside being of the street in front of the school.

"So, what's the matter?" Giselle finally asked, curious as to what her father needed to tell her so badly that they were both now standing in her principal's office. A sudden, dark thought crossed her mind. "Is grandma okay?"

This time around, her concern was as real as she was letting on.

As they moved into the office, one of the secret servicemen automatically moved forward to the window, pulling the blinds down completely and adjusting them so that they were angled up and only slightly open before stationing himself in front of it and orienting his body so that he could look between the window and the door. The other guard placed himself just to the side of the door itself, falling into parade rest. The senator seemed indifferent to his location, moving forward and taking up a half sitting position against the desk. Ronan was last into the room, gaze automatically sweeping over the furniture, window, and back to the door as it was closed. He then hesitated a moment before stepping into the spot slightly behind and just to the right of Giselle, putting himself between her and the door.

Senator hunt looked momentarily taken aback by her question, but recovered an instant later and gave his hand a casual and offhanded wave. "Annette is fine. Hale as ever. She's probably going to outlive you at this rate," he said smoothly. He met Ronan's gaze for a fraction of a second over her shoulder before moving on. "No, i'm afraid it's more serious than that. You see, my team's uncovered some serious death threats in regards to you."

He let that hang in the air for a moment before nodding towards Ronan. "I've hired Mr. Daniels here to be your personal bodyguard. He'll be by your side 24 seven to ensure your complete and utter safety."

"Uh, me?"

The news came as a bit of a shock for Giselle, though it was a terribly cliche stunt in politics to threaten a politician's family member instead of them. But something about the news seemed off, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what exactly that was. Giselle eyed her newly-appointed bodyguard, looking him up and down before holding his gaze for a moment. "So what do they want? I mean, they threatened my life but what do they expect in return, money? Your resignation?" She turned her attention to her father once more.

Giselle thought up the only two options that would make sense, at least to her.

In a matter of moments, the office began to feel a little hot, warmer than she was used to, though the young woman figured it was all the bodies stuffed in such a confined space. "I trust your team is working on it?" She asked the rather redundant question. "Am I being moved or do I keep the routine of coming to work everyday? Are my kids safe? Can you designate a team for the school?"

The question was directed at both her father and Mr. Daniels. Giselle and her father had had their differences in the past, and that was the understatement of the century, but she trusted him to not let the ones responsible for this harm her.

She asked quite a lot of questions. Ronan was surprised the senator managed to keep his expression passively concerned, though he did note that the man did nothing to comfort his daughter physically. He himself hadn't been much better though, meeting Giselle's gaze as she had looked at him, but he didn't quite know how to go about portraying comfort and reassurance. He just wasn't wired that way.

Senator Hunt finally let out a heavy sigh, whether to buy himself time or embellish the act, it wasn't clear, but his answers were smooth enough when he did speak. "They're squawking about my resignation of course, not particularly happy with how I'm going about things. We wouldn't have taken much notice of them, if it hadn't been for some of their more minor threats being followed through. It's being hushed up for now, but I couldn't risk your safety. Every measure possible is going into locating these lunatics before they do something truly nasty."

For the first time, Ronan spoke up, prompted by a subtle, almost in perceptible gesture from his employer. His voice was low, quiet, velvety with just a hint of Irish accent that even the most persistent efforts to erase couldn't seem to quell.

""There's been no mention of the children coming to harm. They've made themselves quite clear that you and you alone are their target. They do not believe in tragic casualties." His grey green eyes tried to soften, he attempted to arrange his features into what he thought sympathy was supposed to look like, though he wasn't actually sure of his successfulness. After a split second pause, he reached out one of his hands and gently placed it onto one of her shoulders. It felt strange, unnatural. His hands weren't used for gentleness. The scars he could see Kris Kross along his fingers screamed the truth at him.

"We can move you, if you wish, but we believe it will be much easier for you to simply continue on as if nothing has happened, save for my presence. As long as I am here, no harm should be fall you or your charges."

Until orders changed. But she didn't need to know that.

"Campaigning should be over and done with in a matter of weeks and then life can move on. We'll find them before that, i'm sure," senator hunt then said, glancing from his daughter to Ronan and back. "Mr. Daniels will ensure the job is done properly."

"Okay," Giselle whispered with a nod that was barely visible. Her arms were crossed in front of her, acting as a shield from both the predicament she found herself in and her father. Yes, her father. The same man responsible for a number of things going horribly wrong in her life. 

"...campaigning should be over and done with in a matter of weeks..."

His words etched in her mind. They often did, actually, more often than she would have liked. Of course he would bring up his campaign; that was his number one priority after all. Giselle swallowed hard, then brought her arms down to her sides. God she couldn't stand them... Not the individuals standing feet away from her, but all of them collectively as a whole.

"Give us the room, please," she turned to her father, her voice suddenly carrying more authority than she'd intended, "I'd like to talk to Mr. Daniels."

Giselle stood aside to let them each file out one by one. Maybe her father would give her the great pleasure of leaving the school then, but it wasn't in his nature to do anything to make her life better. She walked behind the last man and closed the door behind him, turning to Daniels. 

"So," she began, walking over to the principal's desk and leaning against it, her hands on the edge supporting her on either side. "Either this threat is serious enough that my father is bypassing typical protocol of assigning me a special detail and hiring outside help instead or, something else is going on. If I'm not being moved elsewhere for my safety, then what can you do that those agents can't? I'd understand if you were Delta Force, but..."

She was being slightly overbearing, sure, but this particular situation seemed unique.

It was deadly quiet after Giselle's pronouncement, though no objection was raised. Ronan met the iron gaze of the senator for what felt like minutes, but was more like the span of a breath, and then he and the Secret Service agents were silently filing out of the room. Silent wasn't the typical response, not with his experiences so far, and it felt even more dangerous than carefully constructed words would've been. The door clicked quietly after the second bodyguard and Giselle took up her father's position on the edge of the desk, though she gripped it for stability, looking more vulnerable, whereas he had merely used it as a perch, an object that would serve him and his purpose until it was no longer needed.

Ronan found that he could not answer her immediately. He wasn't used to the human interactions of everyday normal life. He had rarely ever been left alone with anyone that he wasn't planning on murdering, was always with his father or his brothers when he wasn't on assignment. He didn't know how to act like anything other than what he had been trained to be.

Slowly, he put his hands back into his pockets and found himself taking a moment to simply center himself, take stock of the immediate situation. He felt the texture of his pants against his fingers, his palms. He felt the press of his feet against his shoes as he stood on the floor. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, the contraction and release of his lungs, the way the air moved through his nose, the brief flutter of eyelashes against his skin as he blinked. He felt the ever present ache of the badly healed scar that carved across his back.

The ache grounded him.

Pain was familiar. Predictable. Easier to navigate than a young woman staring at him and demanding answers he wasn’t supposed to give. His gaze lifted from where it had drifted to the floor to Giselle. For a moment he simply studied her. Most people looked at her and saw a senator’s daughter. A political asset. A liability. A bargaining chip.

'A target.'

The thought settled heavily in his chest.

“You ask a lot of questions,” Ronan said at last, his voice low and even. There was no accusation in it. If anything, it sounded almost thoughtful. “The short answer is that I can do things those agents can’t.”

His shoulders rose in a small shrug. “They’re trained to react to threats. They’re good at creating barriers, evacuating people, controlling a scene. But their job begins when everyone knows there’s danger.” He tilted his head slightly. “Mine begins long before that.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Too honest. Too revealing. His father’s voice immediately echoed in the back of his mind, a sharp reminder that information was a weapon and sentiment was weakness. And although he inwardly winced, Ronan managed to ignore it.

“The people who concern your father aren’t the kind that announce themselves. They don’t make additional threats. They don’t send further warnings.” His eyes remained fixed on hers. “If they’re competent, you’ll never see them until they’ve already decided where you’ll be standing and how you’re going to die.”

Silence followed his words. Most people would have softened the statement. Ronan wasn’t most people. He wasn't going to backpedal and recant what he had said. After a second, he realized how that had sounded and blinked, his fingers briefly twitching inside his pockets.

“What I’m saying is...” He paused, visibly searching for the words. “A Secret Service agent looks for someone rushing a stage. Someone planting a bomb. Someone with a rifle on a rooftop.” His jaw tightened slightly. “I look for the person who spent six months becoming invisible first.”

For the first time, a faint flicker of discomfort crossed his expression. “They protect against threats they can identify. I specialize in finding the ones they can’t.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward the office door before returning to her. “The kind of people your father is worried about don’t leave obvious signs. They study routines. Habits. Weaknesses. They learn who talks to whom, which entrances get used, which doors don’t lock properly. By the time a traditional security detail notices them, they’ve already been planning for weeks or months.” A small shrug followed. “That’s the difference. The agents are there to stop an attack. I’m there to recognize one before it starts.”

Ronan paused again briefly before going on. “If it helps, I don’t particularly care who your father is.” His grey greengaze remained steady on her hazel one. “I care whether the threat is real.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite becoming a smile. “And based on the fact that you’re interrogating me instead of hiding under that desk, I’d say you’re trying to figure that out too.”

He hadn't talked so much at once in a long time. It made him slightly uncomfortable, but Ronan fought the urge to shuffle his feet or adjust his hands again.

A moment of silence, then her shoulders visibly relaxed. "Well, you're right about that. I can't tell you the number of times that I've been blindsided by one of his little stunts...but you've put it eloquently enough to where you almost had me convinced he truly does care about me." Giselle smirked, finding humor in a statement that years ago would have left her in tears at the very thought. Thought time, as well as her unwavering resilience, helped her navigate through those darker times, especially with the absence of her mother, and now, thankfully, she didn't suffer due to the lack of emotional attachment

Giselle looked at the clock behind him near the ceiling, noting the time. "I'm sure I have a million and one more questions to ask, but they'll come to me in time. For now, I'm going to follow my same routine," Giselle added matter-of-factly. That much would not be up for debate, despite whether it made his job harder or not. If it didn't, good. If it did...it wasn't her problem. Clearly he knew what he was doing anyway. "Typically I get up, make my breakfast, come to work, then after work is where my routine ends. I could end up at the grocery store, the gym, home...you get it."

Of course he did; that was his job.

There were some voices outside, maybe a parent visiting. Her head turned to the door as if expecting it to open, but there was no interruption. She looked back at him, calm and attentive, refusing to betray any hint of what was going on in his mind. That was a good thing, and she felt confident he'd get the job done flawlessly, even though they only met minutes ago.

"I'm sure my father has given you my contact information already, where I live...the works." Giselle turned around, looking for a sticky note and a pen from the desk for him to write down his number. "I'm going to get another phone for now, something temporary. If these people made such a bold claim, God knows whether they have already gained access to my devices. If you happen to have a faraday bag, I'll take it. If not, I'm sure one of the agents has one in their vehicle."

More voices outside, the typical back-and-forth one hears in the front office of a school. "Here, write down your number and I'll save it on the new phone," Giselle stepped towards him to hand him the note and pen.