SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 312: A Moment Before

We had twenty-eight hours left by the time I got back home.

That was the number that pulsed at the back of my skull as I stood in the shower, water pounding down on scarred shoulders, the steam ghosting off the tiles in thin, curling trails. The water was hot enough to burn, but I needed it. I felt like the blood of the pale man wasn’t leaving my hands. I needed the band around my wrist more than I thought.

Either way, it was twenty-eight hours until the clock hit zero. Until the families died. Until Hyena either got what he wanted, or we stopped him.

I turned off the water, the pipes groaning like old bones, and stepped out, letting the steam roll out into the hallway like a phantom. My mask hung on the doorknob, the cracked mirror above the sink showing a man I barely recognized.

Tired eyes. Jaw shadowed with stubble I hadn’t bothered to shave. Very small scars from every fight and incident I’ve had peeking through under damp hair. My reflection looked back at me, as if asking:

Are you sure?

I didn’t have the luxury of uncertainty anymore.

I took the mask off the doorknob.

The apartment was quiet when I stepped out, the city beyond the windows a smear of orange and gray dawn, the sky bruised by clouds that promised rain again. I moved softly, boots against the old wood floors, the boards creaking under my weight.

The living room smelled like vanilla and lemon cleaner, Sienna’s touch, a reminder that some things still tried to be normal even when the world refused to cooperate.

Evelyn was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the window, her blindfold on, face tilted toward the faint warmth of the sun coming through the glass. She didn’t move when I entered, but I felt her attention, like a sonar ping in the quiet.

"You’re tired," she said, voice soft, almost accusing.

I let out a breath. "Yeah."

"Rey, just promise that you won’t do something stupid," she murmured.

I didn’t promise her anything. I just sat down on the floor across from her, stretching my legs out, leaning back against the couch.

For a while, we didn’t say anything. freёnovelkiss-com

Camille shuffled in next, hair a tangled mess, oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder, phone in hand as usual. She glanced at me, at Evelyn, then sighed and slumped onto the couch with her head on my lap, her legs tucked under her and her precious phone pressed to her chest like a shield.

"You’re both up early," she mumbled.

"No sleep," I replied while playing with her hair.

"Same."

The hush of the apartment was broken by the faint clatter of dishes in the kitchen, followed by Alexis appearing, her hair tied in a messy bun, glasses slipping down her nose as she peeked around the corner, a shy, bright smile on her lips when she saw us. She padded over, sitting on the other side of Evelyn, hugging her knees to her chest.

Sienna was last, appearing with a plate of toast and eggs, her apron still on, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting her forearms from whatever she had decided to bake at four in the morning. She glanced at the four of us on the floor, her brows lifting, then she placed the plate on the coffee table and sank down beside Camille with a sigh.

We sat there, the five of us, in that quiet moment before the storm, the city humming beyond the windows, the clock ticking down in the back of my mind.

Twenty-seven hours, fifty-three minutes.

I reached forward, picking up a piece of toast, taking a bite, letting the warmth of it ground me in the moment.

"You’re leaving soon," Sienna said quietly.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"For how long?" Alexis asked, her voice small.

"Until it is done."

They didn’t ask what it was. They simply trusted me in that regard.

Evelyn reached out, her hand brushing against mine, her fingers cold but steady. "You’re calmer today."

"Am I?" I asked.

"You are," she said, leaning her head against my arm. "As if you have a plan of some sorts."

I didn’t respond, but she nodded to herself, satisfied.

We spent the morning in that hush, the movie from last night still paused on the screen, the faint hum of the fridge filling the spaces between us. Sienna cleaned the kitchen, humming under her breath, the smell of cinnamon drifting through the apartment as she baked something none of us were hungry enough to eat.

Camille scrolled through her phone, occasionally pausing to glance at me, as if to confirm I was still there.

Alexis read a book in the corner, her feet swinging off the edge of the armchair, glasses catching the gray morning light.

Evelyn stayed by the window, listening.

And I sat there, enjoying the little time I had before the showdown.

Around noon, I stood, stretching, the joints in my shoulders popping, the weight of the hours ahead pressing down again. The calm I’d felt in the shower had faded, replaced with that steady coil of readiness that came before a hunt.

"I need to go," I said.

No one argued.

Sienna wiped her hands on her apron, moving forward to hug me, her arms tight, grounding. "Rey...please be safe," she whispered.

"I’ll try to," I replied.

Camille didn’t get up, but she reached out, grabbing my wrist, squeezing it. "Bring back cinnamon rolls," she said, her lips quirking in a tired half-smile.

"I will."

Alexis stood, hugging me around the waist, her small frame warm, her glasses pressing against my chest. "Come home."

"Don’t worry."

Evelyn stood last, the room going quiet as the others watched. She stepped forward, pressing her forehead against my chest, her breath steady.

"Don’t do anything stupid," she repeated.

And I didn’t promise her anything.

The streets outside were wet, the rain from the night before lingering in puddles that reflected the gray sky. The air was cold, sharp, waking me up as I stepped into it, the city greeting me with the scent of ozone and concrete.

I made my way to the precinct, each step measured, boots thumping against the sidewalk, the hum of distant traffic like a heartbeat beneath the world.

Twenty-six hours, fourteen minutes.

The precinct was quieter by now, the tension thicker, the remaining officers moving with hushed urgency, the kind that comes when everyone knows something is about to happen but no one knows when.

I moved past them, ignoring the looks, the whispers, the way they stepped aside as I passed.

I found Grant in his office, going over reports with tired eyes, the map behind him littered with notes and red strings that meant nothing to anyone but us.

"Everything ready?" I asked.

He glanced up, nodding. "Yup, we are ready to start slowly fulfilling his demands."

He then had a piece of paper that he showed me, reading: "Tunnels are secured. No connection for him to track. We’ll move the second he tries."

"Good."

"You think he’ll take it?"

"He will."

Grant let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "You’re too calm, Reynard."

"Can’t afford not to be," I replied.

He grunted. "He still feels unpredictable to me. Can we believe his words?"

"He won’t lie on this."

Grant eyed me, leaning back in his chair. "You trust him that much?"

"No," I said, adjusting the gloves on my hands, checking the seams, the habit grounding me. "But I trust the skills I have."

I wish I could have spent the afternoon checking potential cameras that were installed in the sewers, but we opted not to have them there. After all, if Hyena discovered the cameras or how to access them then our plan is over. When we captured him, we needed him to think that the sewers are practically abandoned.

It needed to be fast. Clean.

Hyena would think he was clever, slipping beneath the city, away from the borders, away from the drones in the sky.

And we would catch him, like the rat he was.

Twenty-four hours, twenty-nine minutes.

I stepped outside for a moment, the cold air biting at the edges of my coat, the city lights blinking to life as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in dark bruises.

The phone in my pocket felt heavy.

A burner, one of many, unregistered, untouchable.

I pulled it out, checking it for the hundredth time, the blank screen reflecting the city lights.

Waiting.

I returned to the ops room, the glow of the monitors painting the space in cold blue light, the hum of the servers like a lullaby for the restless.

Grant handed me a coffee, black, bitter, I really couldn’t understand how he liked the taste of it.

We didn’t talk much.

Just waited.

The hours crawled.

Twenty-three hours, sixteen minutes.

The burner phone vibrated in my pocket, a sharp, sudden buzz that cut through the hum of the servers, the quiet of the room.

I pulled it out, flipping it open, pressing it to my ear.

Static.

Then a voice, breathless, triumphant, sharp with that edge of adrenaline only a successful trace could give.

"I got him."

Anthony’s voice.

Those three words hit like a gunshot, like a spark in a room filled with gas, igniting everything at once.

I closed my eyes, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, the weight on my shoulders shifting, changing, turning into something sharp, something ready.

The trap was set.

The rat was in the maze.

And now, we could end this.

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