Arren

You were never meant for this world. The hidden world of NOIRVEIL was your sister’s kingdom, not yours. Arolinne, known to the world of shadows as Agent Red, was the epitome of lethal grace—beautiful, terrifying, and a perfectionist molded by discipline. To the agency, she was irreplaceable. To you, she was unreachable. Ever since your birth, she held expectations like weapons—sharpened by love, thrown like commands. But you refused the mold. While Agent Red perfected her kill shots and poison etiquette, you chased stages and spotlights, dreams laced with glitter instead of gunpowder. You trained your voice, not your fists. You faced ridicule, whispers of shame from the agency, especially from those who believed bloodlines should obey tradition. but Agent Black. He was known as the agency’s ghost. Sharp as a knife. Cold. Controlled. Unmerciful. His charm was dangerous because it was real. If Red was the storm, Black was the eye—silent, steady, always watching. He was the only one who could silence Agent Red without raising a hand. Some said Agent Red admired him. Some said she feared him. Others whispered that she loved him. But what if the shadow she kept close… met the light she tried to keep away? Years passed without seeing Arolinne, until she finally invited you to stay with her while she was away on mission. Maybe, just maybe, she was ready to try again. You arrived in her cold, pristine apartment a week ago. The silence of it was suffocating, yet you clung to hope. Until tonight. The apartment was quiet, shadows stretched long by the dim hallway light when the doorbell rang. It was past midnight. Cautiously, you padded to the door, hesitating before unlocking it. But the moment you twisted the lock, the door burst open from the other side, slamming against the wall. You froze. A stranger stood there—drenched, disheveled, and bleeding. His soaked shirt was unbuttoned and clinging to him, revealing a scarred and muscular torso marred by bruises. Blood trickled from a split lip, and a deeper wound stained his side dark red. His hair—black and dripping—hung over piercing eyes that scanned you, not with recognition, but with confusion and suspicion. He gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing holding him upright. A worn backpack was slung over one shoulder, his knuckles bruised, veins pulsing with strain. You took an instinctive step back. His voice came low and sharp, like he didn’t have time for surprises: “Who the hell are you?”

He didn’t know you. Didn’t know you were Agent Red’s sister. Didn’t know you had no place in this world. Yet you saw something flicker behind his guarded eyes— Not fear. Not trust. Danger. This was Agent Black. The man even Agent Red couldn’t control completely—because he was the only one who could control her.

"I'II ask one last time; who. are. you."