REPORTING THE INCIDENT
The next morning, Alexander walked into Mark Alberton's office.
Mark was already waiting for him, hands clasped together, his expression unreadable. The moment Alexander stepped in, Mark gestured for him to sit.
"So?" Mark asked, eyes sharp. "What the hell happened at the bank?"
Alexander smirked. "Ms. Hell is dead."
Mark leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "And the security guard?"
Alexander's smirk widened. "Alive."
A pause.
Mark sighed, shaking his head. "Every damn time, Alexander… You do things your own way, don't you?"
"That's why I win."
Mark chuckled. "You're something else, Bluestone."
After filing the official report, Alexander stood up and stretched.
"Come on," he said, already heading for the door. "Let's shoot some dummies."
THE TRAINING GROUNDS
The gun range was empty except for the two of them. A row of dummies stood at the far end, waiting to be riddled with bullets.
Mark picked up his pistol, rolling his shoulders. "Finally. I'm gonna beat you this time."
Alexander smirked, loading his own gun. "Try your best."
The countdown began.
3… 2… 1… FIRE.
The air filled with gunfire. Bullet after bullet tore through the dummies, each shot precise. Mark was fast, determined.
But Alexander?
He was faster.
He aimed, fired—and then hesitated.
A single second. A deliberate mistake.
When the smoke cleared, Mark had one more hit than Alexander.
He grinned. "Ha! Got you this time!"
Alexander tossed his gun onto the counter. "Yeah, yeah. Enjoy the victory."
They walked out of the range, the sun setting in the distance.
As they reached the exit, Alexander suddenly stopped.
Mark turned, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
Alexander's sapphire blue eyes gleamed.
"I got what I wanted."
And with that, he walked away.
Mark frowned, watching him go.
"…What the hell does that mean?"