What Was Missing
I laughed at Cassian Vance's photo for a long while. Something about his expression in that picture—stiff, unsmiling, like he'd been caught off guard—just kept tickling me. Every time I thought I'd composed myself, I'd glance at it again and the laughter would bubble up fresh.
I don't know why, but around Maya Duke, happiness came easily. Perhaps it was the simple warmth of her apartment, the soft lighting and the smell of something home-cooked lingering in the air, or the way she kept glancing over at me with that earnest, grateful expression—whatever the reason, the heaviness that usually clung to my chest felt lighter here.
Though Valerian and Juniper occasionally brought out my playful side, being near them mostly reminded me of our shared, grim fate—the brutal reality of being Sin Hunters, the ever-present shadow of death hanging over us like a cloud that never lifted.
But with Maya Duke—this girl I'd saved—seeing her healthy and happy filled me with an inexplicable warmth.
Perhaps this was the true meaning of being a Sin Hunter.
Our lives were miserable, yes. But if we could witness the happiness of the people we'd saved firsthand... that was its own kind of joy.
When dusk settled over the apartment, I said gently, "You need to remember something. I was never here. Understand?"
"Sister..."
"If this ever comes up, you were busy cleaning the hallways. I walked past you, and then your key mysteriously disappeared. Got it?"
"I really can't help you at all?"
"No. You need to be good and listen."
"Okay... I'll remember."
I gave her a small smile and told her to go back to her room, finish her homework, and get to bed early. She lingered for a moment, like she wanted to say something more—maybe thank me again, maybe beg to help—but finally she nodded and slipped away into her room. I heard the click of her door shutting and smiled despite myself.
It was dark now.
I settled onto the sofa by the balcony and rested for a while. The apartment was quiet—just the distant hum of the city below and the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. It felt strange, being in someone else's home like this, using their couch as a staging ground for a break-in. But stranger things had become routine for me.
When I woke, a warm blanket had been tucked over me—Maya Duke's doing. Her bedroom door was shut tight. Good girl. She'd actually listened for once. I folded the blanket carefully and set it aside, feeling a small pang of affection for this kid who had nothing and still tried to give what she could.
I pulled out my mask and put it on.
The clock read two in the morning. Everything was silent. The streets below were empty. The entire residential complex had gone dark, windows black against the night sky like rows of closed eyes.
I checked my phone. Cassian Vance had messaged me hours ago: "Why aren't you home? Where are you?"
I replied: "Sleeping at Juniper's tonight. Learning makeup from her."
"Oh, so you can't come back?"
"I just want a girls' night. Is that so wrong?"
"Suit yourself!"
His response irritated me.
He could've written "Suit yourself." or "Suit yourself..." but he had to add an exclamation mark.
Was he giving me attitude? Always wanting to share a bed, always trying to unbutton things—I knew exactly what was on his mind!
I decided not to reply to Cassian Vance. Then I noticed something new—my account had changed. I could now switch profiles.
I tapped the switch, and my name transformed into "Fourth Lord," entering an entirely separate account system.
The Fourth Lord interface had four categories:
1. Evaluate Sin Hunter performance.
2. View Sin Hunter status.
3. Issue special emergency missions (department-specific).
4. Contact the Emperor.
I explored the evaluation section—piles of data that gave me a headache just looking at. So many metrics, so many numbers, performance ratings and mission logs stretching back months. I skimmed through a few entries and moved on.
Then I checked Sin Hunter status. Many showed "Available," with a few marked "On Mission." I could even see Valerian's profile: four missions completed in the past month, with task categories and reward amounts listed. Wait—Juniper's status was also visible. Two missions, both completed successfully.
Interesting. The Fourth Lord account really did see everything.
The mission-creation section had group and individual options. It worked like a word processor—you could draft, save, attach images, and schedule posts. Quite feature-rich. The only difference was that as Fourth Lord, my missions would be pinned and highlighted in red—a special designation that marked them as coming from the top.
I found myself wondering if I could issue a mission for Valerian to slap Cassian Vance across the face...
Of course, that was just a fantasy. The Fourth Lord account was serious business. I couldn't abuse it for personal vendettas, tempting as that might be.
After playing around with it for a while, I felt I understood the system well enough.
I set the phone aside, pulled on my gloves, and gripped the balcony railing. Deep breath.
This was the 18th floor. One slip meant certain death.
Maya Duke's apartment had no escape rope. I'd have to improvise.
I carefully lowered myself over the railing and stepped onto the air-conditioning unit's support bars, clinging tight, not daring to relax for even a second. The wind at this height was sharp and cold, tugging at my clothes. My target was the drainpipe beside the unit.
I reached for it, secured my grip, then shifted my body weight onto the pipe and swung my legs up. The stainless steel was cold and unyielding under my hands, but sturdy enough to hold me. I clung to it tightly before daring to let my legs dangle free. My heart hammered against my ribs. One wrong move and I'd be nothing but a smear on the pavement below.
I'd made it halfway, but the hardest part was still ahead.
I needed to cross from this drainpipe to Nora Hale's air-conditioning unit on 1702. Even sliding all the way down to the ground floor would've been safer than what I was about to attempt.
The AC unit sat at arm's length from the drainpipe. I stretched but couldn't quite reach it.
Fortunately, there was a connection joint that jutted outward just enough to serve as a temporary foothold.
The only way forward was to jump—and grab the railing mid-leap.
But I wasn't confident I could make it!
Thankfully, I'd come prepared.
I unclipped the shoulder strap from my bag, tossed the bag itself onto the AC unit below, then threw the leather strap around the unit's railing.
It clinked against metal. At this hour, no one would notice.
The strap held firm. I grabbed it with both hands and hauled myself across.
Not bad quality, actually.
I scrambled over the railing and onto Nora Hale's balcony. The apartment inside was pitch black—she must be asleep.
I tried the sliding glass door.
Unlocked. My luck was holding.
The door slid open silently. But the bedroom door was closed.
I crouched down and checked the gap under the door. Dark inside. I listened for a long moment—no movement, no sound of breathing or rustling sheets. Then I carefully tried the handle.
Locked.
I sighed. If it was locked, it was locked.
My mission here wasn't just Nora Hale anyway—the most important thing was finding out what happened to Buddha's Hand.
In the study sat a desktop computer. I walked over but didn't turn it on immediately. Instead, I reached behind it and unplugged the speakers first—I couldn't risk the Windows startup chime waking her.
The computer booted without a password. Not even the most basic security. For someone who had a camera mounted by her door and refused to open it for delivery drivers, Nora Hale was surprisingly careless with her digital life.
I found the security camera software. Clicking it prompted a password, but "Remember Password" was already checked. Thank you, Nora Hale, for your expensive paranoia in some areas and complete negligence in others.
I logged in. My heart was racing.
Security footage gets overwritten—most systems keep seven days, some a month. Banks and important facilities keep three months or more. The retention period depends entirely on how much storage the user is willing to pay for.
Buddha's Hand had taken the mission about 28 days ago. I just hoped Nora Hale's system kept recordings that far back.
I checked and nearly laughed. Three months' retention—this woman really couldn't stop spending, even on her surveillance. She'd bought the most expensive package available. Everything was top of the line—except her actual security habits.
I scrolled to the date of Buddha's Hand's mission and fast-forwarded through the footage, eyes glued to the screen.
A masked figure appeared at the door.
That had to be Buddha's Hand!
I switched to normal playback speed. The timestamp read just past midnight. Buddha's Hand noticed the camera and looked directly into it, his masked face tilting up toward the lens with an almost knowing expression.
I wondered—had Nora Hale already seen this footage? Was that why she was so paranoid?
Probably not. If she'd known a Sin Hunter was targeting her, she'd have moved. No one waits around to die.
On the recording, Buddha's Hand crouched by the door, pulling out lockpicking tools, and got to work on the lock with practiced, careful movements.
I couldn't help but sigh.
Everyone had skills. Buddha's Hand could pick locks. Cassian Vance could do makeup. Juniper could analyze. Valerian could draw enemy fire.
I was the only one with nothing. No special talent, no unique ability—just a mask and a willingness to throw myself into danger. Some Sin Hunter I was.
Buddha's Hand worked the lock with intense focus, completely absorbed in his task. His hands moved with the confidence of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
But behind him, a pair of shoes was approaching. He was entirely focused on the door, completely unaware of the danger creeping up from behind.
The lock clicked open. Buddha's Hand pulled the door inward—
A foot slammed into his back. Buddha's Hand went sprawling face-first onto the floor!
The figure stepped calmly through the doorway into the apartment.
The camera captured his face clearly.
Adrian Cross.
I stared at the screen, frozen.
In that instant, everything clicked into place.
Why Adrian Cross had appeared at every single one of our missions.
Buddha's Hand must have been caught long ago. With Buddha's Hand's account, Adrian Cross could see all our mission data—and he could show up at exactly the right time, every single time.
I rewound and watched it again. And again. Each time, the same realization hit me harder, like a wave crashing against rocks. We'd been compromised from the inside. All those missions where Adrian Cross had found us—he wasn't tracking us through detective work. He was literally watching our assignments through a captured Sin Hunter's eyes. Every mission, every location, every detail—Buddha's Hand's account had given him a front-row seat to all of it.
Suddenly, the room's lights snapped on!
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
The apartment was quiet. A man sat on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, leaning back as if he owned the place. Nora Hale stood by the light switch in her pajamas, terrified, then fled back into her bedroom and slammed the door shut!
Adrian Cross.
He didn't even look at her. His eyes were fixed on me.
He leaned back on the sofa and said calmly, "The dark is rather nice, isn't it? It lets you think you're sneaking in undetected. It also lets me sit here watching you make a complete fool of yourself."
He'd been sitting there—in the dark—this whole time. Watching me fumble around Nora Hale's apartment like a rat in a maze. The humiliation of it burned through me like acid.
"Waiting for me?"
"For the past month, I've stayed here every night. I just didn't expect you to take this long." His tone was conversational, almost casual, as if we were old friends catching up over coffee rather than hunter and prey facing each other in a stranger's living room.
I gave a bitter laugh. "So Nora Hale knew a Sin Hunter was after her. That's why she never moved—because you were protecting her."
"Maya Chen. Aren't you going to take off your mask?"
I removed it and faced him calmly.
He studied my face for a moment, then said, "When disappearances started spiking, I knew something was wrong. Every missing person had been publicly condemned for moral failings—exactly like Sin Hunter targets. I tried investigating, but found zero leads. It was bizarre. You people knew everything and could erase any trace."
"So how did you find one of us?"
"After the best friend case, I figured—if Sin Hunters were involved, Nora Hale would be targeted eventually. So I staked her out." He paused. "And I found something interesting."
"What?"
"Any evidence I gathered through official channels was destroyed. Clues I'd initially dismissed—when I sent people back to collect them, they'd vanished. I started wondering if there was a mole in the department, secretly supporting you. So for Nora Hale's case, I kept everything to myself."
I said coldly, "I'm guessing it wasn't just Nora Hale. After that, you never involved the police in any of your cases. Because every time you found me, you had no gun and no backup. Always alone."
"At first, I brought a team when I found your Judgment Tower. You detected us instantly and abandoned the mission. So I changed tactics—went solo. Much better results. Caught you twice now."
My heart sank. The room felt instantly smaller, the walls pressing in.
The room held only Adrian Cross and me. Nora Hale's bedroom door was locked behind us. Adrian Cross was positioned near the main exit, casual as ever, but I could see the coiled readiness in the way he sat—like a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run.
Technically, I was closer to the door. But with his speed, I'd never make it in time. Escape was impossible.
I couldn't help saying, "Adrian Cross, I genuinely don't understand. Why are you so fixated on hunting us down? I don't know how you bypassed the Judgment Tower's omniscience, but think about it—if you don't report your findings to the police, what's the point? You're risking everything, working alone. Even if you catch us, you get no credit. One wrong move and you're the one who takes the fall."
He said flatly, "I've never cared about credit. I just want to catch you. That's all."
"You already caught a Sin Hunter! The first one—wasn't that you?"
He said nothing.
I continued, "Don't you see your own mistake? Sin Hunters exist to combat evil with evil. We keep villains from escaping justice! I don't understand why you oppose what's right. You know how many people we've saved? We're heroes! Capturing the first Sin Hunter was a mistake!"
"Rafe Morrow said the same thing you're saying. He was a fool, but no less persistent than me. When I faced him, he made similar arguments."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him that police arresting people and courts convicting them isn't just about justice—it's about refining imperfect law through repeated application. He punished evil and promoted good, yes, but he only advanced his own conscience. In his world, he was the protagonist bathed in light. In my world, I'm an ant—and I serve without complaint."
Perhaps because I felt death staring me in the face, I wasn't afraid of him anymore. I said sarcastically, "If Sin Hunters could exist permanently, we'd be far more reliable than the law! Bad people would fear us, and society's criminals would dwindle!"
He shook his head. "Maya Chen, I'm not just hunting you. I'm protecting you."
"Protecting us?"
"Sin Hunters killing villains looks satisfying. But do you know what you're missing compared to the law?"
"What?"
"Reverence."
I didn't understand.
He looked at me, his voice dropping low. "Villains may fear Sin Hunters, but they dare to fight back. When someone breaks the law and faces judgment, they may argue their case—but they always maintain a sense of awe! The law is the people's will, the nation's authority—an inviolable covenant. When it decides a person's fate, no one can resist! Defying the law means standing against a billion people. But killing a Sin Hunter? That's merely self-defense."
I...
Without understanding why, the faces of every fallen Sin Hunter flashed through my mind.
I whispered, "When Sin Hunters grow powerful enough, we can guide society."
"Society will never be ruled by emotion. Emotion can be infinitely amplified. Scale it far enough, and you get vendettas and bloodshed. You lost your loved ones, so you became Sin Hunters. Others lose their loved ones to Sin Hunters, so they hunt you in return. In an emotional world, everyone ignores fairness—they care only about the people who matter to them. Maya Chen... the game of house is over."
So cruel.
Even though Adrian Cross always stood on the side of justice, to me, he was always the cruelest person alive. His words carved deeper than any blade—each sentence stripping away another layer of the purpose I'd built my entire life around.
I started scanning the room for anything useful. A lamp, a heavy bookend, a loose cord—anything that could give me an edge.
Against someone like Adrian Cross, I had no chance in direct combat. I'd have to use the environment.
But no matter how hard I thought, scouring every corner of that living room with my eyes, I couldn't come up with anything.
Then my phone buzzed.
Adrian Cross's phone rang at the same time.
We both checked—Judgment Tower message:
"URGENT PROTECTION MISSION: In thirty minutes, at the intersection of Goldbridge Street and Lakeview Road, a misanthrope will randomly attack pedestrians with a blade! The perpetrator will commit suicide when police arrive, but five innocent bystanders will die!"
"URGENT! All nearby Sin Hunters respond immediately!"
Goldbridge Street—close by.
Adrian Cross stared at his screen, his brow furrowed tight.
He stood. "Nora Hale! Come out!"
Nora Hale emerged from her bedroom, trembling. Adrian Cross demanded, "Can your door lock someone inside?"
"No... the deadbolt is automatic. Turn the handle from inside and it unlocks completely."
Adrian Cross took a deep breath, composing himself. He looked at me, and for a moment, something almost like respect flickered in his eyes—along with a flash of reluctant frustration. He said coldly, "You're lucky. I suggest you stop being foolish and turn yourself in sooner rather than later."
Then he left with Nora Hale, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. It felt like he was venting all his rage in that single explosive gesture—rage that he'd let me live, rage that duty had forced him to walk away.
I sat in the chair, completely drained. My whole body felt hollow, like Adrian Cross had scooped out everything inside me and left nothing but the shell. After a long moment, I gathered myself and headed out.
The mission's red urgent text—I couldn't even be bothered to read it.
How laughable.
Self-righteous Officer Adrian Cross—you think I didn't leave myself a backup plan?
I walked out casually and took the stairs down. My phone buzzed—Cassian Vance was calling through the Judgment Tower system. The screen displayed "Emperor."
I answered. The Fourth Lord account had an entertaining feature: a voice changer button.
Cassian Vance asked, "Hello, we've received an urgent protection mission, but I instructed everyone today to stay inside. Are there any available Sin Hunters nearby? Also, I didn't receive authorization from the Prophets—shouldn't this type of mission go through them first?"
I set the voice changer to sound like a little girl. "Don't worry about it. We can skip this one."
"You're saying a violent incident like this doesn't matter?"
I remembered his "Suit yourself!" text and fumed all over again.
So I said, "Yeah, I posted it for fun. I'm the Fourth Lord—I'm awesome, I play around, what are you gonna do about it?"