Amy grappled her way into the abandoned building, slipping in through the window before slamming the metal cover shut behind her. She let go of Kou as he quickly stepped away, shaken. Amy staggered toward the worn-out bed, blood still dripping from her side.

  Kou froze, horrified. He had never seen so much blood before. His hands trembled as Amy pulled out a bandage, her face pale but focused. "Pass me that disinfectant," she said, voice sharp yet low.

  Without a word, Kou handed it over, still too stunned to speak. Amy gritted her teeth, pouring the liquid directly into the wound. A sharp grunt escaped her lips, but she worked fast, wrapping the bandage tightly around her waist.

  “This place won’t stay safe for long,” she muttered. “Jack will find us eventually. We leave at dawn. Get some sleep.”

  Kou shook his head fiercely. “No! You’re hurt! You need to rest longer!”

  “We’re leaving tomorrow,” Amy repeated, her tone like a wall of iron. “That’s final. Go to bed.”

  “No!” Kou’s voice cracked.

  “You need to heal first!”

  “Do you understand how serious this is? You were kidnapped today! And I nearly died!”

  “If you don’t want that to happen again, do as I say. We’re leaving at dawn. End of discussion.”

  Amy turned her back to him, lying down. She didn’t say another word.

  Kou stood frozen, tears swelling in his eyes. That voice—so cold, so sharp—cut straight into his heart. It reminded him of the helpless feeling when a parent loses their temper. A child’s fear of disappointing someone they want to trust. It was too much.

  He quietly left the room, closing the door carefully behind him—not a slam, not even a hard push. Just a soft click, like he was afraid even the sound of his leaving might cause more trouble.

  Once alone, Kou curled up in the corner of the next room, pulling the blanket over his head. Tears welled up and spilled freely down his face. What could I have done… what should I have done… he whispered between soft sobs.

  “I want to go home… Grandpa must be so worried…”

  ”I want to go home…” he repeated.

  “I want to stay in Aura…”

  ”This world is too unforgiving for me.”

  He cried himself into sleep, voice trembling into silence.

  -

  Somewhere between fever and exhaustion, Amy dreamed.

  She saw herself—small, playful—running through a field of soft grass. Laughter filled the air, hers and someone else’s. A woman with gentle eyes and warm arms chased after her.

  “My sweet little girl! Come here, I have a surprise for you!”

  Amy, the child, ran toward her with open arms.

  Adult Amy stood frozen inside the dream, watching it unfold. "What… is this?" Her voice sounded distant, unfamiliar even to herself.

  “Mom!” the little girl called out.

  Amy flinched. Mom? The word felt foreign, like a language she’d forgotten long ago. Did she… have a mother?

  Who is Mom…?

  Who are you…?

  A pitch-black feminine voice echoed through the dream—her own voice, twisted and hollow.

  "You are a nobody."

  ”Just an empty… baseless…”

  “Void.”

  Shadows tore through the scenery, ripping apart the grass, the sky, the warmth. Amy bolted upright in bed, clutching her head as pain stabbed through her skull.

  Sweat poured down her face.

  Her breaths came fast and uneven, her chest trembling with each inhale.

  Her forehead burned with fever. The pain was relentless.

  “I haven’t had nightmares like this in years…” she muttered, stumbling toward the bathroom to vomit.

  The dizziness, the spinning walls—it all made her feel like she was breaking apart.

  But what haunted her most was that word—mom. Why did it sting so much? Why now?

  -

  Back in bed, Amy closed her eyes, forcing herself back to sleep. But the fever dragged her under again.

  The figure appeared once more. The same woman who was called mom.

  This time, Amy saw herself, fully grown, standing face-to-face with her.

  The woman smiled softly. “Come give your mother a hug.”

  Amy recoiled. “No… I don’t have a mother. I never did.”

  “Why are you lying to yourself?” The voice was gentle.

  It felt like cleansing to a deep wound. But it also stung painfully because it was soft.

  “I’m not lying!” Amy backed away, but no matter how far she ran, the mother was still there—waiting for her.

  Amy screamed. “Go away! I don’t know you!”

  The mother opened her arms again.

  “You don’t have to be strong all alone.”

  Amy bolted awake again—this time to find Kou sitting by her bed, eyes swollen from crying. His expression was worried, soft, fragile.

  “Amy… you okay? You were screaming…”

  Amy scowled. “What are you doing here? I told you to go to sleep!”

  “I couldn’t. You sounded like you were hurting.” His voice trembled slightly. “I was worried.”

  Amy tried to dismiss it, but his words hit somewhere tender. “I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

  “Do you miss your mom?”

  “My mom passed away when I was nine,” Kou said softly. “I still miss her sometimes…”

  Amy flinched.

  “I don’t have a mom.”

  ”Never had.”

  Her voice was flat, mechanical. “It was just a dream.”

  “I see…” Kou’s tone dropped to a murmur. “I guess we’re the same. The last time I saw mine was when she was holding me while I fell asleep.”

  Amy’s eyes narrowed slightly, her posture tightening like a coil.

  “We are not the same.”

  “I’m a spy agent. I work for Sanctuary. My codename is Void.”

  ”There’s nothing more than that.”

  Cold energy radiated from her words, like frost creeping through the air—but Kou sensed something beneath it.

  A trembling hum, like a distant melody trying to break free. It wasn’t a voice exactly, but a kind of soundless music, echoing somewhere deep inside her.

  He couldn’t explain how he heard it. It wasn’t through his ears, but through his heart.

  And though he didn’t understand it, he recognized the feeling — a sadness that wanted to be heard.

  Kou was curious, drawn to that unspoken song.

  “I think there is.”

  Amy’s breath caught for just a second — a pause, but Kou noticed.

  She didn’t know what to say. No one had ever tried to relate to her before. She was Void, after all.

  A weapon. A tool. An assassin who killed without hesitation.

  There was nothing to relate to.

  That was who she was… Right?

  Kou, on the other hand, had always felt like an outsider to the world around him. At school, he never truly connected with the other kids. Even his parents, his teachers, seemed like strangers from a different reality.

  He was too soft, too emotional, too… foreign. Like an alien born into the wrong world.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  And now, after being kidnapped and hunted for not even knowing why.

  He wondered—

  Maybe I really am some kind of alien.

  He shook his head. “That’s crazy,” he whispered.

  But even through doubt, the feeling toward Amy stayed—Hope.

  What if she was the first person who could understand him?

  And the first person he could understand?

  But her words… they felt empty. Like she didn’t believe them herself.

  Something inside her was shaking loose.

  “I don’t think what you said was true,” Kou said gently. Then firmer—

  “If it was, you wouldn’t be screaming for your mom.”

  Amy’s hand shot out, grabbing his collar. But his eyes didn’t flinch. They were steady—so painfully honest that Amy felt her grip weaken.

  She slowly let go, turning her back to him.

  “That was just a dream,” she repeated.

  Kou stepped closer, his voice gentle but unwavering. “I don’t think so. I think it was a memory. I think your mom was real. And she’s been with you.”

  “Dreams are important.” Kou said firmly, his tears not yet dried.

  “Please, Amy, don’t run from them. They’re messages made just for you.”

  At first, Amy thought his words were childish nonsense, but something about the way he said it — so genuine, so innocent. It made her pause.

  And so she closed her eyes, diving back into the darkness, this time willingly.

  -

  The mother’s arms were open once more. Amy hesitated, trembling between the instinct to flee and the desperate hunger for comfort.

  “You’re not real,” Amy whispered.

  Her mother just smiled. “Come find out.”

  Amy took a step. And then another. Until she fell into the embrace.

  Tears broke free, tears she hadn’t shed in years. In her mother’s arms, she saw herself transform—no longer the Void, but the little girl who once believed in soft things.

  “We went shopping together,” her mom whispered. Amy nodded through her sobs.

  “And to the park, to watch the ducks.”

  Amy’s whole body shook, but she nodded again.

  “And the picnics.”

  She clenched her fists, remembering at last. “You always baked apple pie for me. Every single time. It was our special pie.”

  Her mother wiped a tear from Amy’s cheek. “You never had to be strong alone.”

  Amy’s knees buckled, clinging to her mother like a lifeline. “I love you, Mom.”

  “And I love you too, my little Amy.”

  -

  Amy woke, arms wrapped tightly around Kou—so tight his shoulders were red from the pressure. Kou didn’t move or complain. His face was calm, but tears lined his cheeks too.

  “I’m sorry…” Amy whispered, quickly letting him go. “Did I hurt you?”

  Kou shook his head with a small smile. “It’s okay. Crying is normal.”

  “Thank you for trusting me. I knew you could.”

  Amy stared at him, overwhelmed. This boy—this fragile, honest boy—had somehow cracked her armor. She had spent so long forgetting who she was, she’d almost lost herself entirely.

  And yet, Kou had brought her back.

  She pulled him into a gentler hug. “Thank you, Kou. For helping me remember.”

  Kou smiled into her shoulder, tears still clinging to his lashes, relieved.

  What she said next surprised him delightfully.

  “And you’re right about resting. I might’ve been too stubborn about leaving immediately.”

  Amy glanced out the window, her tactical mind still calculating.

  “But staying in London isn’t an option either. It’s too exposed. We’ll find a quiet hotel—somewhere rural, far enough from the city. And… we’ll call your grandpa too. Let him know you’re safe.”

  Kou rejoiced cheerfully. “Okay!”

  For the first time in years, Amy didn’t just feel like a spy. She felt human.

  -

  The next morning, Amy was working on Kou’s appearance, keeping it simple but changed just enough to make it harder for pursuers to recognize him. She brushed his hair neatly, checked the fit of his clothes, and debated whether a hat would help or stand out too much. Kou sat there sweating in mild frustration.

  “Why is this taking so long? Aren’t we supposed to keep it simple?” He said.

  Amy gave him a side glance. “Appearance is important. If they recognize you right away, we’re in trouble.” She studied him like a professional stylist, making small adjustments here and there.

  When Amy was finally done, Kou stared into the mirror—surprised to see his hair much tidier. He actually looked like a proper boy, but with sparkles. He even thought he looked a lot prettier.

  He blushed slightly, not expecting Amy to have such skill in appearance design. As he fidgeted in place, his eyes landed on a lipstick tube sitting on the desk. Curiosity won over. He picked it up, opened the cap, and hesitantly applied a little to his lips.

  Meanwhile, Amy was in the bathroom getting herself ready—keeping her own look playful and casual. She wore a yellow open-front cardigan over a simple beige sundress, the kind a young mom might wear on a countryside vacation. When she returned to the room, she froze at the sight in front of her.

  Kou’s face was streaked with bright red, his lips smeared unevenly. His eyes were wide with panic. “Amy! Help!! My face looks like a monster! It won’t come off with water!”

  Amy sighed, but there was a warmth behind it—this was the first time since last night that Kou acted his age. That moment of normal childish chaos gave her a small sense of relief. She gently took the lipstick from him, grabbed his hand, and led him to the bathroom. With practiced ease, she cleaned his face using makeup remover, her touch unexpectedly gentle.

  Kou stared at her in awe. “Wow… that was like magic, Miss Amy!”

  “Alright,” Amy said, sitting him down for a serious talk. “We need to go over today’s plan. Specifically, our cover.”

  “From now on, I’m your mother. You’re my son.”

  “In public, you’ll call me Mom. Got it?”

  Kou’s face stiffened. “But you’re not my mom… My mom’s gone. It doesn’t feel right to call someone else mom.”

  Amy’s expression softened slightly. She understood. Kou was honest to a fault, and the idea of lying—even for a cover—clearly troubled him. That made sense for a boy like Kou, but unfortunately, honesty wouldn’t keep them safe.

  “I know it’s hard,” Amy said gently. “But this isn’t about lying for fun. It’s to protect us both. The bad guys are still after us. Can you do this for today? Just today.”

  After a long pause, Kou whispered, “Okay… mom.”

  Amy ruffled his hair softly. “Good work, my son.”

  With the hardest part out of the way, Amy decided to test him further. To her surprise, it went better than she initially thought.

  “So, where are we going today?”

  “On a vacation!” Kou grinned.

  “And where are we from?”

  “Paris!” he said proudly.

  Amy raised an eyebrow. “Ahem.”

  “Hehe—okay, Oxford.”

  “Why did we pick this place?”

  “Because it’s beautiful and fun! I love nature!”

  Amy let out a small sigh of relief. “Good enough.”

  She gave him a quick reminder. “Remember, the cover makes us look like a normal mom and son. That’s how we stay safe.”

  Kou nodded, though his excitement was starting to slip back in. “I get it, Miss—uh, mom. But we should still have fun too! It’s a vacation after all!”

  Amy paused. Maybe he was right. The more she overthought the mission side of things, the harder it would be for Kou to act natural.

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “Let’s make sure we enjoy ourselves too.”

  “Yay! Thanks, mom!” Kou beamed brightly, and to her surprise, Amy found herself smiling back.

  When Amy was finally ready, she stepped out of the bathroom with her newly dyed black hair, a soft cream sunhat resting neatly on top. Combined with her yellow open-front cardigan over a simple beige sundress, she radiated the perfect image of a relaxed mother on holiday.

  Kou stared at her in awe, eyes wide with surprise and admiration. The part that struck him most was her hair—the exact same shade as his own. Something about that small detail filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years, as if, just for a moment, they really were a family.

  “You look really nice, Amy! Just like my mom!” He was so caught up in admiration that he forgot the cover for a second. “I mean... mom! Hehe, sorry.” Kou stuck his tongue out in clumsy embarrassment.

  Amy gave his hand a gentle squeeze, a flicker of amusement softening her normally cold eyes. “Come on, let’s go, son. We don’t want to miss our train.”

  As they gathered their belongings and stepped outside the abandoned building, Amy’s mind drifted toward the London bases. She thought grimly, the London bases have most likely been compromised. Jack knew every corner of those hideouts — every tunnel, every fallback point. If Omni Corps hadn’t already torched them to the ground, it was only because they were too busy tearing through every file and supply left behind.

  Birmingham’s underground station was different—off the books, known only to a handful of veterans. Amy could only hope Jack wasn’t one of them.

  Some time later, they arrived at King’s Cross Station. The station was bustling with early travelers, families carrying oversized suitcases, students with backpacks slung over their shoulders, and businessmen typing furiously on their phones. Amy kept a loose but firm hold on Kou’s hand, blending effortlessly into the sea of ordinary commuters. To anyone watching, they were just a mother and son heading off on a countryside holiday.

  But beneath that casual cover was the weight of life-or-death stakes, and Amy knew all too well — this train ride could very well be the calm before the next storm.

  As they boarded the train, Kou eagerly claimed the window seat, with Amy settling beside him. The moment the train began to move, his eyes lit up, brimming with excitement. He pressed his hands against the glass, taking in every detail outside. The elegant structures of London’s architecture, the winding bridges, and the rows of sophisticated townhouses—each view felt like a postcard coming to life.

  Then, as the cityscape slowly gave way to rolling meadows and quiet forests, Kou’s excitement shifted into quiet awe. The endless waves of green, gently rippling under the soft morning light, felt almost magical. He stared out the window for a long time, completely captivated.

  “Wow… It’s been so long since I’ve taken a train like this,” he said softly, his voice drifting like a thought spoken aloud.

  He remembered his usual, monotonous days—the rhythm of his life like a clock ticking on repeat. Waking up early for school. Daydreaming through lessons. Walking home alone. Taking a nap after school. Dinner with Grandpa. Homework. More daydreaming before sleep. Then waking up to do it all over again.

  He didn’t have any friends to spend weekends with, so most of his free time was spent at home, either watching cartoons or writing his own stories. His imagination was his best friend, weaving fictional worlds where he could have grand adventures—something far bigger than the quiet, repetitive life he knew.

  Kou turned to Amy, delighted. “Thanks for bringing me here today mom! I can’t wait to run around the meadows! It feels like we are stepping into a storybook!”

  Amy widened her eyes slightly at his enthusiasm, caught off guard—but somewhere inside, she felt a quiet warmth bloom.

  “I’m sure you’ll love it, son,” she said, softly brushing her hand over his hair. Meticulously, she dusted off some dirt caught in his strands, her fingers unusually gentle.

  A soft rattle approached as the trolley cart rolled down the aisle. A middle-aged man, likely in his forties, paused at their table with a welcoming smile.

  “Would you like anything to eat or drink, madam? And for your son?” He spoke with a French accent.

  Amy’s body tensed for a split second—every stranger felt like a potential threat—but she relaxed into her cover, tilting her head toward Kou. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

  Kou glanced back at the window, his legs tucked onto his seat before twisting to face Amy. “Hmm… can I have a scone, please!”

  “And to drink?” Amy asked, her voice shifting into soft, motherly concern.

  “Sprite please?” Kou beamed.

  The trolley attendant chuckled. “What a polite young man you have.”

  Amy returned a smile, almost forgetting the weight of their situation for a moment. “He’s been well taught.”

  Kou gave a small, awkward smile—lying still felt unnatural, but he was trying his best.

  The man placed the scone and sprite carefully on the table, then, with a small wink, added an apple. “This one’s on the house.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Amy said, genuinely touched by the gesture.

  “No problem at all, love. Enjoy your trip.”

  As the trolley rolled away, Amy exhaled quietly, the tension slipping only slightly.

  Kou, sensing her nerves, tore a piece of the scone and held it up. “Want some, mom? It’s really good!”

  The crumbs scattered all over the table, a few bouncing to the floor. Amy gave him a sharp look at first—but then sighed, letting it slide.

  She took a small bite. “Thanks.”

  The sweet, buttery taste stirred something faint—a whisper of memory from a long-buried past. The picnic. The apple pie. Her mom’s voice, soft and warm, somewhere just beyond reach.

  Amy quickly gathered the crumbs into a neat pile on the napkin while Kou continued to nibble. When she bent down to pick up the larger crumbs from the floor, Kou mischievously tried to swipe one back.

  She gave his hand a light slap, her disapproving glare softened by a hint of playfulness.

  “Hehe—sorry,” Kou giggled.

  More than an hour had passed, and they were halfway to their destination. Kou was still facing the window, but his eyelids grew heavier, his breath slowing to a gentle rhythm.

  As the train plunged into a black tunnel, the light vanished, leaving only their reflections in the window. For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people left in the world. The steady clatter of wheels against the tracks echoed in the dark, a rhythm almost like a heartbeat.

  Kou’s head gently tipped sideways, landing on Amy’s arm. The unexpected weight startled her, but she didn’t move. For a moment, she froze—and then, as the tunnel’s darkness wrapped around them like a cocoon, she let herself breathe. She didn’t understand why, but having someone lean on her, trust her enough to fall asleep—felt strangely soothing. It wasn’t a feeling she recognized, but she didn’t push it away either. There was something oddly comforting in his small, vulnerable gesture.

  She also closed her eyes, allowing herself to rest, if only for a moment. Peace wasn’t something she knew how to chase. She didn’t mind holding onto.