In the serene hills near Athton, where the air was fresh and thendscape a lush embrace of nature, Allison and Ken shared an unusually peaceful silence.


    They worked in unison, packing dried bamboo shoots into Ken’s wheelchair, savouring this rare moment of tranquillity.


    “It’s time to go back,” Allison said, bracing her hands on the wheelchair, ready to push Ken.


    But suddenly, her movement stopped.


    Her instincts, honed by experience with lethal threats, kicked in.


    Allison pushed the wheelchair forward, guiding Ken to safety.


    A man dressed entirely in ck appeared out of nowhere, pointing a gun at Ken.


    “Don’t me me, Ken.


    You’ve made too many enemies,” he sneered.


    Just as the man was about to fire, a cold wind blew through.


    With a deft sideways movement, Allison flicked his wrist, sending the gun spiraling off target.


    “Come on!” Allison ordered urgently, her voice tight with worry.


    The assassin''s skill was surprisingly professional, a rare trait in these times.


    Allison, though bewildered, focused on ensuring Ken''s safety first so she could confront the threat without hesitation.


    Ken, his brows furrowed in concern, gripped the wheelchair handles with a grip that made the veins in his hands bulge.


    He had rarely revealed the truth about his legs.


    With onest push for Ken to escape, Allison turned her full attention to the killer.


    His movements were a blur of speed and precision.


    Despite the sudden turn of events, the man remainedmitted to his mission.


    He pulled a dagger from his boot and shed lethally at Allison’s throat.


    Allison saw the subtle, deadly movement, but was in no position to exert much force.


    She held out her hand, ready to block the attack and disarm him, even if it meant wounding herself with the dagger.


    Instead of the expected pain, he saw Ken, his face grim and determined, holding the killer''s arm.


    Rising from the wheelchair, Ken stood tall and imposing over the killer.


    Allison was momentarily stunned in the heat of battle, a rare urrence for her.


    She blurted out, “Your legs are…”


    It was like witnessing a modern-day miracle.


    Ken''s sudden mobility at a critical moment seemed almost otherworldly.


    “Let’s get this over with!” Ken’s determination was unmistakable.


    The killer, unaware of Ken''s ruse, realized that his information had been wrong.


    Ken''s supposed disability had been a ruse.


    With Allison''s skillful intervention, the mission was bing dangerous.


    If the killer wanted any chance of survival, he had to fight with everything he had.


    Resolute, he returned to action, his determination as unwavering as the storm that surrounded them.


    In the dark, rainy night, the confrontation grew fiercer.


    The assassin was relentless, aiming for Ken’s face.


    Ken deflected the blow and asked, “Who sent you?”


    "Kill me if you can!" the killer snapped defiantly.


    Ken thought for a moment.


    He thought about the list of suspects: someone knew his whereabouts and had hired this professional assassin out of deep hatred.


    Stretching his limbs, he considered the possible culprits, including his various illegitimate siblings and, most of all, his stepmother''s son, Hoyt Lloyd.


    Thetter had once tried to bankrupt him on a cruise, and that score was far from settled.


    Meanwhile, Allison was quick with her counterattacks.


    She delivered a knee to the assassin''s stomach before executing a shoulder throw.


    A sickening snap rang out as her right hand, along with the dagger, struck his arm with brutal efficiency.


    The killer''s arm was severed, hanging by mere threads of flesh.


    Despite his severe wound, the man writhed in a desperate attempt to cut off the remaining flesh himself, like a lizard shedding its tail to escape.


    A gentle drizzle began to fall, washing away the smell of blood.


    Allison and Ken fought in perfect harmony.


    In the darkness and rain, their movements were so synchronized it seemed like they had rehearsed it countless times.


    Allison struck from above while Ken delivered precise kicks, their coordination impable.


    A sense of strange familiarity permeated the fight.


    As she watched Ken’s shirt hug his sculpted abs and his movements, Allison found herself thinking.


    One word echoed in her mind.


    “Cruise!”