Code Name: Untraceable

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Man with the Obsession

The man smiled wider, eyes gleaming with the kind of ego that made your skin crawl.

He stepped between the walls of photos like he was curating an art exhibit-his twisted shrine.

"Why?" he repeated, echoing her question. "Because you were the only perfect variable."

Frankie didn't lower her weapons. If anything, her finger inched closer to the trigger.

"You were methodical. Predictable in your unpredictability. I've studied assassins. Ghosts. Shadows. But you... you were alive in the chaos."

He gestured toward one photo-Frankie in the middle of a fire-lit fight, mid-leap, face unreadable.

"You disappeared and resurfaced with precision. Never left fingerprints. No pattern. Except one-you always finished the job."

Bob shifted in the cage, eyes locked on her. She didn't look at him.

The man kept talking.

"And then you died. Or so the world thought. And I mourned."
"I watched your tapes. I tracked the rumors. And when you came back? Oh, Francesca, I knew I had to act. Before you disappeared again."

Frankie's eyes never left him.

Not for a second.

"So you kidnapped someone," she said coldly.

He didn't deny it.

"Because he made you pause. That was the first anomaly in your pattern. The first sign of weakness. And I had to know-was it affection? Was it strategy? Or were you... finally losing your edge?"

The last sentence landed heavy.

And for a breath?

Nothing moved.

Then Frankie tilted her head slightly.

Just a fraction.

"You think this is about weakness?" she asked, voice deadly low.

The man opened his mouth to respond-

CRACK.

Her bullet hit the floor an inch from his foot.

He froze mid-step.

Frankie took a slow step forward, guns still raised.

"I didn't become soft."

"I became selective."

Then her voice dropped, cold and final.

"And you just made the list."