The anger and annoyance were evident in Mia's eyes.

"Whisk it well, that's right. Now put a teaspoon of oil in the pan and-"

"Can you shut up already?!" Mia screamed in frustration, startling Dixon. Instinctively, he took two steps back as if to shield himself.

What did I do? Dixon wondered. He had only been trying to help, yet she was snapping at him.

Mia was his friend, but he knew better than to test her patience if he valued his life. She had beaten him once when he pranked her, and he still bore a faint scar on his left arm as proof.

"Did I tell you I can't make an omelet? Geez! You're so annoying. I asked for a little help, and suddenly you think you're the boss of me?"

"No, I didn't-"

"Just shut up. I would have kicked you in the gut if you weren't my friend. But that's not a guarantee, so don't provoke me." She turned back to the pan, resuming what she was doing.

Dixon scoffed. "Tch, how mannerless."

"What did you just say?"

"N-Nothing," he stuttered, lying to save himself.

She was just too scary. Wasn't she supposed to be a lady? The ones he knew were cute, nice, and calm. But Mia? She was aggressive. Pretty, sure-but completely mannerless.

She spoke to him as if he were her younger brother, when in reality, he was three years older than her. Would it kill her to show a little respect?

"See? I fried it!" Mia announced proudly, holding up the omelet.

"Nice work." Dixon gave her two thumbs up. He cut a piece and popped it into his mouth, nodding in approval. When he tried to cut another, she smacked his hand away.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"I want another bite."

"You already had one."

"I know, but-"

"Not happening. I'm making noodles to go with it, so hands off."

He pouted, but she only glared at him.

"Don't think this is impressive. We're not even talking about main meals yet. Even a five-year-old can make an omelet."

"Then go find a five-year-old," she shot back.

"I'm being serious. We need to get serious about cooking-you have to learn fast."

"I know, I know. No need to remind me. We'll start the real lessons tomorrow, okay?"

"Whatever you say. So... what are you going to do about the current cook?"

Mia pulled out a pack of noodles from the cupboard and dropped it into the pot of boiling water.

"When the time is right, what needs to be done will be done," she said simply, moving to rinse and dice the vegetables.

Dixon frowned. "I just hope you're not planning anything dangerous."

She didn't answer. Instead, she smiled as she chopped the vegetables.

"That smile of yours isn't trustworthy."

"It doesn't have to be," she smirked.

******* ******* *******

A car ran by the dreary street in a not so pleasant evening.

The dry cold wind blew the trees, making them dance to its tune.

In the icy cold wind, a man in his early fifties staggered back home while mumbling some words in anger, cursing even.

In the middle of his never ending mumbles, a car's headlight shone so brightly that it took him seconds to realize that he was about to be hit.

Adrenaline shot in, but before he could take a step to safety, the vehicle rammed into his legs, sending him flying through the air. He crashed onto the cold asphalt with a pained scream..

The car reversed, turned around sharply and sped away, leaving the man to his fate.

*** *** ***
"Mission accomplished," Mia announced as she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She shrugged off her black leather jacket and flopped onto the couch.

"He's still alive, right?" Dixon asked.

She shrugged. "I don't really know, but I wasn't hard on him."

"We could have done it differently-without anyone getting hurt," Luther spoke up.

Among the trio, Luther was the introverted one. Tall, fair-skinned, with dark hair, he rarely spoke but was the smartest of them all. A tech whiz at twenty-eight.

Dixon, on the other hand, was the extrovert-talkative, charismatic, and charming. He was twenty-seven, tall, with brown hair and playful vibe.

"Yeah, yeah, what's done is done. No need to nag me about it," Mia replied nonchalantly.

"I'm not nagging," Luther said.

"Whether you are or not, I don't actually care," she replied, stretching lazily. "Once my eyes are fixated on a target, I never look away."