When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 74: Photos Down the Drain

Chapter 74: Photos Down the Drain

Kant sat in the cramped storage room, his phone plugged in to charge. It turned on. He went straight to the chat with Gabriel, both dreading and expecting a barrage of messages.

Instead, the last text was the one asking Kant for his grandma’s address. No other new ones.

Judging from how talkative Gabriel generally was, the silence must have meant he’d given up and moved on with his life. Which was exactly what Kant had wanted.

He set his phone screen down on the table and leaned back.

Perhaps he needed to get up and find something to do, maybe go on a short walk.

Kant pulled on his jacket and left the storage room, moving quickly across the dining hall.

Jones and Hunter were off in the kitchen, doing the dishes and folding delivery boxes—if he was fast, he could slip out unnoticed.

He was nearly at the door when a voice stopped him.

"You’re wandering out like that?"

Kant froze. Mrs. Shin sat by one of the tables, folding napkins with practiced ease. She didn’t look up, but he could feel the weight of her attention.

"I won’t be long."

Mrs. Shin let out a quiet sigh. She walked over, and before he could protest, she looped a thick scarf around his neck, tucking the ends in with grandmotherly care.

"It’s freezing. You’re still healing. Your immune system is under enough strain as it is," she chided, scanning him like she was debating whether to wrestle a hat onto him too. "You may be sturdy, but even the strongest fool can catch pneumonia if he tempts fate enough."

Kant nodded, trying to excuse himself. "It’s fine."

"Fine? Fine is what people say when they’ve given up on being good. But I’d rather see you good, or better yet—great." She sighed, cooling off before it turned into a full lecture.

Her hands went back to adjusting the fabric. "I wish you’d smile more. Whatever can bring you that joy, you grab it with both hands and don’t let go."

With a final tug of the scarf, Mrs. Shin stepped back, gave him a nod, and returned to her napkins. No more questions.

Kant lingered there for a bit, fingers brushing over the slightly itchy scarf. "Thank you." Then he turned and stepped out into the cold.

Before he knew it, he was on a night bus to the wealthy side of town.

Kant got off near Gabriel’s building and trailed toward the entrance. When he was about twenty meters away, he halted and shoved his hands into pockets, staring up at the ninth-floor windows.

Bright yellow squeezed through the crack between the curtains of one room. Gabriel was still up.

Should he... what? Show up at Gabriel’s door at midnight like a limping dog?

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. This was borderline stalking. He might’ve had no priors except childhood petty theft—but why not add a stalking charge at thirty? Perfect age for it.

A figure moved in the foyer, behind the glass front door. Brown hair and energetic movements. Gabriel.

Kant ducked behind a too-small juniper tree, bending at a weird angle. Real unsuspicious.

He cautiously parted the branches to peek at Gabriel, see where he was going this late. But a long shadow slid out from behind the corner of the building, tailing him to the parking lot.

Kant stiffened. Who the hell was that?

He straightened and walked after them. It was the middle of the night. Anyone who was out this late was not a sane person. He sped up, keeping his steps as light as his stiff leg allowed.

The weird guy reached into his pocket.

Kant’s instincts flared—gun, knife? He wasn’t waiting to find out.

A few quick strides, a yank, and the guy was in a chokehold before he could squeak.

By the time Gabriel turned around to check the weird struggling sounds behind him, Kant had already dragged the stalker behind the corner.

"What are you?" Kant pressed the bastard against the wall with enough force to smear him over it like cold butter on toast.

"Get off me, psycho!" The guy bucked against Kant’s grip, tossing like a fish out of the water. "I didn’t do anything!"

"Nuh-uh." Kant wrenched the guy’s wrist up, rifling through his pockets.

No weapons—just a phone, a wallet, keys, and an empty granola bar wrapper. He yanked out the phone and unlocked it with the guy’s own thumb.

The gallery app was open. Rows and rows of pictures. All of Gabriel. Some from a distance, some uncomfortably close. Some from tonight.

Kant’s jaw tightened. Nothing but some cheap paparazzi looking for a dig on Gabriel.

The guy tried to lunge for the phone. "That’s mine, asshole!"

Kant shoved him back against the wall, pocketing the device. "Not anymore."

"You can’t just steal my phone!" The guy’s face turned red with outrage. "Do you even know what personal property is? Jesus, you freak—do you know who I work for?!"

"Don’t care." Kant stepped back, shaking out his arms.

The guy straightened, rubbing his throat. "This is illegal. Theft. Assault. I’ll report you."

Kant gave him a flat look, pulling the phone halfway out of his pocket. "Even if I give it back?"

The guy hesitated, eyes narrowing. "Then... I might reconsider."

Kant tilted the device like he was considering handing it back. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent it sailing into the nearby storm drain.

It hit the metal grate with a sharp clack before vanishing into darkness.

The guy’s mouth fell open. "What the fuck?" He bolted toward the drain, dropping to his knees. "Are you insane?!"

Kant shrugged. "Maybe."

The guy’s nostrils flared. He sprang up, pointing fingers, "Who even are you? What right do you have touching me?"

Kant thought for a bit, then smirked faintly. "I’m Mr. Byers’ bodyguard."

The guy froze, scanning Kant up and down, his mouth parting—then shutting.

A second passed. A nervous swallow.

"...Right," he muttered, shifting on his feet. A weak scoff. "Whatever." He took a step back, then another. And with that, he turned and walked off, faster than before.

Kant watched him go, cracking his knuckles in a harmless threat. He fixed the scarf, but paused to glance at the drain before leaving. The corner of his mouth ticked. Pity he didn’t get a better look at those photos. Not for answers. Just because.