122 Days: The Petal Cipher

Clink. Clank. High heels muffled through the door. The sound echoes through the mahogany-panelled room. The smell of distinct books and some fresh scent brushed through my nose as I leaned against the leather seat, legs crossed, hair neatly brushed. Neatness was considered a priority. I hated it.

“Agent S?” A woman in a dark maxi-skirt called my name curtly. Her blue eyes were piercing as ever. I stood up stiffly.

“Yes?”

“The PM is ready to talk to you.” She scanned through my outfit with her judging blue gaze. She confidently released the door handle, her footsteps click-clanking away. I hurried over, my light beige hand adjusting the cuffs of my black shirt.

“First time?”

“Not with the same PM,” I murmured, hoping that could salvage some courage. We reached the mammoth doors—the same brown ones by the waiting area.

“Then good luck.” her bid sounded more like a warning. I stiffened when her knuckles rapped precisely.

“Come in,” a voice sharper than hers. Great. Another warning. I stepped inside, shoulders high, facing another woman in her fifties.

“So you must be Agent S.” the PM slid into her chair after me, clasping her pruned, chubby hands together. She was dressed suitably: blush-toned, buttoned-up blouse and slate grey trousers. She did have some breadcrumbs at the corners of her mouth. I regretted the glance.

“Yes, that’s me,” I nodded slightly. Silence befell us, broken only by a small glare.

“You have been briefed?”

‘Don’t look at the crumbs’

“Yes, I believe they permit you to complete the objectives.” I watched her nervously, my fist curling as I corrected my spine.

‘Look away, goddamnit.’

“Good. I favour clarity,” she pursed her lips. Was that sarcasm?

“I want you to bring the person, organisation, whatever they are...alive.” The PM wrapped her fingers around her gold ring.

My gaze automatically followed every action, then back to the crumbs.

“The mission requires discretion, no noise, no trace.” She paused briefly, her eyes narrowing to my green ones, catching them wandering to the crumbs.

‘Oh Shi—’

“What? Do you see something?” she asked coolly. I strained to look.

“Uh—no, ma’am.” I shook my head, yet my hands curled tighter.

“Right...” Her eyes narrowed further, daring me.

“Anyway,” she continued with a terse tone, “I heard many things about you, Agent.”

She slipped a rough brown file towards me, and her nails dug in, clear that I had to see it only. There it was, ‘Kai Alder Sokolov’ written in black print. My breath escaped mutely. The silence brewed. My gaze stayed on the folder — everything about me, every nook and cranny.

“And not all are promising to hear, especially with the stacking recent incident reports.” Her voice grew colder, opening them. “But you do have some... skills, and you also finish the job.”

I gave a faint bow. The weight settled into my shoulders as I watched her scan through the dark, variant fonts. I could make out some upside-down letters.

‘Associates: E.A.M’ Then a thud of the file shut closed.

She pressed the file aside, as if it wasn’t a valuable matter.

“Especially when you’ve got nothing to go home to.”

I froze, my head lifting to meet her cold, unreadable gaze. Nothing was exchanged, just a stare between my wide eyes and her neutral, clean look.

“And I mean it.” Her voice was more steady but there was a hint of stern tone like she had enough of hearing those reports. “No jumping off cars just because you found a clue.”

“Four months, Agent, that should be enough time for you. You don’t linger anymore.”

She dismissed me with a wave of her hand.

I hurried out of the room, walking down the corridor. The black Oxford shoes reflected the interior lighting. The blonde was placing her phone on her desk, giving me a look. No smile again.

“The driver is there,” she said, glancing back at the document as if it looked more official.

“Is he?” I looked at her face.

“Exit the building, he’ll meet you,” she typed on her keyboard and finally met my eyes.

“Go.”

“On my way,” I sighed, turning away and heading toward the doors. Passers-by seemed indifferent, lost in their own worlds. Everyone was in formal wear—suits that looked alike and women in various dark shades. It was like a private school, but for adults, and our principal is the devil in our nightmares.

Noticing the change in my tone? Yeah, I’m not a formal man (sorry to disappoint). I find it dull sometimes, and being here doesn’t help, especially after arriving from Berlin to Westminster, the UK. An hour and a half flight, if you’re curious.

“Agent?” The driver looked at me with a puzzled expression, “I asked you a question.”

“Right,” I murmured, feeling a bit embarrassed about my thoughts. Honestly, they amuse me too much.

“Mind repeating?” I cleared my throat. “I didn’t catch that the first time.”

“No shit,” the driver was blunt. “I asked if you’re okay, noticing the dark circles under your eyes.”

“I’m fine,” I said defensively. “Stayed awake a couple of nights.”

The driver grumbled in response. I climbed in and closed the door behind me. The early morning traffic was slow. Noises weren’t helping a sleep-deprived agent to rest. And a car isn’t your typical go-to either.

“With this traffic, I could finish a whole book,” the driver snorted, impatiently watching the vehicles ahead.

“You read?” I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look like the type.”

He shot me a deadpan look in the rearview mirror. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate the joke. Silence awkwardly settled between us—just honks and faint curses. I looked out the window, doing the least I could.

What I saw was a sea of cars, a few double-decker buses, and a crowd of people. All caught in the chaos of traffic. As I continued observing the pedestrians on the pavement, I noticed a pair of eyes gazing back at me. They didn’t belong to a human but to a fluffy dog staring straight ahead. Maybe it’s a dog thing, to stare at something invisible.

But I am not invisible.

“Why is that dog staring right at me?” I frowned, my gaze flickering between the driver and the dog like he held life’s answers.

“I can recommend some sleeping pills, you know?” The driver didn’t even acknowledge my question. I took that implication as ‘You’re schizophrenic when you’re half dead’.

“But no, seriously,” I insisted, “it’s like the dog is judging me...”

“Maybe even dogs know that you have a rough fashion sense.”

‘Not funny, Mr Driver.’

“It’s not that bad,” I protested, “And who are you to judge my looks?”

“You could only wish,” he murmured— definitely smug. Probably a revenge for the reading joke.

“Fine, Miranda Priestly,” I narrowed my eyes, “you win.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not much of a fight,” he continued to eye the traffic. We only moved an inch forward.

“Tell me, Agent, are you this bad?” The driver glanced at the rearview mirror. British people are rude these days. You’ll be lucky if you find someone nice enough not to insult you for at least five minutes.

“Bad with words?” I crossed my legs, “No.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah, sure.” I frowned.

“Help me with my curiosity,” the driver continued to question, “How did you get famous? The agency is ranting on about how successful you are.”

“A big fan?” I raised my eyebrows, “I’m just doing my job, that’s all.”

“I get that, but you seem to put yourself behind the line of work,” The driver concluded.

“Don’t you have a personal life to balance at all? Family? Partners? Friends.”

I froze at that question, my hands curling into a fist.

“You talk quite a lot. Is it a driver thing?”

He glanced back at the road, “Plenty of time in traffic for questions.”

I just hummed. My tensed fingers uncurling slowly, but it still etched on.

Awkward silence filled in. Maybe this time, with one-sided tension. I no longer observed the pavement until the thought hit me. I don’t even know if the dog was still arbitrating my side profile.

I risked a glance. Yep, the dog is still judgy. God forbid the animals to learn how to talk.

I narrowed my eyes at the poodle. Of course, it’s a poodle. I always had beef with that posh breed- tiny feet, big ego filled with endless judgment.

‘I’m not losing a staring contest to an individualist dog; I have my dignity...somewhere.’

“British dogs these days,” I murmured under my breath, still glaring at the furball.

“You’re awfully childish, Agent,” The driver’s shoulder shook with stifled laughter. “The dog doesn’t owe you shit. And what’s ‘British’ had to do with you?”

I glanced back at the driver, not amused. (What a turn of events). The driver let out a chuckle.

“Now I see.”

Within the agony of a long drive, the driver seemed to show his colours. Humming out a hard-rock lyric that I barely know about. Heck, I don’t even know if it’s English. Maybe it’s the curse from that stupid furball. The roads etched on, as we escaped the main road. The towering buildings, formal structures, red brick facades, and iron railings, the list could go on.

Not to mention the fancy lamppost, it’s like it’s straight out of a rom-com. I half-expected a man in a black suit and a coat to swing around, singing. Okay, I was exaggerating.

“We’re arriving soon,” The driver broke me out of my thoughts. He pulled into a narrow black iron gate. Security cameras looked like intimidating heads.

I stepped out of the car, closing it shut. The cold air was biting as ever.

“Agent?” I heard the driver, who was leaning over the console, his elbow on the wheel. I took a step closer to the rolled-down window.

“Yeah?”

“If you get attacked,” the driver grinned, “Just remember, the dog started it.”

He actually winked and drove off like he didn’t ruin my morning. I stared at him, unable to decide whether to feel threatened or amused.

“Kai?”

“God—” I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was the woman holding a tab. She had black heels and wore a suit, her hair in a neat bun.

“Follow me,” she walked naturally, like the pebbles were a marble floor. I followed, trying to pretend as if I hadn’t just been jump-scared by a government employee.

“We have secured the essentials,” she said as she walked towards a tall building. Everyone was pacing, which was not unusual. We went through security check and were immediately split up for personal screening.

A cruel reminder of the time I almost lost my passport at airport security—an event I still classify as a near-death experience. We met again, and she was already discussing her plans to move to America.

“America?” I murmured, “The so-called Country of Freedom?”

“You love to complain, don’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “We already secured a civilian passport for you.”

We entered the glass lift, and people joined us. It was pretty crowded, almost stifling, as we ascended.

Ding. Level Four. Doors opening.

“Excuse me,” I murmured, attempting to slip away. “Mind your foot.”

The lady exited effortlessly, and I followed, stumbling out of the lift. The corridor led to the white, double doors. I adjusted the lapel of my terracotta suit.

She pushed the door open while I tried to stuff my tie into my waistcoat.

“Welcome, Agent S,” a thin man looked at me. I raised my eyebrows, opening my mouth as I looked at the lady. His hands were behind his back. I stepped closer, observing the vast array of materials: pistols, bombs, trackers. You name it, they had it.

“Are these all mine?” I raised an eyebrow, looking at both of them. The blonde was tapping her red nails on her tablet’s screen. The man glanced at her before nodding.

“Yes, sir, all of these are your equipment,” he said, with a sharp, angular face.

“You’ll be provided with more,” the lady glanced from the screen to me, but her chin remained low.

“More?” I was surprised; they were seriously going ahead with this whole mission. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t exciting at all.

“Yes, please follow me,” the man nodded briefly. Follow him? How does he think I can follow him through the tables of— The table split, creating a pathway. The lights dimmed to a deep blue, and the wall behind the tall man opened like a door. I was in disbelief. How has technology improved this much? But my feet had already moved without conscious thought, following the man as we walked into a hallway of artillery and weapons. The woman’s taps on the floor echoed behind me. Her eyes remained on the tablet.

What exactly have they been preparing? The air grew thick with anticipation. Why does it feel so...

Intense