Seven years ago, to protect the safety of the front line, the informant system began to replace traditional undercover work.
I was among the last batch sent to the border to investigate human trafficking.
Faking a mental disability made me an easy target for traffickers and provided the perfect cover.

I quickly infiltrated the organization and locked onto key intelligence.
That was when I found Cyrus Thorne.
Back then, he was covered in wounds. I didn't know who he was.
I assumed he was just another drifter who got caught up in the local gangs and escaped.
I stayed cautious, kept up the act of a fool while hiding him in my shack and nursing him back to health.
He was quiet, rarely speaking. Most of the time, he just watched me with those dark eyes.

He healed quickly. Within days, he could walk again.
One day, as he sat on the bed while I changed his bandages, he looked down at me.
"Are you really a fool?"
His voice felt like a cold blade pressed against my spine.

He was definitely not a good person.
In that instant, I decided right then to keep my cover.
"Why does everyone call me that? I'm not... I'm not a fool," I replied, using the circular logic of my persona.
I had spent years perfecting this performance and it worked.
His gaze lingered on me, heavy and unreadable. He reached out and tilted my chin up.
"It’s a shame you’re a fool," he murmured.
The next morning, he was gone.