Mia's POV
"Shoot him."
Ash's voice sliced through the room like a blade. Calm. Cold.
The gun weighed heavy in my grip. Across from me, the man on his knees looked nothing like his profile picture. Broken. Trembling. Half-naked.
"Shoot him, Mia."
Sweat prickled at my edges, heart pounding hard enough to make sounds in my ears .
"I SAID SHOOT HIM!"
My finger jerked. Bang!
The echo carved into my skull. His body dropped. My first kill. My initiation.
⸻
I jolted awake, lungs tight, heart racing.
Popcorn littered the floor as my cheek pressed into the couch's soft fur. I brushed the kernels away with a groan. Some people wake from dreams of beaches and birds chirping, while I wake up from bloody nightmares.
Cute.
Christmas.
Easter
Valentine's.
Adorable little holidays . Me? I celebrate any day I don't have to shoot someone in the face.
I stretched out across the couch, forcing myself into normalcy—popcorn, silence, TV I didn't care about. Pretending. I even bounced once on the cushions, like a kid testing a trampoline. Don't judge me.
Then, of course, my phone rang.
It was Ash.
I answered flatly. "What do you want?"
"You," he chuckled.
I snorted. "The other thing you want."
His laugh rumbled through the line, dark and deep. "A direct order just came in. Get dressed, mi amore."
A direct order. Code for: do it the client's way, or don't bother coming back.
"I'll be there," I muttered.
Click. Call ended.
And there goes my day off .
⸻
I stood at my closet, staring like it was an exam question I hadn't studied for. After five seconds, I grabbed a grey hoodie and joggers. Neutral and forgettable just perfect.
Once upon a time, I'd spend hours arguing with myself over heels or sneakers to wear. Now a matching hoodies and joggers and i'm done. That girl's gone.
My phone pinged. Red's message came up and it was my target info.
I scanned it once, deadpan. My reflection stared back from the screen—blue eyes that used to belong to a doctor. Now they belonged to an assassin with decent taste in loungewear.
Don't call me a victim. I picked survival.
Don't call me heartless. My heart just learned discipline.
Two years ago, I stitched people together. Now I break them apart. Isn't that ironic.
And the messed-up part?
I'm damn good at it.
I pulled the hoodie over my head, shoved my phone in my pocket, and stepped out.
Another job. Another ghost. Another punchline in this bad joke I call a life.
And no, I wasn't afraid. Not of Ash.
And definitely not of death.
I pulled up at a safe distance—not close enough to be spotted, but close enough to get a perfect view.
"Wow. An official gathering… that's definitely new," I muttered with a dry smirk, earning a heavy sigh from Red.
"Can you quit complaining already? You're making my ears hurt."
"It was supposed to be a soliloquy. You just happened to be listening," I said, squinting at the crowd. Polished rich folks were lined up in the parking lot, all smiles, all masks, pretending to be more important than they really were.
"It's a mask event," I noted, frowning slightly.
"Apparently," Red replied, fingers clacking furiously against her keyboard. No doubt hacking into the building's security system.
"There are three cameras in the parking lot," she recited. "Two near the streetlights, one close to the entrance, another by the left."
My eyes followed her words like a map. "Looks like I'll be saying hello."
"Quit joking. We're on a mission here," she whined.
"We kill people for a living, Mia Easy or not, it's still wrong. Still inhuman."
"You make it sound like I'm a monster," I chuckled, though bitterness laced my tone.
She softened. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just stressed, and you keep making comments like that"
The big softie in her always peeked through. Made me snort. "'Sorry'… that's not even a word. Just an affirmation seeker."
"Where are you going?"
"Closer look," I said, cutting her off. Hood up, door slammed, AirPods in.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and leaned close to the building wall, scanning the scene. Not business. Too polished. Probably a birthday or an anniversary
"It's clear," Red's voice crackled in my ear. "You have ten minutes to get in. Their system will caught in a loop during this period. Your coast is clear."
"Perfect."
I strolled in, unbothered. No obstacles, no interruptions. Exactly how I preferred it.
"I'm in," I said into my AirPods, brushing dust off my grey pants.
And there it was—the trick of penetrating an airtight bubble without leaving a scratch. I made it look simple, but it wasn't. Everyone had a role, and one wrong move could topple the entire game. The rules kept things balanced. Change them, break them, bend them—and everything fell apart.
But if everyone played their part? Then it was as easy as taking candy from a granny. Not that grannies should be taking candy anyway.