Disclaimer: There will be some bloody elements in this chapter.
⌐╦ᡁ᠊╾━
We move for hours, navigating the rain slick streets, slipping through endless alleys. She walks close, so close I can feel the warmth of her hand brushing against mine.
"Will we be... safe?" she murmurs.
I don't answer. Safety is an illusion we create for ourselves.
A shutter rattles. She flinches. I glance at her, teeth clenched.
"Keep moving," I breathe.
She nods, silent and stubborn. I hate to admit I admire her- still innocent, eyes burning with defiance and life.
Finally, we reach the outskirts- abandoned warehouses, far from where The Syndicate had found us.
She curls into herself, chest rising and falling fast, eyelids heavy. She's asleep before I even notice, breath steady, almost peaceful.
Watching her triggers a memory. Years ago, my first mission. A woman. I carried out the order, and my hands... I still remember.
The blood- hot, sticky, slick against my skin like glue. Her eyes, wide and terrified, stared through me, her face unreadable. Life drained as her body hit the floor with a dull thud. The metallic scent clung to my hands for hours, a ghost that lingered long after.
A faint scrape on wet concrete. Boots. A scout. I catch him from the corner of my eye, standing there, unaware.
I slip behind him, swift and silent, blade to his neck, slicing clean through muscle and artery. He stumbles back, gurgling on blood, body crumpling to the ground.
I keep the knife angled, watching the red swirl into the rain, streaking down the concrete. His eyes glaze, fixed on nothing.
I breathe slow, chest tight. Then I spot it- tucked in his pocket. A photo ID, edges damp and bent.
Her face. She's officially hunted.
I step back inside. She's still asleep, unmoving- no twitch, no murmur. Peaceful. Completely unaware of the noose tightening around her.
It hits me then. I'd chosen the knife over the gun. Not for silence, not for efficiency. But because I didn't want to wake her.
The realisation curdles in my gut. Attachment is weakness. And weakness gets you killed.
...
The rain slowed to a steady drip when I blink myself back to awareness. Sunlight pierces through the cracks in the warehouse roof, slicing across the floor in thin, golden beams.
I push myself upright. My knife rests beside me, still stained from last night. I pick it up, dragging a cloth along the steel, each stroke deliberate until it gleams.
Her voice breaks the silence. "Who are you?"
I don't look at her. Just keep dragging the cloth along the edge until it gleams.
"A weapon," I say flatly. "That's all I've ever been."
She shifts, the light catching in her tired eyes.
"Well... weapons break. They get used up and replaced. People don't."
The rag stills in my hand; for a second, the room feels smaller, tighter, suffocating.
"You don't know anything in my world," I mutter. "So don't pretend you do."
"Maybe not. But I know enough to say you're wrong."
I turn away, jaw locked, her words lingering, burrowing under my skin like shrapnel.