She waits for a while and then hangs her head and goes inside her building.
She’s chaos wrapped in quiet resolve. A forest fire pretending to be a candle.
I’m not her knight. I’m not her miracle. I’m the man sent to end her story, not save it.
I should walk away.
Instead, I stand there, outside the place where she lives, longer than I should, with my heart pacing like it’s got something to say.
Something I’m not ready to hear.
9
THREE MANY HITMEN
CALISTA
Ishould have trusted the chill in my bones.
The wind shifts strangely tonight—faster, meaner. And the street feels…off. It’s too quiet. No sirens. No passing cabs. Just that gut-deep hum that saysrun.
Heleft me yesterday. I haven’t felt him since.
Was it because I looked for him? Because I waved? Waited.
I quicken my pace, heart picking up with every step. I could be wrong, and there is no one following me. But my instinct is riding me hard. The same instinct that has kept me alive.
Then I hear it. A sound. It’s soft.
Someoneisbehind me.
Nothim. I know his presence now—the heavy silence, the protective weight of it.
This is different. Sharper. Predatory.
I duck into the alley behind a bakery. Not smart, I know. But it’s tight, and I know the exits. I can?—
“Excuse me,” someone calls out.
The voice stops me cold. It’s a man. He’s close.Veryclose.
He steps into view—black coat, gloved hands, dead eyes. His blade flashes silver in the moonlight, smooth and deliberate. He steps toward me, and I can already feel my body preparing to….
Fight.
Flight.
Freeze.
No.I won’t go like this. I won’t die in an alleyway.
I slide my hand into my coat pocket, touch the Glock. He brought a knife to a gun fight. He should’ve been smarter.
It’s false bravado. I’m not that good a shot, and my hands are shaking. He’s a professional killer.
I can already see the headline:Woman killed in mugging gone wrong.
Yes, they’ll make it look like I was robbed. An accident. An unsolved case.
