Just as my hand wraps around the handle and I pull it free, a shadow shifts behind me.
“Well, well,” Saint says, voice smooth and sharp all at once. “If it isn’t Alejandro Cruz.”
I straighten slowly and turn.
She’s leaning against the row of lockers, posture relaxed, eyes bright with a kind of focus I don’t like seeing aimed at me. She looks calm. Too calm. Like the decision already landed and this is just the follow-through.
“Running away so soon?” she adds.
I don’t answer.
Because there’s no version of the truth she’d accept right now.
And because she already knows.
“Care to explain that little stunt back there?” Saint asks.
Her voice is level, almost casual, which tells me more than if she were shouting. She isn’t looking for reassurance. She’s measuring me.
I take a step back, then another, creating space without appearing to flee. As I do, I adjust my grip on her backpack, which feels a hundred pounds heavier than it should. The weight isn’t physical. It’s accusation.
“Someone bumped me,” I say.
The lie barely survives the air between us.
Saint’s mouth curves, slow and sharp, sarcasm bleeding into every syllable. “Oh, I bet.”
She studies me for a moment, then exhales softly. “You know, I’m disappointed.”
That lands harder than anger would have.
She steps away from the locker, arms loose at her sides, and that’s when I notice the flip phone in her hand. Small. Ugly. Unremarkable.
Thank God it isn’t a weapon.
“I thought you’d come better prepared,” she continues. “Something cleaner. Like the real assassin setting off a chain reaction to keep me from warning Hartley.”Her gaze flicks over me, unimpressed. “But someone bumped you. Okay.”
She opens the phone, glances at the screen, and tosses it toward me.
“I’m more interested in these.”
I catch it automatically. The images are already pulled up, grainy and monochrome and far too familiar.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
I tilt my head once. “Not sure.”
I close the phone and hand it back.
She doesn’t take it immediately. “You sure about that?” she asks. “That’s your final answer?”
Her eyes sharpen, focus narrowing. “Because I’m giving you a chance here. After this, there aren’t any more.”
I hold her gaze. “Wish I could help.”
She nods slowly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
The gun appears so smoothly it’s almost graceful, drawn from behind her back and leveled at my chest in a single, controlled motion. Her arm is steady. Her grip flawless.
