Sub headline:Rogue mercenary Saint James assassinated Presidential hopeful at World Energy Summit. After an extensive manhunt, the assassin opened fire on law enforcement and was killed. Three officers were injured, no fatalities.
It hits. Saint goes rigid. Grim is dead quiet. I stare at the screens—her obituary, set to auto-publish.
Saint reads it again, voice flat: “Assassin opened fire on law enforcement and was killed.”
Silence, thick as blood.
I clear my throat. “Well, at least they had the decency to make you go out guns blazing. Beats death by foodpoisoning.”
The voices stop right outside the door. I jab the speaker button, cutting Grim off mid-ramble. Alejandro and I both drop behind the desk, knees bumping as we hit the carpet. The laptop screen is still up—progress bar at one hundred percent. Fucking finally.
I whisper, barely audible, “I’m taking this laptop with me. Make sure no one can trace it.”
Grim’s answer is quick, cocky. “I got you, S.”
I snap the phone shut, kill the laptop, and shove it into my bag. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
When we hear silence outside, I ease the door open a crack, watching for movement. The hallway’s empty. I nod at Alejandro, and we slip out, silent, closing the door behind us. I lock it with the multitool—muscle memory by now.
Then the radio static hits. Somewhere close. A voice—male, tense, half a floor away: “Be advised, possible suspect matching description. Female, five-nine, dark skin, big hair. Security sweep in progress. Do not approach—repeat, do not approachalone.”
My blood goes cold. I catch Alejandro’s eye. We both know who they’re talking about.
He mouths,Dumpster.
I mouth back,No. Rear door.
We have the argument—no words, just a battle of wills and hand signals. He wins, probably because I can’t risk us both getting caught, and because I’m pissed but not stupid.
I climb into the dumpster, as quietly as possible. It smells like cleaning chemicals, burnt coffee, and corporate rot. Alejandro yanks a pair of headphones out of his uniform pocket, pops them in, and starts humming off-key like he hasn’t got a care in the world. I glare at him. He grins and winks.
He grabs a big wastebasket from under the shredder—full of freshly destroyed paper—and dumps it right on top of me. I shoot him a look that says I will kill you, but he only shrugs and keeps moving.
The guard comes around the corner. I hear the wheels slow, the little squeak as Alejandro stops. The guard’s voice is clipped, suspicious. “Hey. You see a woman back here? Five nine, five ten?—”
Alejandro pulls out one earbud and gives a blank look. "Lo siento, no hablo nada inglés."?*
He rattles off something fast in Spanish likeI just work here, shrugs, then slides the earbud back in and keeps pushing the cart, whistling something out-of-tune.
The guard mutters, then moves on, shoes squeaking down the hall.
I don’t breatheuntil I hear Alejandro’s footsteps again, pushing the cart away from trouble. Goddamn. I’m making him pay for the paper shreds. I’ll be picking confetti out of my hair for days.
I’m cramped. Hot. There’s paper in my bra. I text Grim while Alejandro wheels us down a side hall.
SAINT: can you hack the security system of the building we’re in?
GRIM: that question offends me
SAINT: we need to be invisible
GRIM: give me 30 seconds
Alejandro pulls the dumpster into a dead corner, out of the line of sight. “Coast is clear.” He offers his hand and I glare at him. Not mad just,really? He’s watched me scale a nine-foot fence with broken ribs. Doesn’t matter. He still offers, because sometimes the killer steps back and the gentleman shows up. I take it, just to speed this up.
The flip phone vibrates.
GRIM: you’re a ghost.
