I try my username.
Access denied.
User not found.
My stomach drops.
That’s the moment it hits—really hits—like a blade settling between my ribs.
My identity is gone.
My history erased.
My status burned out of existence.
I am no longer Guild. No longer protected.
I’m the world’s most wanted mark.
Every assassin across every continent now has my name glowing on their screen.
And they’ve all had a one-hour head start.
I’m already moving before the thought finishes forming.
Time to fuckinggo.
I’m dressed in seconds.
Jeans. Shirt. Boots. All black. Nothing fancy, nothing memorable. My backpack hits the bed and I start throwing essentials inside with the efficiency of someone who’s had to flee more than one country in her lifetime.
IDs. Cash. Passport.
Brass knuckles.
Throwing knives.
Burner phones.
My fingers find my Swiss army knife on the nightstand. My favorite one. The multi-purpose, multi-problem-solver that’s bailed me out of more situations than I care to count. That goes straight into my back pocket.
Two more blades slide into the holsters strapped around my ankles. Familiar weight. Familiar comfort.
I snap open a magazine, check the bullets and I slam it back into place. One gun goes into the shoulder holster under my arm; the other into the waistband against my spine, shirt pulled over it to hide the outline.
Next problem: my hair.
My afro is a whole personality, as she should be, but right now she’s a liability. Every photo, every dossier, every file the Guild ever kept on me features it. An easy beacon in a crowd.
The fact I can’t take care of her this morning pisses me off more than I already am. The fact I have to tame my baby down—murderous rage.
I slide a thick elastic headband into place, pulling it back until my curls are cinched tight and contained. It’ll buy me a few seconds of anonymity. Maybe
I grab the pack of gum from the nightstand, unwrap one piece, pop it into my mouth. Then another. The familiar artificial strawberry hits my tongue and steadies me. Always has.
I’ve got to get a fucking move on, so I sling my leather jacket on.
Backpack is snug over both shoulders and my mirrored aviators are the finishing touch.
