Sure, I had help, I had plenty of help, by everyone except the one man I wanted by my side, whispering in my ear and telling me I was doing a bad job—you know, playfully. Instead, I had some guy in an earpiece, two mercenaries on a rooftop, and some high caliber guns—which I had to return before they escorted me out of the building through some secret tunnels beneath New York City, and all the way to an apartment they said I could stay in.
It was a studio, cramped, but there was hot water, and a comfy bed. I would’ve slept like a baby, if I had the teddy I’d grown up with and lost when I went to college—fucking Whitespire.
“Fuck,” I said, slamming my hands down on the sheets as I’d gotten comfy in bed. “Motherfuckers. I just wanna sleep.” There was this drilling notion in my head that I didn’t even get the right person. It wasn’t regret, but it made me feel hollow still. Part of me wanted to believe it was the head of the operation—another part thought it was a random fall guy these people in my ear wanted me to kill.
Donovan always told me never to trust anyone. Except for him, obviously. Now, his words rung in my ear. Fucking asshole, he left me, why should I be taking advice from a man who broke my trust the hardest.
I’m sure it was probably strange I didn’t have insomnia from dealing with all the people I’d gunned down to get my revenge, and that the only thing keeping me from a peacefulnight of sleep now was a dirty blue teddy bear with only one button eye and the thread on his nose becoming thin from rubbing at it for comfort.
A knock came at the door, heavy. It startled me to stillness.
The knock came again, followed by a note slipped under the door.
I waited until the shadow under the door vanished to get out of bed and pick it up. “And just when I was beginning to get my life back together,” I snickered, and placed a hand to my mouth as if they’d come back. It can’t have been something they wanted me dead over, otherwise bullets would’ve gone through the door and I would’ve been—dead.
It was a letter with some heft, addressed to me. Inside, card stock, cream scented like tobacco and vanilla, I sniffed it, all around before event registering what any of it said.
Artemis.
You’ve been invited to join the Sanctum.
The address will be sent to your phone tomorrow morning.
If you wish to join, follow them, if not, we advice you submerge your phone in a bath of acid.
I trust I’ll see you tomorrow,
Mercy
Sitting on the edge of the bed as I read the note in the moonlight, I couldn’t help smile. There were a lot of safehouses and secret agencies around the world. I’d heard a little bit about Sanctum from Donovan, he’d told me he wanted to train me, he told me he wanted to help me, and he did for a while—he also used me for sex. We screwed around for a while on some beaches, and then he left, in the middle of a night. His parting gift was a phone and people coordinating the attack. That was two months ago.
If Donovan had any sense, he’d stay clear of Sanctum when I arrived tomorrow. With my small black folding knife, I stabbed the card stock into the wall. I liked it, but I preferred fixed knives, I’d sliced my fingers far too often with this one.
***
I didn’t have a lot to my name, the clothes on my back, and whatever they’d left me in the studio apartment. All my sizes, and they fit like a glove. Whoever picked them out had great style. I dressed in the jeans, baggy white t-shirt, and oversized checkered red and black lumberjack shirt. I was serving a look, mixed in with a pair of really good shades, and I was out of the door, ready to follow my phone to wherever it told me.
Red Hook, Brooklyn. It was mostly shipping yards, and I was being sent on some wild round about circus to get to wherever this place was. I scanned every alley wall and rusted iron door for something, but I was still set to walk straight on, into the dark, where steam vents huffed and puffed up a fuss.
I trusted whoever had been in my ear during the shooting—and now, I had to trust whoever it was leading me to this creepy location, and without anyone looking out for me on a rooftop, or someone monitoring my vitals. I was going—
A mechanical crunch sound before a whoosh as the steam wafted away to reveal a small darkened doorway. The phone was telling me to head straight into it—so I did, right into it. I stepped into the pitch blackness of it all, praying there was going to be solid ground there.
“Ouch,” a familiar voice squeaked before giggling. “That was my foot.” My arm was pulled on, yanking me into the complete void of darkness as the door behind me closed. “One second, I—”
“River?” I asked, standing completely still.
Lights appeared from above and below, starting at the end of the hall and coming toward us, slowly illuminating a path, and our faces.
“Hi.” River wore thick-rimmed glasses and green lenses, he was a touch shorter than me with tussled blond hair. “I realize we haven’t properly met, but Mercy told me since I helped with your op, I should be the one to greet you.”
“Hi,” I said. “I’m sorry but how—”
“Oh,” he snorted, pulling the glasses down. “These have infrared, night vision, and I can see the screen of my tablet. Nobody else can—unless they have these glasses—and my thumbprint—oh god, I’m saying too much about my personal security.” He folded his glasses into the pocket of his gray shirt, buttoned up to the collar. He clutched his tablet to his chest and smiled. “So, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”
“Because I fucking killed it,” I said. “Please don’t tell me it’s because—”
“Yeah,” he said. “Mercy’s been watching you for a while, and she’s been impressed. You’ve got great reaction skills, and you’re able to hold your own in a physical fight, which she noted isn’t typical for a business major. So, are you going to tell us what happens at Whitespire?”
