The door is unlocked. As predicted.
14:50
I push inside and let the door shut softly behind me.
The place is too clean. Too impersonal. Will would like it. The kind of staged luxury meant to impress guests, but not actually used. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the living room, giving a view of the skyline.
The kitchen is spotless except for a single plate in the sink.Someone ate a late breakfast.
Too bad it’ll be their last.
13:30
The sound of running water pulls me forward.
Down the hall. Master suite. Door’s cracked just enough.
12:45
I slip inside.
The bathroom is all sleek marble, fogged mirrors, and warm steam curling into the air. The shower takes up half the space, glass walls offering no protection. The water runs steady.
They don’t know I’m here.
11:55
I reach behind me, pull the Glock from the back of my jean’s waistband. The one I conveniently grabbed from my saddlebag before we walked into the market. Adding the suppressor with ease.
10:30
I step closer.
10:25
They don’t hear me over the shower, and I leisurely pull open the door.
10:20
Finger on the trigger.
10:19
I raise the gun.
10:17
A breath.
10:15
I squeeze the trigger.
The shot snaps through the silence. The body drops. I step back to avoid the splash.
Twitches once. Goes still. Blood runs from the chest wound and begins to swirl down the drain.
Less than ten minutes and I’m on my way back to those legs.
