Too late.
The mirror fills with flashing lights.
“I have to stop the car,” the driver says.
“No,” I reply calmly. “Don’t.”
He hesitates.
Then I shoot him.
The car swerves, clips a barrier, and dies in a cloud of steam.
I’m out and running before it fully stops.
I don’t look back.
I don’t need to.
I disappear into a service corridor I paid for three years ago.
By the time they reach the car, I’m already gone.
Breathing hard.
Angry now.
They were not supposed to move this fast.
I duck into a maintenance tunnel and switch phones.
“Everything is burning,” I tell my assistant. “Initiate scatter.”
“What about the woman?”
“They are guarded. We failed.”
A pause.
“And Saint?”
I smile in the dark.
“Saint is about to learn what it feels like to be hunted.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re a lie.
Because the fourth lesson is the only one that matters:
When men like him come for you…
You don’t get to choose how this ends.
93
Saint
We don’t chase.
