“Then why are you even considering this?”
“Because I want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
A long breath comes through the line, slow and measured. He’s thinking. Calculating. Trying to figure out what angle I’m playing.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says finally.
He’s right, and that’s the problem. I couldn’t explain it to him if I tried. I don’t have language for the thing that moved inmy chest when that hitman revealed his mark—only that it was fast and total and left no room for argument. I’ve spent years feeling nothing on these calls. Now I can’t get her face out of my head.
I ignore him. “Then tell me who’s behind it.”
“You know I can’t. And you don’t get to demand that.”
I lean back slightly against the wall. My gaze drifts toward the end of the alley where the café sits just out of view—toward her. Somewhere past that corner, she’s wiping down a table, refilling a mug, or smiling at a stranger, with no idea her name is sitting in a file worth six figures. No idea I’m the reason it isn’t already done.
“Then consider this your chance to make up for the last job.”
“That’s not how favors work,” Emerald sighs.
“It is for me.”
“You’re pushing it, Obsidian.”
“I don’t care.”
He exhales sharply. “You’re serious about this.”
“I am.”
“Fine,” he says with a shift in his tone. Resignation. “I’ll transfer the file.”
A notification pings on my phone a few seconds later, a secure file coming through. I open it immediately, my eyes scanning the contents as Emerald stays on the line.
Name: Nora Grant
Age: 19
Occupation: Barista
A slow burn of fury works through me as I read the details, everything I already know laid out in cold, clinical terms. Schedule. Routine. Known associates. Address. And beneath the anger, something I haven’t felt in years—fear. Not for myself. Forher. The realization lands hard: I have something to lose now, and that terrifies me more than any target ever could.
“I’ve got it,” I say as I scroll further down, looking for what matters most. “Who’s the client?”
“You don’t need that to do your job. Besides, I got the job from a middleman. The contractor wants anonymity,” he replies.
I let out a slow breath. “Then I’ll find out for myself.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”
“Too late.”
A beat of silence passes, heavy and loaded. Then Emerald says, “The original contractor wants this done quickly.”
“How quickly?”
