Idon’t mean to sit alone in the hallway.
It just… happens.
The adrenaline of the night burns off unevenly, like a fever breaking while the feel of the heat remains. My hands are steady, my breathing is fine, and my heart is annoyingly normal.
But something inside me has shifted its weight until it no longer sits right within me.
I draw my knees up to my chest, resting my forehead against them. The concrete floor is smooth against my bare feet, and the bleeding light from the living room is too bright in the dark hall. I turn my face away from it and listen. The loft hums softly around me. Somewhere, a fan speeds up, and cool air blows overhead.
This place is alive in a way my apartment never was. I suppose that’s fitting since it was only ever a place to kill.
My fingers smell of citrus soap, though gun oil lingers underneath. It’s an old scent that brings me comfort while I process what has me in a knot.
Most of the people I’ve killed were problems before they were people. Files. Images attached to risks. I never learned enough about them to have an opinion. The only reason their names or habits were important was so that I could find them. Maybe their voices too. Those deaths were clean in a way this one wasn’t.
I didn’t have to watch them smile at someone I cared about.
They were work.
She was personal.
I don’t regret it, though.
That’s the thing my mind keeps circling around. I’m waiting for the guilt to show up late to the party. But it isn’t.
She crossed a line and showed her hand.
She made herself a threat.
I did what I’m trained to do.
It’s just… this wasn’t a contract. Or a favor. And it definitely wasn’t me maintaining order for someone else’s empire.
This was mine.
That realization sits heavier than the act itself. It’s the knot, reminding me I might have crossed a line I can’t easily fix.
I murdered someone in front of people, in front of someone who isn’t Roo or my boss.
What if they wake up tomorrow and decide they aren’t okay with what I did?
I know the answer to that, but it still wouldn’t make me pull the trigger. I’d be fucked, compromised, in desperate need of a cleanup. And Roo would hate me for putting her in a situation that would make me hate her for taking action.
It would end up in a huge fight, and then we’d drink about it.
What if they’re scared of me, of what I might do? Like a dog that bit you once… You keep waiting for them to do it again or wondering if you provoked them. But nevertheless, you stay on your guard, even when you’re scratching ears or playing fetch.
Footsteps approach, soft and unhurried. I turn my head to give him a crooked smile.
Silas.
He stops a few feet away, far enough to not crowd me, but close enough that I don’t feel like he’s frightened of me. He’s good at that.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking down at me curiously.
I huff a quiet laugh, adjusting so my chin sits on my knees and I can stare at the wall. “That’s a silly question to ask someone who kills for a living.”
“Why?”
