“Don’t know yet.”
Another exhale. Slower now. Accepting.
“Alright,” he mutters. “If that’s how you want to play it. I’ll handle the client.”
“Good.”
“And Obsidian?”
“Yeah.”
The line goes quiet for a second. Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Just…don’t disappear,” he says.
I almost laugh at that. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“It would be the first time without a trace.”
I consider that. Then, “I’m not planning on disappearing.”
“Good.” Another pause. “Take care of yourself,” he says finally.
“You too.”
I hang up before Emerald can say anything else.
The room falls silent after the call ends, but my mind doesn’t. I drop my phone onto the bed and sit on the edge, elbows resting on my knees, staring at nothing. For the first time in years, I feel something I haven’t allowed myself to feel.
Doubt. Not about the job. Not about the outcome. About myself. About whether I’m still as sharp as I used to be. I’ve always relied on control. Precision. Discipline. That’s what has kept me alive. That’s what has kept other people alive.
But tonight, for the first time, I see the cracks.
I push to my feet and start pacing the small space, restless energy buzzing under my skin. This isn’t the first time something unexpected has happened on a job. But it’s the first time it’s made me question whether I should still be doing this at all.
I’ve always had rules. Always had lines I don’t cross. That’s what separates me from the men I’ve taken down. But tonight, I came too close to crossing one without even realizing it. And that’s not something I can ignore.
I stop by the small desk and flip open my laptop, the screen lighting up the dim room. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before I start typing. I pull up listings, classifieds, anything that isn’t tied to the life I’ve been living.
It feels strange. Wrong, almost. Like I’m stepping into something unfamiliar without a weapon in my hand or a plan in place.
“Figure it out,” I mutter, echoing something I’ve told myself more than once over the years.
A few listings pass by: short-term rentals, overpriced apartments, places that don’t fit what I need. I’m not looking for comfort. I’m looking for quiet. For space. For somewhere I can disappear without actually disappearing.
Then one listing catches my attention.
Room for rent.Wilder House. Quiet building. Long-term or short-term. No trouble tolerated.
I lean back slightly, eyes scanning the description again. It’s simple. Direct. No unnecessary details. That alone tells me something about whoever runs the place. There’s an address. A contact number. A few photos of a plain brick building. It’s nothing special, but it looks clean. Maintained.
I study it for a moment longer, then reach for my phone again. My thumb hovers over the screen, not hesitating this time, just considering.
“Yeah,” I murmur to myself. “This works.”
Chapter One
Nora
Six months later
