“I have a bad feeling about this one, Aran. Something just feels . . . off,” Amy said, her terse voice crackling through my ear piece. I am really fucking pissed to hear she’s getting the same energy from this excursion as I am. Especially since I was already on the fortieth floor of the fucking building.

  “Shit. I was hoping that was just me.” I responded, groaning inwardly. I couldn’t even put my finger on why, but the whole operation had the stink of death. And not just because that was the entire point. The confirmation that her trepidations were shared was all she needed.

  “We can still pull out. Head back to the hotel. I’ll draw a bath for you, cover the place with fuckin rose petals. We can make a day of it. But this . . . this feels wrong. Aran, I’m scared,” she answered. That sent a chill down my spine. Amy was never scared. Never. Not without the presence of very real danger. And she’d suggested anything romantic even less frequently. As in, that time alone. I glanced over my shoulder as my heart rate rose. Fuck.

  I could feel the cameras, from their little domes on the ceiling, crawling over me. Amy had turned them off from the van, but somehow I could still feel them. Oakley was responsible for so much pain. So much death. The world deserved a chance to move on without him. But I trusted Amy. She didn’t have some supernatural ability, but she did have a keen eye and a sharp subconscious. She’d picked up on something, even if she didn’t know what. So had I. Trusting that instinct had always kept us alive before.

  There were still no guards. Oakley wouldn’t risk himself, even for a trap, and Amy had confirmed he was here. Still. There should be at least one guard on patrol. Especially as individual cameras faltered briefly, one at a time. I knew guards tended to ignore the cameras but . . . it didn’t sit right. Oakley had refused to appear in public. He’d been sleeping somewhere in the building even. No one else has been this terrified of me, or reacted with this much caution. We already hated that we had to go there to get to him; it was far more secure and took a lot more effort to get into. Mostly effort on Amy’s part, which meant if she wanted to back out, forcing her to do all of it again another day, she was more on edge than I’d ever seen her. More afraid than I’d ever seen her.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “We need to re-group. I feel it too. Watch my back Valentine, I’m headed to you.” I responded. I used her call sign, sourced from a video game the same as mine. She sighed in relief, loud enough for the speaker to pick it up. Neither of us was fond of this, and both of us were ready to bolt like a rabbit at the first sign of trouble.

  “Thank Christ,” she replied. “Get back here as quickly as you can.” I dutifully turned on my heel and complied. My heart was beating faster and harder. I’d done this a dozen times and never had nerves like that. To this day I don’t know how we figured it out. How we realized. But I returned to the elevator with a brisk walk.

  I needed to calm my nerves, so I whispered to my friend as I walked. “Rose petals? When the fuck did you become a romantic? I thought you chose ‘Valentine’ to be ironic,” I teased. Not to actually get under her skin but to distract both our pounding hearts. She understood this immediately and chuckled nervously.

  “No, romance is still well outside my palate. But I know you like it and I really want you the fuck out of there,” she responded honestly. She did follow it up with a more light-hearted tone, however, following my lead. “Besides, we both know we never would have made it to either a flower shop or the bath.”

  I choked back a nervous but amused chuckle. She wasn’t wrong. With adrenaline like that in our veins, we wouldn’t have the patience for romance even if we had such a relationship. ”Fair enough,” I agreed. “I can be sappy, and I’ll acknowledge that proudly. On the other hand I’m a bit too anxious to be hot and bothered either. How about we get a drink instead?”

  “Fuck,” she whispered in response.

  “Bit of a one-track mind, huh?” I joked nervously.

  “I’ve been made. Aran, get the fuck out of there!” She warned, pure panic in her voice. “Use the stairwell, don’t bother hiding. They know you’re there. They’re evacuating Oakley already. The elevators are locked down. Shit, I have to find a new spot. I’m going dark for a while. I’ll come back for you just . . . get out. I’ll . . . I’ll see you soon.” My heart sank and my stomach twisted.

  The stairwell. I was forty floors up. Forty fucking floors. If it was that bad, if Amy had to run . . . I wasn’t getting out of there alive. “A . . .” I started, before she could disconnect. “Valentine. Just get out of here. You know as well as I do that there’s only one option left.”

  She was quiet for a moment. But the silence carried novels of understanding. “Annie,” she replied, the use of my real name an acknowledgement that hiding my identity was pointless. “I’m so sorry. I’ll come back for you, just in case. But . . . Send him to hell.”

  “I will,” I agreed. I paused only briefly before whispering, “Goodbye. Thanks for everything.”

  Her response was barely a whisper, in a low enough range I could barely hear the strangled cry behind it. “Goodbye, Annie.” Then the line went dead and I never spoke to Amy again.

  I knew I was going to die. Or at least be arrested and, eventually, get the death penalty. Legally I’d been named a ‘terrorist’, which didn’t really apply, but it’s a label that would give them options if they caught me alive. Which meant I would only have the chance to do one last thing for the world. And with that chance I intended to scrub that stain of a man from its surface.

  I kicked off my heels and rushed to the executive elevator, the same I used to get to that floor. It was direct, and I was only able to use it once Amy wormed her way into the building’s security system. It would also be where the private rent-a-cops brought Oakley to evacuate him safely. It would be smarter to lock him down somewhere, but he’d be too terrified to stay on the same floor as me. He’d demand to leave, and Amy had confirmed the evacuation attempt herself.

  I ran past the comically large offices and failed to avoid the perfectly functional cameras. I had no time, and it didn’t matter anymore. I pulled my pistol from my suit coat as I moved, knowing I may not have the extra time to pull it when I caught up. I only had the one magazine. I knew if I got into a situation where I needed more, I was already dead. So I pulled out a hand taser as well.

  It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. I rounded a corner and I saw them through the half-glass walls of an empty conference room. I ducked as soon as I did, creeping to the corner and peering around. Their backs were turned. This was my chance.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  I moved as quickly as I could while remaining quiet, an easier task when wearing stockings than heels. I was dressed in an outfit chosen to blend in. To offer a plausible excuse for my presence if I was caught. Also an outfit not designed for active pursuit. Or for walking while crouched, considering the pencil skirt. I’d have chosen a pantsuit but skirts are apparently an unwritten requirement, at least on this floor. But I’d chosen a flexible enough material and at least I was quiet.

  Finally, I was close enough. I hadn’t been noticed. I had the cover of a room full of cubicles. I wasn’t as strong back then; I had no mana, and no steel arm. But I was a good shot. Security flanked my target, but they were preparing to turn. When they did, I would have a few seconds with a clear line of sight on him. A few seconds to become his ending.

  I would die as soon as I did. I knew that. Those guards would turn their weapons on me, and I’d have nowhere to run. But after everything he’d done, it was worth it. He and I were both about to die. I blew a curl out of my face as I aimed, leading the shot a bit to account for his movement.

  Rapidly, they reached the turning point. I took a deep breath, placing just the first pad of my right index finger on the trigger. I used my left hand to steady the gun as I hid half my body behind a cubicle. I measured my breathing, timing it so I could pause after exhaling at the exact moment I had a clear line of sight on him.

  Then it came and . . . It was the wrong man. ‘Shit. Shit shit shit.’ That word rang through my head over and over. A fucking decoy. I ducked behind the cubicle, but it was too late. I’d been on the cameras this entire time, and someone had been watching the decoy group. I got too close, and it quickly became clear they had spotted me as gunshots rang out around me. Bullets ripped through the cubicle I was hiding behind and forced adrenaline through my veins.

  I crouched, moving as quickly as I could. I had concealment, but not true cover. A voice came over my earpiece, but it wasn’t Amy’s.

  “There you are,” the familiar voice teased. I recognized it immediately, from a thousand videos, interviews, and deranged podcasts. The man I came here to kill was speaking directly to me. “Annie Beckett, is that right? Not who I expected to finally come for me. But it’s no matter. The game is up. I was never there. You are trapped with no one but my security team. And you will die for nothing. What a waste of a decent body and child-bearing hips. You’d have found more success as a mother, I think. You and Amelia Marriner. Yes. We know who she is. We know where she is. And we’re going to kill her too.”

  I didn’t respond. They may have had me on camera, but the guards firing in my direction didn’t need the aid of my voice. Panic tried to grip me as he mentioned Amelia’s name, but I knew he was lying about at least one thing. I had to hope he was lying about knowing where to find her too. I didn’t want to think about how he got our names. Or about how he was speaking through our secure line. But I knew one thing for sure.

  He was there. Whatever he said, I knew that much. This was no trap, not at first. If it was a swat team would have been systematically clearing the floor, with guards on every exit. They certainly wouldn’t have needed a decoy. He was there, and he was watching me. Trying to draw me away from him. Trying to incite a direct confrontation with security, and even try to escape, further distancing myself from him whether I died or not. It wouldn’t work.

  The world cried out around me with exploding gunfire and office debris. They were going to close in on me sooner rather than later. Cubicles aren’t known for their complex structure and I wasn’t even inside of them. But I knew where to go. Not every computer in the building would have the software necessary to watch the cameras. And the security office was on the ground level. Which left one, obvious place. Well, two. But one was too obvious. I had to risk it. I had to run. I fired a couple rounds backward, toward my opponents, buying myself precious seconds to run back to the hallway I’d come from. I hadn’t bought enough time, however, as I barely managed to make it before their return fire rang out through the building.

  They shattered the conference room glass and I screamed as a bullet tore into my left shoulder, but I kept running, even as my stockings were torn by the glass I had to run over. Every step was agony. My left arm was losing strength and the taser I held with it was growing heavier.

  “Now, where exactly do you think you’re going? Do you think running will save you?” Oakley asked, failing to keep the slight tremor from his voice. Yeah, he was there alright, and he was exactly where I expected. Growing worried as I ran right to him. My head was getting lighter as I bled. All I could think was ‘Fuck, this is a shit show’. I growled through the pain as I ran. I desperately wanted to stop and pull the glass from my feet, but I couldn’t. I left red stains with every step. Blood ran down my arm. I started to feel sick. But I wouldn’t stop. I had to take extra turns, running the long way around to stay out of the line of sight of my pursuers. But I was almost there.

  An officer's weapon flagged past a corner just as I reached it, his hands extending into view before he turned the corner. I didn’t have time to aim carefully nor a steadying hand, but I was much closer, enough that I could almost reach out and grab him. Almost. But I couldn’t risk hand to hand combat. Not in that body, and not in that state. Instead I fired a round directly into his hand, knocking the weapon away and finally drawing someone else's blood and screaming into the fight. I didn’t stop there, crying out in pain as I forced my left arm up and jammed the taser into his neck just as we both rounded the corner.

  It knocked him flat, although the effect wouldn’t last long. I grabbed his gun from the ground and tucked it into the back of my irritating, and seemingly ripped, skirt. When he recovered, I’d have the advantage, if I needed it. If I hadn’t made it to Oakley yet.

  “Leave now or I’ll make sure you die slowly!” Oakley screamed into my ear. “I will wear your fucking entrails around my neck as a tie I swear to God!” His screaming could do nothing. I’d found it. The door to his vice-president's office. I remembered it from the map Amy drew for me. Not his office, he’d be at least smart enough not to stay there, but the only other room with executive access to security cameras. At least the only one he could get to quickly.

  I responded to him for the first time. “How about you wear my testicles on your chin instead,” I offered, then I fired a round into the door. I’d fired four rounds total at that point, with eleven left in the magazine. I didn’t know how many were in the gun I’d taken. But eleven would be enough. I slammed my right shoulder into the door, bursting into the room. And there he was. Oakley the coward. Oakley the soon to be dead. Standing behind a desk and in front of a massive window. I had seconds. Seconds before I took a bullet to the back. Oakley tried to raise his own gun, but fumbled it, instead only holding defensive hands up to me as his iron fell loudly to the desk. He wore agonized panic like you and I wear scars.

  I pulled the trigger. There was no chance of missing. He was right in front of me, and I was aiming for the head. Less than a second later, before the glass was even finished shattering from my own shot, a bullet tore into my back. This sent me spinning and filled my mouth with blood. I was losing vision. Losing consciousness. Then another hit me, and another. I stumbled, catching myself on the desk. Oakley was gone. I thought he was on the ground. I tried to find him, and stumbled closer to the now shattered window.

  I don’t know how many times I was shot after that. I stopped feeling them. There was more than one shooter, I am certain of that. All I know is I was in pain. I was bleeding. Then I was falling. And falling. And falling. I don’t remember hitting the ground. I don’t know whether the fall killed me or if I died on the way down. I’m pretty sure it was the impact. But it was over, and the only consolation I had was that I got to shoot Oakley first.

  After that, there was no time at all, but there were also seven gentle years. Seven years of calm and family. Only an instant and an entire childhood. Two conflicting perspectives. My death was both a fresh and old wound, but mostly old. As sudden as it was, it felt like it had long healed an instant after it happened. The wound of my sudden death had already turned to an old scar when I felt a sudden, sharp, and all-consuming cold. Like I had been thrown into a bath of ice water.