“I’m here,” she said in a raspy voice, immediately clearing .

 

“You are,” he answered, and she already knew that he was not content by the fact that she was limping, but that he was relieved that she had managed to arrive, and it was enough for him. “Get in here, I need to examine your leg.”

 

“I cleaned the wound and bandaged it, like you’d taught me.”

 

She could feel the roll of his eyes, as if he knew that she hadn’t done such a good job.

 

Her leg hurt, but he would take care of it, she knew, so she didn’t let it get to her. He’d taken care of much more serious wounds: gunshots, broken ribs, stabs, even burns. She could handle a little bite of a stray dog.

 

As she sat on the examining table, she breathed a sigh of relief, still not quite believing that she had managed to get here on her own.

 

But things had gone like she’d planned. She had stolen a car and driven to this place, her only real safehouse.

 

The one person she trusted and wanted to protect. Though he didn’t want her to, and though he didn’t agree with her choices. But in a way, she knew he understood.

 

What was there to understand, anyway?

 

She was a murderer, and a long time ago, just thinking about it made her flinch. She used to justify her actions, to give them some meaning because she was sure she’d go crazy if it were otherwise.

 

Well, she’d gone crazy a long, long time ago and she’d gotten comfortable at the bottom of the hole she’d sunk into.

 

He came back with his hands full of bottles with various kinds of pills. She didn’t even get the time to roll her eyes when he said, in a very unpleasant voice, “I don’t even want to hear you, Lamiya. You’ve been bitten by a dog and could’ve contracted a million different diseases - plus the wound got all purulent and needs to be disinfected.”

 

He was right, but somehow, she couldn’t find a single piece of her that actually cared about infections and bacteria.

 

“Whatever,” she said with another roll of her eyes, taking all the pills he was offering - making her drink, actually - and drinking them all in one stride.

 

Damn, she was thirsty.

 

“When was the last time you’d eaten something?” His voice was stern as he stood next to her, his hands crossed over his chest. She was annoyed by his behavior, so she had to keep reminding herself that deep, deep inside of himself he was actually worried about her.

 

It was the only reason why she hadn’t slit his throat yet, actually.

 

“You’re not my mom, Junmyeon,” she countered, determined to let him know she was annoyed with him. But when he didn’t flinch, she began wondering when she’d last had a meal - was it…

 

“I think the day before yesterday,” she said, refusing to look him in the eye and just wanting to get this over with already and get the hell out of that place. And then he wondered why she came by to see him only when she absolutely needed to. “I had breakfast…” She trailed off slowly, not daring to remember the detective or what had happened between the two of them.

 

Nothing. Nothing had happened, it was as simple as that. So she had nothing to think about, nothing to solve, nobody to kill before he said anyone that he knew how soft her lips were and how-

 

“So I take it that you’re eager to receive an IV infusion.”

 

She hated it when Junmyeon was like that. He knew how much she hated needles, yet he dangled them right in front of her nose every time he could. “Junmy-” she started warningly, but he cut her off.

 

“And not just that, I’m going to have to give you all kinds of vaccines, especially against rabies. You’ve been bitten by a dog, so we can’t take any chances.” She looked at him in fear, because she knew he was serious, but he still refused to look at her.

 

Junmyeon was five years older than her, and he was her only link to her past. He was always angry at her, he never approved of anything she did, yet every time she came knocking on his door, he left everything in his private ordination to stitch her up and give her a good old scolding that never had any outcome except for making her angry.

 

She remained silent as he cleaned her wound - properly this time, and she tried to memorize everything that he was doing to be able to actually do this stuff on her own someday. After zoning out for the millionth time in minutes, she kinda started doubting that would be happening anytime soon.

 

Junmyeon got up, wearing the mask of an indifferent man, though she knew underneath he was just a worried older brother with many, many retorts and complaints at the tip of his tongue that would soon find their way out of his mouth.

 

But not today. Please, just not today. She felt too out of it already, lightheaded and sure that if she got up now, she wouldn’t be able to stand on her feet. She strategically remained sitting on the examining table, pretending that everything was fine and that she wouldn’t have to be stabbed by tens of needles in a couple of minutes.

 

Junmyeon returned to her side too fast, and the IV tube with the stand was right next to him.

 

“Your face is all over the news,” he said as he cleaned the space where the needle would connect to her veins with alcohol.

 

“Again.” The needle stabbed her, and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying out.

 

She hated needles. Loathed them. Absolutely, completely wanted to not have to see another one in her life ever again.

 

“Is it at least a pretty photo?” she said through gritted teeth as another needle stabbed into her arm, releasing whatever liquid she didn’t need because she was fine.

 

It was only a couple of needles later and a few tears already streaming down her face - those traitors - that he answered. She hadn’t made a sound of pain, though. Her ego was too big for that.

 

Another stab. Was it ever going to end? “You look like a complete psychopath,” he said in an even tone. She laughed out loud. Of course. They always used some freakish filters on her photos to make her seem more sinister.

 

“What’d they do this time?” Her arms were getting numb and she wanted to swear at Myeon for doing this to her - he must’ve put some painkillers in there too, and after what happened two days ago, she didn’t trust painkillers anymore.

 

She struggled to focus, blinking a couple of times. Thankfully, her eyes were dry again. When she was sure she had a hold on herself again, she continued while her brother waited patiently. “Did they add me fangs or horns? You know, to make the whole monster thing more realistic?”

 

Now Junmyeon was the one to laugh. He shook his head at her while he cleaned a small cut she had no idea she even had on her left shoulder. “On the photo, you have orange hair,” he barely managed to say, bursting into laughter immediately.

 

“Orange hair?” she screeched in disbelief. “But I’ve never even dyed my hair in that color! What on Earth is wrong with those cops? They are making me look bad!”

 

Junmyeon just shook his head at her and she went back to watching him, content that he was smiling. His eyebrows were still furrowed, but he didn’t seem too angry at her - after all, she hadn’t killed anyone this time. At least not human, that was.

 

Myeon stopped before stabbing her with another needle when she shuddered. His eyes turned worried, and she wished she hadn’t remembered the whole encounter. “Lamiya,” he said gently. “What happened out there? I mean, I know the basics but… Those dogs could’ve torn you apart. It was reckless what you did - you shouldn’t have-”

 

“I know that, Junmeyon,” she cut him off, knowing that he’d been waiting the whole time just to start the whole scolding session. “And if I could’ve, I most certainly wouldn’t have ended up in the woods, running for life while six freaking hunting dogs were after me. But I had no choice, so just stop acting as if you have any idea about anything and get out of my-”

 

The bell rang, and her brother turned his head, but not before she saw the hurt in his eyes.

 

She couldn’t help herself. She destroyed everything and everyone around her, and that was exactly why she’d left in the first place.

 

She worked alone. And it would stay that way, no matter how much her brother wanted to be there for her.

 

Myeon got up, holding the syringe in his hands. He looked at her pointedly. “This is the last one. Your body is too numb to feel the sting anymore, so just stab it into your upper arm and empty the contents. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

 

He left the syringe next to her on the bed and got up to admit a patient or something. To go back to a normal life, in which he didn’t have to worry about his maniacal assassin sister that was dysfunctional and never listened to a thing he said.

 

She looked at the syringe for some time.

 

Then she pressed on it and emptied the contents into the air.

 

She’d received so many, she knew she was protected from all non-existent diseases anyway.

 

And then she closed her eyes and let her guard down for a moment, knowing she would be safe at this place.

 

The black blade remained firmly in her hands, though. Just in case.

 

Seven days later, she was in San Francisco. She was feeling fine, the wounds were getting better and she didn’t need medical attention anymore.

 

She needed money, though, and what better way than to earn some while getting some action?

 

This time, her target was a wealthy businessman with a shady past, involved in politics, bribe and crime. Like the majority of them. Some higher-ups did not want him making any more commotion, because he’d apparently decided to take the largest piece of the cake all for himself, and needed him out of the picture.

 

Or so they’d told her.

 

“You know, most of the things your customers will tell you are going to be total crap,” he said disgustedly. “But the key to remaining in this business is not thinking about it.

 

The moment you begin searching for answers and looking into it is the moment you start being vulnerable. If you can’t live with the consequences and the responsibility, then this job isn’t for you, Hella.”

 

“I can take it,” she whispered harshly, scared but not wanting to disappoint her teacher. “I won’t ever play the judge between my customer and their target. I’ll just finish the job and grab the money.”

 

“That’s a good girl,” he laughed, ruffling her hair. “But your time hasn’t come yet. In a couple of years, maybe… But for now just watch and learn.”

 

Then he turned around and shot the man tied in the chair behind them.

 

She forced herself not to turn away from the image.

 

She preferred assassinations from the distance. She’d have time to assemble and disassemble the sniper gun, run away and get the money before anyone had any idea that it was her in the first place.

 

But this time, she would have to do it in a different way. She hated having to get ready, having to act and all that, but the thing she hated the most was having to be there when it happened and not raising any suspicion.

 

Simply said, she hated masked balls.

 

She looked at herself in the mirror. She hated make-up, having to put jewelry on and tie her hair up.

 

As she got out of the bathroom, she looked down at herself and sighed in discomfort. She hated having to wear expensive silver shiny high heels. She hated having to wear a dress, though at least it was black.

 

But most of all, she hated having to leave the majority of her weapons in the hotel room. All she would carry would be a small purse containing the poison and the black blade beneath her dress.

 

Not nearly enough weapons. But there was no other way to get into the ball, since she’d be thoroughly searched, and she couldn’t fit many things into the hidden compartment in her dress.

 

It was more than enough, though. And when the mask was secured around her face, she would be safe. It would take some time for the poison to start working, too, so she would be able to get out unnoticed before anyone started suspecting anything.

 

She turned off the lights of the hotel room, leaving safety and heading into the unknown.

 

The detective was probably off somewhere at the other side of the country, working late into the night and trying to figure out where she’d strike next.

 

She smiled. Good.

 

Getting an invitation to the ball wasn’t an easy thing, but seducing Mr. Shepherd whose first name she didn’t even know turned out to be easier than expected. A random encounter on his way to work, a woman in desperate need of help carrying large boxes to her new apartment, a flash of skin here and there, a smudge at the edge of his lips and a card containing her phone number…

 

Well, maybe the Porsche had something to do with it, too - the man seemed to be more in love with the red car than with her, which she definitely wouldn’t complain about.

 

“I’m going in, Shepherd,” she said in a fake sugarcoat voice, her insides rolling only until she reminded herself that this was the only way to complete the job.

 

“I’ll be there in a minute, Jane, I just want to look at this beauty for a little while longer.” He didn’t even turn to her, which she was again grateful for, and she knew that the stolen car was her best idea yet because it would serve as a shield between her and the too-touchy slimy son of a millionaire.

 

She’d worried about strangling him and making a mess, actually, but it seemed as if things were going to go according to the plan, after all.

 

She handed her ID card with the name of Jane Morgan from South Carolina to the doorman. He didn’t look at it for longer than a second, though he wouldn’t have been able to find a single problem with it, no matter how hard he tried. She forged her documentation herself, because she didn’t believe anyone to do a flawless job at it.

 

So Jane Morgan was written into the book of guests without a problem, and she got the ID back while the doorman smiled at her. “Have fun, madam, and don’t forget to put your mask on, even though it will be a shame to hide such a beautiful, flawless face.”

 

Oh, he had no idea. She just smiled at him and put the mask on - it was black, of course, with silver patterns of birds on it. She’d wanted to choose the least memorizable one, but when she’d seen silver and black she found herself unable to pass the opportunity. And it wasn’t too much to take in, just like her clothes, especially not compared to all kinds of feather and gowns and ridiculous carpets that couldn’t even be called dresses that were all around her.

 

There were so many people in the ballroom - too many, and she took in a sharp breath, overwhelmed by the amount of people that could potentially identify her and end her career.

 

But her face was hidden by a mask, and her hair was pulled up. There was no reason for anyone to suspect she was the most wanted assassin in the world. In fact, if everyone was like Shephard, who was worshipping a car just because it was expensive, she doubted they even had any idea she existed.

 

So she let herself relax slowly, first by taking a glass of champagne from the waiter passing through the room, and then by taking a sip of it.

 

It was a mild drink that reminded her of boiled apple juice. She hated mild drinks. Scotch would’ve warmed her up to the whole concept of having to mingle with people, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to find it here. Not now, at least.

 

She steered clear of the dancing area, where the majority of dancers had no sense of rhythm or any kind of knowledge that balls were all about rules and dances with specific moves, not wanting to get caught up in all that mess. Instead she eavesdropped on conversations of politicians, always scheming something and criticizing someone when they were exactly the same.

 

She steered clear of the politicians’ wives and their gossip, too. There were couples hugging, some even kissing in the dimly lit corners of the giant hall, but no matter how hard she tried to find the host, she couldn’t. He was nowhere to be seen, at least not yet.

 

She knew that men like these respected tradition and that he must’ve wanted to show up with a speech and dramatization of his very being. She rolled her eyes. All the rich people were the same - spoiled, so lazy yet so obsessed with unimportant details that she wanted to puke.

 

A hand planted itself on her uncovered back. The dress had sleeves, primarily to hide the cuts and needle trails on her upper arms, but her back weren’t wounded so she let herself pick a dress that would leave a large portion of it uncovered.

 

And now Shepherd was touching her again. She made a warning sound, turning to look at the man she was going to kill before the night was over if he didn’t cut the whole touchy thing out already.

 

But the man standing in front of her wasn’t Shepherd. His hair wasn’t blonde, raising high into the air as if he was a freaking high school kid who found such things fascinating and needed a boost of self-confidence. His suit wasn’t white - thankfully, because it was making her dizzy and sick - and his shoes weren’t pointy and made out of crocodile leather. Yuck.

 

The man was a lot taller than Shepherd, too, and she found herself unable to identify him. He looked familiar, though, but how could it be possible for her to find someone who knew her in this place?

 

Only a few people knew her personally, after all.

 

His hands settled on her hips and she was about to kick him between the legs like he deserved, at least until his mouth pulled up into a smile and he said, “Shall we dance, madam?” playfully.

 

Chills went down her spine, down the place his hand had touched, wrapping around the hands that were holding her firmly in place.

 

It couldn’t be.

 

He couldn’t be here.

 

There was absolutely no possibility for him to appear at this place, so far away from whatever cardboard box he was living in and whatever police he was serving.

 

Her frozen state only spurred him on further, and he began pushing her towards the center of the room - where she would be seen, memorized and where she would have to dance and-

 

“No,” she said in a hushed whisper, stopping in her tracks. His hands were still pulling her by the hips, but they were still gentle. She found herself wanting that he wasn’t treating her this way, as if she was an actual woman he genuinely wanted to dance with, but at the same time, she knew that if things intensified even the slightest bit, they would cause a commotion and then she would be under the headlights, memorized by everyone and unable to complete her mission.

 

“You don’t want for me to start screaming out your name, now, do you?” he answered in an equally tense voice, though his brown eyes looked playful, just like the rest of him. His mask was also black and simple, like a man’s should and like she’d expect a detective to want to hide himself. Dull and boring.

 

But somehow, it made him look y, and it made her remember the way his bare chest looked. She wanted to see all that skin and muscle again.

 

“I said, Let’s dance,” he repeated in a bit louder voice, as if he wanted for the others to hear him. She heard women cooing in the background, and knew that whatever game this pumpkin-head was playing, it surely wasn’t going to end well for her.

 

She could do nothing but let him take her forward into the mass, outside of safety and into the world where people were swaying and attempting to follow the beat of some unknown slow classical song.

 

For the first time in a long time, she started feeling afraid. But not because the detective was here, because he would attempt to blow her cover, stop her from assassinating the host of the ball or because he would try to catch her and send her to a prison.

 

She’d just never danced before, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do.

 

She found herself staring at their feet, at the high heels that were most definitely not meant for the dance floor, and at the hands that were still on her hips, the thumbs moving as if trying to soothe her and make her feel comfortable. She swore at her brain to get out of the gutter and start thinking straight, because she would need a way out of this place, soon and fast.

 

“Not at the feet,” she heard him say. A hand left her hips to wrap around her chin and pull her head upwards until they were looking each other into the eyes. “Do you not know the first rule to dancing?”

 

She raised an eyebrow as the hand on her chin went to one of her hands, intertwining with it. It was so warm that she wondered if it’d leave burns on her skin. She sure hoped it would. “Don’t stumble and fall?” she tried, because it was the only thing she would advise anyone about dancing.

 

He leaned in, starting to sway in sync to the rhythm and taking her with himself, until his mouth was right next to her ear. “It doesn’t matter how well you can dance,” he whispered hotly. “It only matters with whom you dance.”

 

And so the dance began, with his lips on her cheek, planting small kisses there, and their bodies moving in what appeared to be a square-shaped path that kept repeating itself until she stopped thinking about it.

 

She could think about nothing but his hands, which were in safe places but which seemed to be radiating some feeling that was seeping into her and that she couldn’t get comfortable with. Though he was wearing a mask, to her eyes he was the same man from more than a week ago, the man who was hating her with his whole soul every moment of his life but who couldn’t help but feel as attracted to her as she was to him.

 

His mouth left her cheek but his face remained the only thing in her field of vision, smiling at her sheepishly as if he’d just drunk a love potion while they swayed in sync to the melody. One, left, two, right, three, forward…

 

“How come you’ve never danced before?” he asked in a light voice, and she blinked, trying to focus on the mission and wanting to get away but unable to do anything but count - four, left, five, backwards…

 

“I don’t dance, detective,” she tried to say loathingly, but her voice ended up sounding much like when she’d had to act with Shepherd. “And I don’t do any of this stuff, if you hadn’t noticed.”

 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, suddenly bringing her closer to himself, his hand now on her back as he turned them both around and took them further into the hall, towards the center. She started breathing heavily, unable to take much more of this, of his proximity and of the possibility that she could be caught and of the whole situation that was too surreal to be anything but a nightmare.

 

Her nightmare brought his lips to her neck and whispered, “Then I guess I should let you poison Mr. Yifan, shouldn’t I?”

 

The blood froze in her veins. How could he know any of this information? Why was she busted, and how could someone as stupid as him have managed to crack the code?

 

“Don’t play games with me,” she whispered, trying to push him away but finding herself unable to. The song was coming to an end. “Get the hell away from here before you make me do something you’ll regret.”

 

The music stopped. The detective smiled.

 

Then another pair of arms - cold and sweaty - brought her towards a man she would kill tonight. Screw the politicians, screw the whole ball - she would not let him get away with touching her in such an inappropriate way.

 

“Babe,” Shepherd said suggestively, attempting to dance to the new beat but being completely out of order and nearly falling onto the floor. Was he drunk already? “I barely managed to find you, but you look so dazzling tonight that I didn’t want to give up until you were in my arms.”

 

She tried to tell herself that bringing out the blade and slitting his throat would compromise her position.

 

It didn’t work.

 

Surprisingly, the detective’s hands wrapped around her wrists before she managed to get the blade out of her dress. “Calm down,” he whispered from behind her. Shepherd seemed completely unaware of the man, instead grinning at her as if she was the funniest joke in the world.

 

“C’mon, babe,” he slurred, giving up on the whole charade of dancing to throw himself at her, attempting a kiss, “I know you want me as much as I do. What do you say we-”

 

The detective’s hand wrapped around Shepherd’s throat.

 

She expected police sirens. Guns being pulled at her. Screams of horror.

 

But nobody seemed to be paying attention to the drama that was unfolding at the center of the room, everyone too caught up in their own dramas to be interested in a little fight between a drunk guy and a hot detective who was protecting his sworn enemy.

 

Yeah. Absolutely nothing strange there.

 

“You’ve got two seconds to leave,” Detective Kim growled as he put himself between her and Shepherd. “Or I’ll start breaking bones.”

 

With that, he twisted his wrist warningly, making him yelp in pain - thankfully, the music was too loud for the sound to be heard by anyone. Then he pushed at his chest and towered over him, his hands searching for Hella.

 

She quickly moved away. This was her chance. Perhaps her only chance to disappear - she could try again when Mr. Yifan organized another ball, he loved those - before the lunatic wrapped those same hands around her own throat.

 

She tried her hardest to walk fast, but not too fast to be considered strange. Even with the mask, she found herself staring at the ground and attempting to hide her face, turning to see whether the detective was following after her every second.

 

There was nobody behind her.

 

But apparently there was in front of her, because she hit into a strong chest with all her might, and she would’ve fallen - she hated high heels - had she not been caught by a pair of strong arms.

 

What was it with all the testosterone and manliness tonight?

 

She looked up to find herself in the arms of none other than Wu Yi Fan, the corrupted politician she was supposed to assassinate tonight.

 

There was silver in his hair, a twinkle in his royal green eyes, and the grin on his face promised that she wouldn’t get out of this one easily.

 

“Going so soon, Miss…” he started in a playful voice.

 

“Jane,” she said, just as she heard a voice behind her say, “Don’t think you can get away so easily, Hella!”

 

She started laughing, putting on her best stupid-girl face as she leaned closer towards Yifan. She hoped like hell this would work.

 

“Mr. Yifan,” she started in a girly voice, biting her lip and batting her eyelashes, “This man has been bothering me. I was planning to leave but… Can you take him away? Pretty please?”

 

He just grinned wider at her.