When Gwen left the hotel, the streets of Paris had already transformed into something else under the night’s veil. The adrenaline rush following the assassination was fading, replaced by an eerie calm. She wanted a short walk before getting into a taxi. The click of her heels echoed against the cobblestone, the sky was gray, and drunken French melodies drifted faintly from the Seine.

  That’s when she noticed it.

  Someone’s footsteps were in sync with hers.

  She caught the reflection in a shop window—someone was tailing her, and they were close.

  Gwen turned abruptly into a narrow alley and stopped. When she spun around—no one.

  She was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when a voice came from over her shoulder:

  "Flawless work. Vellmont never saw it coming."

  Gwen reached for her weapon, but before she could even touch it, something stopped her cold.

  The man's voice was calm, yet laced with command.

  "We have an offer for you. Refusal may not be an option."

  Gwen narrowed her eyes, studying the man before her. Black suit, half his face cloaked in shadow, dark glasses that acted like a mask in the night.

  "Who are you? And why are you following me?" she asked, a blend of anger and curiosity in her voice.

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  "I'm merely an interface," the man replied. "We're in every city. This isn’t a recruitment. It’s destiny calling."

  He stepped closer.

  "Be on the rooftop of Le Signal building at 09:00 AM tomorrow. If you're there, you might live. If you're not..."

  He took a step back, disappearing into the shadows.

  "...we’ll still find you."

  Gwen stood frozen. He had been watching her. Maybe all night… maybe longer.

  She left the street and entered the nearest luxury hotel’s restroom. She peeled off her elegant dress quickly. Beneath the glamorous evening wear was a sleek, black tactical suit. After all, transforming from queen of the night to killing machine only took her minutes. But this time... something was different.

  First, Vellmont’s death. Then that man watching her from the shadows... Her mind was foggy. Her stomach twisted. She dropped to her knees over the toilet—and threw up.

  It happened after every mission. Not fear. Not nerves. It was something else. Deep inside, something human still lingered. The nausea after each job—her soul’s silent protest.

  She pulled herself together. Splashed cold water on her face. Took a deep breath. Then grabbed her comms device.

  "Job’s done. I’m leaving the scene," she said, her voice shaky but clear.

  Her handler responded immediately:

  "Payment’s been transferred. Check your account."

  With the comms still on, she glanced at her phone notification:

  €80,000 has been deposited to your account.

  She spoke again:

  "When’s the next job?"

  The reply was short and final:

  "Wait for our word."

  Gwen looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the person staring back. The mission was over. Normally, she’d be tucked away in some hidden bar sipping whiskey, or maybe red wine by the Seine...

  But not tonight.

  Vellmont’s death was one thing, but that mysterious man and the unsettling quiet that followed... None of it felt like the usual game.

  By now, she should’ve moved on. Waiting for the next kill. But that unease—persistent.

  No one could scare her. Death? For Gwen, it had become more familiar than life itself.

  She would go to the meeting spot tomorrow morning.

  And there was only one question on her mind:

  How much could she make off her new boss?

  Threats, games, killings... They had always been part of her life.