That night, she went to the armory room and cleaned the sniper rifle with her usual precision, placing it back in its designated spot. Then she went to the kitchen and brewed herself a cup of tea. When she returned to the living room, Lucy was lying beside her on the sofa, her blue eyes fixed on her. She had accepted that people like her live in the shadows forever. She hadn’t chosen to become a killer; life—or rather, the death of her parents—had driven her down this path. At seventeen, on the night she had aimed at her parents’ murderer with a trembling hand, she couldn’t believe she could end someone’s life. But the world wanted a new life for her, and in that moment, something inside her died, and something else was born. Years later, that same trembling finger had become the most precise trigger finger in the underworld.
She came out of the bathroom, drying her hair with a soft towel, when a short, indistinct sound came from the direction of the entrance—the sound of something light striking the wooden floor. Lucy, who had been asleep by her feet, suddenly raised her head and pricked up her ears. Elina furrowed her brows. No one knew her real address, and even if they did, they certainly had no good intentions toward her. In silence, she tossed the towel onto the vanity table, retrieved the sidearm from the hidden drawer beside the door, and soundlessly stepped toward the entrance.
Behind the door, on the floor, lay a small envelope with a red seal bearing the emblem of a phoenix. There was no sender’s name on it, only that ribbon—like a mysterious spiral—wrapped around it. Elina stood motionless for several seconds, staring at the envelope—like a predator sensing the scent of a trap.