Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
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Winter
In the dimly lit room, the conductor stayed poised at the podium, raising the baton, motioning in time with the crescendo of magical sounds. When it was time, my bow met the instrument, and my fingers were on the strings, the song of my violin began to play. A piano played softly, the accompaniment to the song. Shortly after the orchestra and the union of finely tuned instruments took over the room, echoing around the walls.
My hair was tied back from my face, different to when I had left the flat with it down and loosely curled, but it was easier to play when it was back, only the front pieces of my hair were framing my face.
In the back of the room, nobody paid attention to us playing, filling their dinner with the prettiest melodies, underappreciated. I knew the song by heart, I didn't have to read off the sheet music positioned on the stand in front of me. The girl on the chair beside me took on the role of turning the page when needed, we had agreed on that before we began playing.
My eyes were busy scanning the room, searching for the target. Ian Coleman. Who was he? What did he do? I had no idea, and frankly I didn't really give a fuck. I had been given a name, a picture and location and was here to do one thing. I hadn't planned how I was going to do it yet, that's what my mind was currently occupied by.
The hall was large, filled with elegance and sophistication of the richest people in the country, all meeting and dining for a reason I was unaware of. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate chandeliers that cascaded a soft golden light onto the polished marble floors below. Tall arched windows lined one side of the hall, allowing the warm twilight glow in through the heavy red and gold velvet drapes.
There were ten or so circular tables throughout the room, each with a shining white table cloth, decorated with fine China and food, champagne bottles, polished silverware, a candlelit glow, plants in vases. Each with people sitting around them, all in their pretty dresses, each trying to outdo the other, the men all looked plain and simple, each in a black suit that I couldn't tell the difference between, al, of which I knew would be ridiculously expensive for a plain black blazer, white shirt and silly little bow tie.
Upon my scanning of the room, I spotted the target. I had studied his picture for a while and knew what he looked like. He was close to me, close enough that I could see his face, the wrinkles on his forehead when he raised his brows, the lines on his face when he smiled. His eyes were hidden behind and a thick framed pair of glasses, his hair thin but dark, slicked in a style I could tell he was using to help hide his hairline. He was dressed the same as everyone else, but at least now I could keep an eye on him.
It wasn't too long until the orchestra stopped. We got to have a break while the guests at the dinner got to eat in silence for a little while, the only sounds filling the hall now were the noises of their own chatter. It was the best way for me to blend in, disguising myself as someone that nobody paid attention to. Not once person at those tables had so much as glanced at the people playing for them.
