Unseen

Chapter 12

The man lay facedown in his dinner plate, his own steak knife buried in the base of his skull. The smell of rare steak mingled with the more familiar odor of blood. Two taper candles flickered on the table in front of him, and the light tinkle of classical music filled the air. Even dining alone at home, it seemed, this man preferred to turn his meals into an experience.

Delta-Nine-308 didn't know how to think of the target besides this man. This time, Yvette hadn't even given her a name.

She had accomplished her mission. The target was dead, the flow of blood onto the plate already slowing. She had nothing left to do here.

But she didn't turn away. Not yet. She might have been done, but she didn't feel done. Something felt... off. Incomplete.

It wasn't the assassination itself. She had done it exactly like Yvette wanted. Something new, something a little showy, something that would make it obvious that the man had not died of natural causes.

And she had left no trace. She had snuck into the house while invisible. The staff had all gone home for the night—Yvette had told her this target preferred to dine late and in solitude. She hadn't left any fingerprints in the house.

She wasn't sensing a misstep. It was more like... an absence.

The excitement. That was what it was. The flutter of her heart in her chest. The feeling of limitless possibility that had once made her twirl in the middle of the street before entering her target's house to complete her mission.

Tonight, she almost wished Yvette hadn't come to her with a mission at all. Then she could have stayed home—stayed in Yvette's house, she corrected herself—and watched more TV. Maybe tried one of the foods she hadn't tried yet—she still hadn't made an attempt at the microwave popcorn. She could have read a book, or taken a bath, or simply enjoyed the novelty of staring out the window.

But the thought of going back home—to Yvette's house, Yvette's house—didn't spark any excitement, either. Because looking out the window wasn't a novelty anymore, not really. None of it was.

She had never thought it would be possible, but she was growing bored with TV. And with cookies. And with lying on the couch.

She checked her watch. It didn't tell her anything useful. Unlike Joss, her driver never set up a meetup time. It would take as long as it took, he had said when she had asked.

She could stay here all night if she wanted. Staring down at the target's cooling body. Trying to figure out what it was she wanted.

She turned away. Maybe once she was settled back in on the couch, she would forget about her quiet longing for the excitement she used to feel.

That didn't happen. Back on the fourth floor, with the bracelet wrapped around her wrist once again, she shifted on the couch and tried to get comfortable. Why didn't it feel as good as it used to? Did it take so little time to get accustomed to luxury?

She turned on her usual cartoons, but turned them off again after a few minutes when she found her mind wandering. She tried a movie. Then another. She couldn't understand even half of what was going on in either one, but that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was this dissatisfaction nagging at the back of her mind.

She found herself walking toward the bedroom. Then into the closet. She stared up at the jagged hole in the ceiling. It was still there. It hadn't been discovered yet.

But the thought of escape was even less appealing now than it had been when she had chickened out. If this place was starting to bore her, how much worse would home be, with its white walls and bland food and hours of training drills?