A Fatal Accomplice

5.

The next few days slipped by in a blur, with me spending most of my time in my room, deliberately avoiding Lupe. It wasn't difficult—if I stayed behind the closed door, the world outside couldn't reach me. Alma, the cleaning lady, kept me company instead. I'd learned her name the day she brought me a tray of food and, in her quiet, unassuming way, began taking care of me. She was patient, like a soft but unyielding presence, always making sure I ate, bathed, and most importantly, kept Lupe and Jay from disturbing me.

It was odd, really, watching her gently herd them away from my door, especially since Jay didn't seem to mind. It was as though Alma had become a silent guardian between me and the outside world. She was a woman of few words but knew exactly how to handle him, as though she were his mother—sometimes, I wondered if she was the one in charge.

One afternoon, I sat on my bed, a book propped in my lap, a granola bar in hand, its wrapper still sealed, waiting for the right moment to eat it. The room was still, the faint rustle of the pages the only sound. I'd barely gotten lost in the words when Jay barged in without knocking, his grin stretching wide, like he had a secret to share.

"Is that breakfast or lunch?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on the granola bar.

"Both," I replied absently, never lifting my eyes from the book, my voice flat and uninterested.

He didn't seem to take offense, and instead, his grin grew wider, the playful gleam in his eyes undeterred. "You wanna go on a mission with us?"

I raised an eyebrow, still not looking at him. "It's dangerous."

"So was MI6," he shot back, his tone casual but edged with that familiar confidence. "But you did it anyway, didn't you?"

I sighed, closing my book and setting it down, finally meeting his gaze. "Fine," I muttered, the challenge in his eyes too tempting to ignore. "But why do you want me there? Missing numbers or something?"

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice, like he was revealing something personal. "Because I've seen your work. And, despite my better judgment... I trust you."

I raised an eyebrow, my skepticism clear. "You don't know me well enough to trust me."

His smile softened, but the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. "Let me get to know you, then."

I couldn't help but smile as I locked eyes with him. For a moment, the world outside seemed to fade, and all I could see was the depth of sincerity in his gaze—genuine wonder and a quiet admiration that felt almost out of place, as though he had just discovered something rare and precious. It was the kind of look that made you wonder if he truly saw the person behind the walls, beyond the surface. The weight of it lingered between us, unspoken, but heavy.

"You want to meet the team?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of excitement, as if this invitation was somehow more than just a simple offer—it was a possibility, a bridge to something I hadn't fully decided if I wanted to cross.

I took a slow breath, letting the moment settle before responding. The words came out soft, almost a whisper, but with an undercurrent of something unspoken, something I wasn't ready to admit just yet. "Sure."

I was led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway, the overhead lights flickering sporadically, casting long, unsettling shadows on the cracked walls. The smell of dust and stale air hung in the silence, and each step I took seemed to echo too loudly in the hollow space. The doors that lined the corridor were old, their paint chipped and faded, some with scratches and dents that spoke of years of wear.

As we approached each door, Jay's movements were deliberate, almost methodical. He'd place his hand on a biometric scanner, or sometimes punch in a series of numbers with a swift, practiced motion. With a soft click, the door would unlock, and we'd move on, each one feeling like another layer of secrecy peeled back. I couldn't help but wonder what lay behind all those other doors.

Finally, the hallway widened, opening up into a large, cavernous room. The space stretched out before me, and the sight that greeted me felt almost surreal. The walls, once probably a crisp white or beige, were now faded and peeling, the paint flaking off in patches, revealing the bare, exposed concrete beneath. It was the kind of room that had seen better days—neglect had long since taken its toll.

Scattered across the floor and along the walls were various gym equipment, old and worn. Dumbbells lay in uneven piles, some with rust stains, others covered in dust. A few neglected exercise machines sat abandoned, their metal frames creaking with age. The air in here felt heavy, like it hadn't been disturbed in a long time, and the faint hum of a distant fan seemed to be the only sound, barely enough to cut through the stillness.

It was a place that seemed to exist outside of time—forgotten, like a hidden layer of the world no one bothered to remember.

The room was thick with tension, and the only thing that felt out of place was the people. Their expressions were dark—sharp eyes, tight jaws, the kind of faces you see on people who've been through things that leave scars, visible and otherwise. It was the look of predators. The air around them felt heavy, like something was waiting to happen. I tried to mimic their expressions, the coldness, the hardness, but it didn't come naturally. I wasn't one for pretending, especially not when I didn't feel it. I was about to give up when they all turned in unison, their gazes fixing on me as if I'd suddenly become the center of attention.

Two men broke away from the group, their eyes narrowing as they moved toward me, the leader of them—a tall guy with a jagged scar running down his cheek—gave me a slow, mocking smile. "Jay, I see you got a girlfriend," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "You really want her here? She might chip a nail."

I couldn't help but smile, but it wasn't from humor—it was a small, almost imperceptible smirk, the kind that told them I wasn't intimidated.

I leaned in slightly, the words slipping out with a cool bite. "And aren't you sure you might scuff your shoes?" I said, my eyes scanning the polished leather boots he was so proud of. "You seem like the type."

The smile on his face faltered. His eyes narrowed, and his posture stiffened. He took a step toward me, the kind of step that felt like a challenge. "You think you're funny, princess?" His voice dropped lower, colder. "Let me tell you something about me—I don't play nice."

I didn't flinch. Instead, I walked past him, heading toward the corner of the room where I'd spotted a mini indoor shooting range. I was beyond in the mood for games. My hand found the automatic sniper, its weight settling comfortably in my grip. I slid into position without hesitation, and the moment my finger touched the trigger, it was like my entire body shifted into focus. One shot. Two shots. Three. Each one hit its mark with precision, no hesitation, no wasted motion. The rhythm was familiar. Natural. By the time the clip ran dry, I had taken out every target in sight.

I turned to face the man, the same one who thought he could intimidate me. His face had changed—harder, more incredulous—as if he hadn't expected me to actually back up my words.

I gave him a smile that was all teeth, cold and sharp. "I don't either."

Jay stepped between us, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Carl, this is Quinn Sulliven," he said, his tone strangely formal, as if introducing a partner at a business meeting. "The assassin I helped last month."

I walked toward Carl, my movements deliberate, my gaze never leaving his. He seemed to stiffen, his expression hardening further as I closed the distance. I stopped just short of him, my stance open but not unguarded.

"Hi," I said, my voice calm but laced with something unspoken. Something that said I didn't need to prove anything to him—but I would, if I had to.