In The Dark

Part 23: Artemis

The darkness swallowed me as I stood in the senator's mansion, the silence so thick it felt like I could choke on it. My heart was calm, too calm, as if it had accepted what I was about to do. Every step was quiet, deliberate, a shadow in the house of the woman who had once been my mentor.

Evelyn.

Her name lingered in my mind like an old wound. She had been everything to me—more than just a teacher, more than just someone who shaped me into what I am. She had been the closest thing to a mother I ever had. But none of that mattered now. None of it could matter.

The mission was simple: make it look like a suicide. No questions, no loose ends.

I moved down the hallway, the weight of the gun in my hand familiar, comforting even. Every step I took echoed in my head, though the sound didn't carry in the stillness of the night. I could feel the coldness creeping over me, numbing the part of me that should have felt something.

I reached her room, the soft glow from the bedside lamp spilling out into the hallway, casting a long shadow. The door was slightly ajar. She always left it open, always aware of the world around her. Except tonight.

I slipped inside, my movements seamless. She lay there, peaceful, her dark hair spread out against the pillow like a halo. The rise and fall of her chest was steady, rhythmic, and for a moment, I just stood there. Watching.

Something twisted in my chest, something I couldn't name, but I forced it down. I had to. I was trained to.

My grip tightened on the gun. I could see it now—the gun in her hand, the note I would leave on her desk, the scene perfectly staged to fool even the best investigators. But I couldn't stop staring at her face.

Evelyn had always looked strong, invincible, even in moments of vulnerability. Now, she looked fragile.

I raised the gun, aiming it at her temple. One shot, clean. She wouldn't feel a thing.

But my hand trembled. Damn it, why was I hesitating?

Her voice echoed in my mind, a memory from years ago: *"We are defined by the choices we make, not the orders we follow. Remember that, Artemis."*

I cursed under my breath. She had always known how to get under my skin, even now, even as I stood ready to kill her.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a second. I couldn't afford to think about it. This was the job. This was survival. If I didn't do it, someone else would—and they wouldn't make it clean.

I opened my eyes and pulled the trigger.

The sound was louder than I expected in the quiet room, deafening, even. Her body jerked, then stilled, blood pooling on the pillow beneath her. I quickly placed the gun in her hand, positioning it just so. The note—written in her handwriting, forged perfectly—was already in my pocket, ready to be placed on the desk.

I looked at her one last time. She seemed... peaceful.

It was done.

But then, as I turned to leave, something inside me broke. I couldn't place it, couldn't even name it. Guilt? Regret? It didn't matter. I had completed the mission, just like always. Just like I had been trained to.

Except this time... this time it felt different. This time it felt personal.

As I stepped out of the room, the hallway stretching ahead of me, I felt a coldness settle deep in my bones. I had just killed the woman who had saved my life. And there was no going back.