All For You

Twenty-six

Isla

Current time

The Plaza has an eerier feel to it than I remember. Three years ago, I was sent on a mission to assassinate an aristocrat for saying the wrong things to the wrong people. But the Plaza was much prettier back then.

Maybe it's just how I remember it—it was the first fancy place I had been sent to that was used by the public, which meant it would be harder to assassinate my target. But I wasn't worried about that. I was worried about how sparkly and divine it looked. I was worried that I'd stain the place with haunted blood, and it'd go to ruin, all because of me. What a waste, I'd thought, such a waste.

I should have known that one measly death couldn't bring a place as grand as the Plaza down. Now, standing at its oddly bland looking entrance, I wish I had brought it to ruin.

I wish I'd made that aristocrats death a bit bloodier so that nobody would have eaten here again.

Maybe it looks duller now because I know what's waiting for me inside. Maybe because all the pretty and extravagant I've known in my life has always been followed by bloodshed.

For the first time since my first ever mission, I hesitate. I have to take a deep breath before I go inside. I have to calm my nerves.

Back then, I knew it would always be better for me if I just got my missions over and done with. If I didn't let hope sink in and convince me there was another way. But back then, I didn't have my family to think about. Doing those missions kept them from danger—this mission is bringing them into it.

I'm not alone this time, and while everyone keeps reassuring me that that is a good thing, I'm not so sure.

I'm bringing them down with me. Thats how I see it. That's what this means for them. They're entering that dangerous zone between a normal life and turning into an unrecognisable monster.

It's all I can do to hope they're a little better at keeping their sanity than I am. It's all I can do to listen to the voice telling me it'll be okay. And the other one that's telling me I don't have a choice.

I'd like to think I do—turning around, walking away, finding another way into that damned party. But this is the only way. I've thought it through. Every night I couldn't fall asleep was because I was trying my damndest to find another option.

There isn't one.

Running from this means abandoning all the kids still stuck where I was lucky enough to escape from. Running means letting the organisation forever continue to torture little children into doing their dirty work for them. Running means giving in, letting them win, and if there's anything good the organisation taught me, it's that you should never let your enemies win.

"We can still go back." August is to my left, a step or two back, flanking me professionally with Warner on my right.

I was afraid having two body guards would be a bit too showy, even for a place like the Plaza, but there are men in black everywhere.

The men they're protecting are less dark and mysterious. Someone told them flashy was attractive, but they've gone too far. Most of them are wearing white suits with red or gold ties, but a few are adorned in red or blue and some purple. Gold teeth, branded shoes, expensive watches. As dull as the Plaza seems to have gotten, its residents have gotten much, much bolder.

Now I feel a bit underdressed. But I suppose thats a good thing. Montana, the girl I am tonight, sells her body for a living. She's not supposed to be as rich as the fools fluttering around the room before her. It's safe to say she spends most of her money on the bodyguards flanking her.