I sat outside a café, hidden beneath a cap and sunglasses—more disguised than I'd ever been. Sneakers, earphones, a leather jacket, and a cigarette completed the look. To my surprise, no one recognized me. Not even the people walking in and out of the NYPD building right across from me.
----
It felt almost ridiculous—an AWOL agent sitting right in front of the agency, wrapped in a disguise bold enough to be laughable.
"Serena, you there?" I murmured softly into my earphones.
"You're holding up, Waller," she replied, her voice firm and edged with urgency. "We just need to identify your replacement. Once we know who they sent in, we can avoid making any desperate moves to track down the leak inside the agency."
And then I spotted a familiar silhouette stepping out of a black SUV with tinted windows.
A woman—confident stride, dark shades—but even through them, I recognized her instantly.
"Tina Cole Williams? What the hell is she doing in New York?" I muttered under my breath.
"Wait—Tina the Wolf? Why is she in New York?" Serena's voice broke in, tinged with something I'd never heard from her before: concern. We'd spent time together, shared a few heart-to-heart moments, but not once had she ever let worry slip into her tone.
---
Serena's concern tightened something in my chest. If she was worried, then this was already bigger than anything I'd prepared for.
Tina didn't linger by the SUV. She scanned the street with the cold precision of someone who'd memorized every escape route before stepping out of the vehicle. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, tucked behind her ear in a way that meant business, not beauty. She adjusted her coat, whispered something into her wrist mic, and headed straight for the NYPD building.
"She's not supposed to be on U.S. soil," Serena murmured. "Last I checked, she was stationed in Berlin."
"Yeah, well," I said, keeping my head low, "Berlin must be too quiet for her."
A beat of silence. Then Serena spoke again, voice lower, more controlled. "Waller… if Tina's here, it's not just about replacing you. Someone high up is pulling strings."
The hairs on my neck rose.
Tina paused just a few feet from me—close enough that if she looked once, really looked, she'd pierce right through my disguise. She took out her phone, typed something fast, then slipped it back into her coat. For a moment, her head tilted, like she sensed the air shift.
My pulse hammered.
"Serena," I whispered, barely moving my lips, "Tina's acting like she's hunting."
"She is," Serena replied. "And if she's here, Waller… she's hunting you."
Tina turned sharply toward the entrance of the NYPD building, but not before glancing in my direction—just a flicker, a second too long.
She didn't recognize me.
Not yet.
But the game had officially changed.
---
A swarm of thoughts collided in my head—how the hell was I supposed to outrun a Wolf and still track down whoever unleashed her? From everything I'd heard and seen of Tina over the years, she wasn't just an agent. She was the agency's wildfire—sent to scorch the earth clean whenever a threat slipped through the cracks. If there was a rat in the system, she was the one they deployed to smoke it out.
And now she was here. In New York. Because of me.
Tina reached the building's steps, then abruptly stopped.
Not good.
"She's changing her route," I muttered.
"Waller, stay calm. Don't draw attention," Serena warned.
Too late.
Tina turned her head—slow, deliberate—and scanned the street like a predator catching a scent. I kept my chin down, tugged the cap lower, and flicked ash from my cigarette to look casual. But my pulse was rattling like a loose bolt in a runaway train.
Suddenly, a crackle erupted in Tina's earpiece. She froze, listening.
Then her eyes snapped in my direction.
Damn.
I shot up from my seat in one fluid motion, pretending to adjust my jacket, and started walking fast down the sidewalk. Not running—running would give me away. But Tina was already moving. I caught her reflection in the glass of a storefront: she'd changed pace too, weaving through pedestrians like they were static obstacles.
"Serena," I hissed under my breath, "she's on me."
"Waller, get off the main road. Take 41st—there's a maintenance alley."
I cut left sharply. Traffic blared, a horn blasted, a taxi swerved—right between Tina and me. A perfect momentary shield.
I slipped into the alley.
Footsteps echoed behind me.
Not pedestrians.
Not casual.
Controlled.
Measured.
Hunting.
I vaulted over a stack of crates, slid behind a dumpster, and yanked off my sunglasses. I needed clearer vision. My breath came in steady, controlled bursts.
Then a shadow stretched across the alley.
Tina's silhouette.
She wasn't rushing. She was enjoying the chase.
"Waller," Serena whispered, "whatever you do—do not let her get close."
No pressure.
____Tina stepped deeper into the alley, each footfall slow and deliberate. She wanted me to hear her coming—wanted me to feel the pressure build. That was her style: psychological warfare before physical.
I stayed low behind the dumpster, steadying my breath. My fingers brushed the small tactical knife strapped inside my boot—last resort only. A Wolf wasn't someone you fought; she was someone you avoided.
A faint metallic click echoed.
She'd drawn her sidearm.
Great.
"Waller, talk to me," Serena whispered urgently.
"She's armed," I breathed. "And she's close."
Tina stopped just a few yards away. I saw her boots first—black, reinforced, the kind they issued for high-risk extractions. She bent slightly, examining the scuff marks on the concrete like a tracker reading footprints.
She found mine.
Her head lifted slowly, and for a split second, I felt her eyes burning through the shadows.
No choice.
I pushed off from the dumpster, sprinting toward the far end of the alley. Tina moved instantly—no hesitation—fast, too fast. A gunshot cracked behind me, ricocheting off a pipe above my head. Steam blasted out, filling the alley in a choking white cloud.
"Shit!" I coughed, ducking low as boiling air hissed behind me.
"Waller, move!" Serena barked.
I vaulted a chain-link fence, landing on the other side with a jolt of pain shooting up my ankle. No time to care. I limped forward, adrenaline forcing my legs to obey.
Another shot rang out—closer this time.
She'd climbed the fence in seconds.
I ducked into a narrow passage between two abandoned buildings. The light dimmed, the walls closing in. It was a dead-end zone—stupid to enter.
Perfect for an ambush.
I pulled my backup comm device from my pocket—a tiny jammer. With a flick of my thumb, it buzzed to life, scrambling signals within a small radius.
Serena's voice cut out instantly.
No more guidance.
Just instincts.
Tina slid into the passage behind me, gun raised, her breath even and unhurried. She wasn't firing now. She wanted a clean capture. She wanted me alive.
"Waller," she called out, her voice calm and icy, "you're making this harder than it needs to be."
I pressed my back against the wall, crouched beside a rusted metal door. My heart pounded but my hands were steady.
"Come out," Tina said, taking another step. "Dead or alive wasn't the order. Don't make me change it."
Her shadow drew close.
I gripped the door handle.
Three…
Two…
One—
I kicked it open with all my weight. The metal slammed into her arm, knocking her gun sideways. She staggered—but only for a heartbeat.
Then she lunged.
I rolled under her swing, scraping my palms on the concrete, and bolted for the emergency ladder bolted to the wall. I grabbed the bottom rung, hauled myself up, climbed fast.
Tina recovered instantly.
A hand clamped around my boot.
I kicked back—once, twice—my heel striking her forearm. She grunted but didn't let go. Wolves never let go.
Her fingers tightened.
And then—
A siren wailed from the street behind us. NYPD patrol.
Tina's grip loosened, just a fraction.
I took the chance.
Kicked again—hard.
She lost hold.
I climbed, scrambling onto the rooftop, chest heaving.
Below, Tina stared up at me—expression unreadable behind her shades—before stepping back into the shadows.
The hunt wasn't over.
It had just begun.
---
I stayed on the rooftop for a moment, catching my breath as the city noise settled back into something normal—horns, distant chatter, the usual New York chaos. No more gunshots. No more echoing footsteps. Just me and the cold air brushing against my face.
Down below, Tina stepped out of the alley like nothing had happened. She didn't look frustrated or rushed. She didn't even bother scanning the rooftops. She simply adjusted her coat, tapped her earpiece, and walked calmly back toward the street.
Classic Wolf behavior—never in a hurry, never rattled, always five steps ahead.
My comms flickered back to life.
"Waller? Waller, are you there?" Serena's voice came through, sharp but steady.
"I'm good," I replied, leaning against a vent. "She didn't catch me."
"That's… surprising," Serena said. "Tina usually closes her hunts in minutes."
I shrugged, even though she couldn't see it. "Maybe she's slipping."
"No," Serena said. "If anything, she's evolving."
Great.
I moved to the edge of the rooftop and watched Tina disappear into the steady flow of pedestrians. No chase. No urgency. Just blending in.
"She didn't push it," I murmured.
"Which means she didn't need to," Serena answered. "Waller… she probably already knows your escape pattern. She's giving you space because she thinks you'll lead her to something bigger."
I let that sink in.
Tina wasn't just hunting me.
She was observing me.
Studying me.
Waiting.
"For now," Serena continued, her tone lighter, "you need to regroup. Find a safe spot and lay low until we understand what Tina's real assignment is."
I nodded, stepping away from the ledge. "Yeah. Cooling off sounds good."
The adrenaline faded to a hum, replaced by a creeping unease—but at least the heat was gone.
For the moment.
---
I climbed down from the rooftop, checking left and right to make sure the coast was actually clear.
I let out a long sigh—finally, a moment without someone breathing down my neck.
I'd barely made it a few meters toward the main street when three men stepped out in front of me.
"Waller Greene," the tallest one said, his voice like gravel. "We heard you were tight with the Ed family. So why don't you make this easy and tell us who killed him?"
The other two reached for their guns.
Great. Another gunpoint encounter. Third one today, and it was barely past noon. At this point, I could probably schedule them in my calendar.
I looked at their weapons, then at their faces, and all I could think was how my future funeral speech would just be another depressing chapter in the chaotic diary called New York.