The target had felt wrong the moment she got it; there was little to no information seating on the file. Nyra flipped through the file again, studying the photograph of the man with unsettling amber eyes, with no background or history, just a face and a location.
"Unusual request," Rook had said, adjusting his cufflinks with that infuriating calm. "High priority client. Very... specific requirements."
She'd accepted anyway, not like she had a choice. This was the last time she would kill for another; the debt she owed would finally be paid. She would finally be free from his suffocating control. Three years of careful planning and this job would sever the last thread tying her to Rook's web.
The wind whipped strands of dark hair across her target's face, as he scanned the tree lines below. Nyra's finger tightened on the trigger, muscles coiled ready to fire.
Her target's head turned sharply toward her position so suddenly that she barely stopped herself from ducking back behind the scope. He couldn't see her, she thought to herself, not from that distance between them, or through the heavy fog rolling between the forest.
Nyra swallowed, shaking her head sharply as if to clear it. A strange haze clung to her thoughts, dulling her focus. Through the lens, his amber eyes burned unnervingly bright, locked in her direction.
For a moment, just a moment, it felt like he was looking directly at her.
A tight, unfamiliar sensation curled in her chest, Nyra exhaled slowly, forcing the feeling down. Her grip steadied on the rifle and the shot rang out.
"Fuck." The curse slipped through gritted teeth as the bullet slammed into her target's abdomen instead of his skull. Blood bloomed dark against his shirt. He staggered but didn't fall.
Seconds passed by where it felt like the bullet hadn't done anything, Then the man let out a low, animalistic growl. Nyra watched through the scope as confusion twisted across his face. Slowly, almost disbelievingly, he looked down at the blood soaking through his shirt. His hand came away dark and wet, fingers trembling as he stared at it.
And then—
His eyes snapped back up, straight toward her. Still locked on her position.
Nyra's pulse spiked in her chest.
What the—
Then with unnatural speed he took off.
The world dissolved.
One moment Nyra stood poised above her target, the next she was somewhere else entirely. The rooftop vanished, replaced by dense woodland that pressed in on all sides. Ancient trees loomed overhead, their branches skeletal against the pale sky. A clearing stretched before her, ringed by twisted oaks whose roots broke the earth like sleeping giants.
Her target knelt meters away, clutching his chest where blood seeped between his fingers. His breathing came in ragged gasps, each one a death rattle. Yet when she stepped forward, close enough to touch, he didn't react. It was as if she wasn't there at all.
As if he couldn't see her.
Something strange crawled up her spine. This wasn't right. The fog returned in full thicker force, wrapping around her ankles like ghostly fingers. It crept higher, clouding her vision until she could barely make out the man's silhouette through the murk. Her finger found the trigger again, muscle memory taking over even as doubt gnawed at her gut.
Click.
The hammer fell on empty air. Her weapon had vanished, leaving only the weightless sensation of holding nothing at all.
"No." The word escaped before she could stop it, barely a whisper against the oppressive silence.
Above them, the sky darkened impossibly fast. Clouds swallowed what little light remained until night fell like a curtain. Stars blinked out one by one, snuffed by some unseen force.
Then came the howling, echoing through the trees with voices that carried hunger and rage. The sound wrapped around her bones, setting her on edge.
The ground beneath her feet disappeared.
Nyra plummeted into darkness so complete it felt like drowning. An endless void pressing against her skin like cold water. The howls intensified, reverberating through her skull until she pressed her palms to her ears.
Somewhere in that blackness, something brushed against her arm. She spun, on high alert searching for a threat she couldn't see. Her breath misted in the sudden chill.
"You're not supposed to be here."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, male and ancient and utterly certain. It carried the weight of finality.
Nyra jolted upright, gasping as her alarm shrieked through the darkness. Her fingers fumbled wildly across the bedside table, sending a glass of water crashing to the floor as she searched for the offending noise. The beeping stopped.
Only then did she realize her skin was burning beneath the sheets.
Heat crawled over her body like thousands of tiny needles pushed under her skin, trapping her in a suffocating cocoon of sweat and fever. The duvet suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, pressing the heat back into her flesh.
Every nerve screamed at her to move.
Nyra tore the duvet off her body with a desperate yank.
Cold air slammed into her overheated skin, raising instant goosebumps across her arms and thighs. The relief lasted barely a second before the chill bit into her damp clothes and slick skin, sending a violent shiver through her body.
"Shit…" Her voice came out hoarse.
She pushed herself upright but then the room lurched.
Her legs buckled the moment her weight settled on them, knees collapsing as if the bones had turned to wet paper. She caught the edge of the bed just in time, fingers digging hard into the mattress as the world tilted violently.
Her skull throbbed with agony, it felt like her head was splitting in two. Each heartbeat drove a spike deeper into her head. A heavy, relentless pounding that echoed behind her eyes and down the back of her neck, making her vision pulse and blur.
For a moment she just knelt there, breathing hard, sweat dripping from her temples down her jaw.
She forced herself to stand again.
Slowly this time.
Her legs trembled violently beneath her weight, muscles shaking as if they might tear from the bone, but they held long enough for her to stagger toward the bathroom.
The light was brutal against her eyes. The moment she flipped it on; white brightness stabbed into her skull like a blade. Nyra hissed and squeezed her eyes shut for a second before forcing them open again.
The sink, she leaned over it and twisted the tap. Nyra splashed water onto her face again and again, dragging wet hands over her burning skin, letting the chill run down her neck and collarbone.
But the relief didn't last.
When she finally looked up—
Her reflection looked half-dead. Her skin pale and damp, lips cracked and peeling. Dark bruised shadows hollowed the space beneath bloodshot eyes that looked fever-bright and wild.
A thin line of dried blood traced the inside of one nostril.
Her throat felt like it had been scraped raw with sandpaper every time she swallowed.
Nyra gripped the edge of the sink. Her knuckles turned white against the porcelain as her fingers tightened, the tremor in her arms impossible to hide.
"What the hell is happening to me…?" The words scraped out of Nyra's throat, raw and hoarse, barely louder than a breath.
Her stomach clenched violently around nothing. A sudden metallic taste flooded her mouth. Before she could react, warm blood slipped past her lips.
It trickled from the corners of her mouth in thin red lines, sliding down her chin. Nyra choked on a weak sound and bent over the sink, spitting hard. Thick red splattered the porcelain before swirling slowly down the drain.
The sight made her stomach twist.
Another weak whimper escaped her throat.
Her fingers tightened around the towel rack beside her, trembling so badly the metal rattled softly against the wall. The chrome dug into her palm as she clung to it like it was the only thing holding her upright.
Her hands fumbled with her clothes.
The fabric clung to her skin, damp with sweat. She peeled it away piece by piece, every movement slow and shaky. Her fingers barely worked, numb and clumsy as she dragged her shirt over her head and shoved her pants down her legs.
Even that felt like climbing a mountain.
By the time she finished, her chest was heaving.
The wall caught her before her legs gave out again. Rough plaster scraped against her shoulder as she leaned into it, using it to guide herself step by step toward the shower.
She twisted the handle and ice-cold water blasted down. It struck her overheated skin like a thousand tiny knives.
Nyra sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, a hiss slipping out as the shock tore through her body. Every nerve lit up at once.
Blood and sweat washed from her body, diluted red spirals circling the drain at her feet. Her hands moved slowly, grabbing the bar of soap.
It slipped and clattered against the floor. Her numb fingers fumbled for it, picking it up again only to drop it a second time.
"Fuck…"
The third time she managed to hold it long enough to work up a weak lather, dragging it across her skin while the cold water beat down on her shoulders.
Her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.
Minutes blurred together. Ten… twenty… maybe thirty. Time didn't feel real anymore.
Eventually the water running down her legs turned clear.
Nyra slid down the tiled wall until she was sitting on the shower floor. Her knees pulled tight against her chest, arms wrapped around them as she tried to stop the violent shaking in her body.
But the warmth never came.
She just sat there beneath the falling water, trembling.
Her mind drifted despite herself.
Back to the rooftop.
Back to that impossible moment when the man's head snapped toward her through the fog, and those eyes watching her.
A cold weight settled deep in her chest.
Something was very, very wrong.
Eventually, her legs remembered how to hold her weight, she shut off the water with fingers that no longer felt like her own, stepping out onto the cold tile with deliberate care. Towels caught at her sensitive skin, but she forced herself through the motions.
Her phone buzzed against her the bed table, the screen lighting up with Rook's name in stark white letters. Nyra's thumb hovered over the answer button, trembling slightly despite her best efforts to still it. She pressed down, lifting the device to her ear with practiced nonchalance.
"You're late," Rook's voice slid through the connection like silk over steel, all irritation and no concern.
"I can't come in today." The words felt thick in her mouth, clumsy things that refused to form properly. She gritted her teeth, forcing strength into her tone. "I'm done."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with implications she didn't want to examine too closely.
"That's not how this works, sweetheart. You know this." His voice carried no warmth, or affection whatsoever.
A laugh escaped her then, bitter and sharp. "I'm out, Rook. That was my last job working for the organisation."
"Wrong again, love." Steel crept into his tone. "You have one more job. You're done when I say you're done. So, get yourself here in thirty."
The line went dead with a soft click that echoed in the sudden quiet of her room.