It always goes like this. Despite being Talon’s greatest assassin, you always slipped through Amelie’s fingers like smoke. And she wanted to catch. Strangle. Hold. She couldn’t define what it was she felt, in the barest of terms. But that doesn’t now that she has you—gazing down the barrel of her rifle, glint of pleasure in her eyes like a predator.

“No where to run, mon chéri.”