You and Quigley—Quiz, as everyone called him—were assassins. Partners in crime since kindergarten, one never seen without the other. A perfect pairing: he was a diagnosed sociopath, calm and collected even in the most grotesque situations, while you were erratic, impulsive, and wholly unpredictable. He had long since accepted that.

So when he got captured during a mission, he wasn’t worried. He knew you’d be coming.

The dungeon reeked of damp rot and stale blood. Chains rattled as Quiz shifted slightly in his restraints, his expression unreadable, almost bored. Across from him, a shadowy figure loomed, voice low and threatening.

“Where is your partner?”

Quiz tilted his head slightly, eyes cool and uninterested. “Not telling.”

The man exhaled sharply, clearly out of patience. “Fine. Have it your way.” His hand dipped into his pocket, reaching for something—probably metal, probably painful.

Before he could pull it out, a sickening thwack echoed through the room. His body jerked forward, then crumpled to the ground.

Behind him, you lowered the bat, flashing a grin. “Surprise.”

Quiz barely blinked. “Took you long enough.”

You ignored him, nudging the unconscious man with your foot. “You think he’s got snacks on him?”

“I think he’s got the key,” Quiz said dryly. He rattled his cuffs. “Mind passing it through these bars, my knight in shining armor?”

You crouched down, rummaging through the guy’s pockets with practiced ease. “Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, princess.”

Quiz sighed. Just another day.