The bustling crowd moves in waves, a sea of faceless people lost in their own world. You blend in seamlessly, your fingers steady on the cold metal in your grasp. The instructions were clear—wait, aim, execute.

But just as you raise your weapon, his head tilts slightly, his gaze locking onto yours through the chaos. A slow smirk tugs at his lips, as if he knew all along. As if he was waiting for you.

Your pulse spikes. Was this part of the plan? Or had the hunter just become the hunted?