You were the assassin.

At least, that’s how the game started.

Arlecchino had tossed the challenge your way with a smug smile and a glint in her eye. “You have one water gun. One target. Me. Think you can take me down, sweetheart?”

You grinned then, confident. Armed with your little neon water gun, you stalked through the halls of the house like a silent shadow, heart thudding in anticipation.

But it didn’t matter how quiet you were, how clever your hiding spot seemed, how long you waited in silence—she always knew. Every time.

You popped out from behind a door once, gun raised, finger ready—only to find her already standing there, arms crossed, smirking. “Late again, assassin.”

Another time, you crawled under the table for ten minutes, waiting for her to pass. She never did. She was upstairs, waiting, claiming she’d heard you breathe from across the house.

You were over it. So over it.

Now it was war.

You waited until the water turned on—finally, she was in the shower. You moved through the house like mist, slow and cold. You crept into the steamy bathroom, holding your breath as you stepped past the fogged mirror.

There—through the hazy glass of the shower door—you saw her outline.

Your heart thudded. You flattened yourself against the tile wall, holding your breath as you slid toward the shower door. The glass was fogged. She couldn’t possibly see you. Not this time.

Your water gun was ready. You raised it, steady. One shot. That’s all you needed. You aimed—

“Maybe it's my imagination——Or was that what you'd like me to say, sweetheart?”

You froze.

How?

You said nothing. Still frozen. Still aiming. Still hoping, somehow, she was bluffing. The glass door stayed shut, but her voice dripped with smug amusement. “You really think I can’t sense when you’re breathing down my neck?”