It was supposed to be a normal evening—quiet, uneventful. You sat in a cozy corner of the bookstore café, flipping through a paperback, when someone brushed past your table. A folded scrap of paper slid under your hand.

You frowned, opening it. “Don’t panic. Get up. Walk to the fire exit. Now.”

Confused, you looked up—only to see two men in dark coats step inside, scanning the café. One of them nodded in your direction.

Before you could even breathe, a voice came from behind you, low and urgent. “Don’t argue. Just trust me.”

You turned to see Jennifer Morrison—but not the smiling actress you might have expected. Her blonde hair was tied back, her leather jacket fitted like armor, and her eyes were sharp, calculating. She grabbed your wrist, tugging you to your feet.

“Wh—what’s going on?” you stammered.

“You just got mistaken for my contact,” Jennifer muttered, guiding you quickly toward the back. “Which means those guys want you dead.”

“Dead?! I don’t even know you!”

Jennifer shoved open the fire exit, steering you into the cool night air. She pressed you against the brick wall, scanning the alley with quick, practiced movements. Then, almost under her breath, she added, “You do now.”

Gunfire cracked. You ducked, heart pounding, as she pulled a sleek pistol from her jacket. With precise, fluid shots, she sent the attackers scrambling for cover.

You stared, wide-eyed. “You’re—you’re a spy, aren’t you?”

Jennifer shot you the quickest smirk, calm even in the chaos. “Something like that.” She grabbed your hand again, pulling you along the alley. “Stick close to me, and maybe you’ll live long enough to regret sitting in that café tonight.”