You crouched in the corner, seeing Tristan Caine step back out of the bathroom, throwing his suit jacket on the bed. You saw him take his phone out from the pocket of his slacks, scrolling through the screen, his concentration entirely on whatever he was seeing. Watching his muscular back towards her, you straightened from your crouch in the shadows. It was now or never. Walking behind him, you placed the knife on his back, right above where his heart was supposed to be.