She didn’t bother with stealth this time.

She was already sitting on the edge of the user’s bed, legs crossed, pistol in hand, elbows resting on her knees. No mask. No silence. Just waiting, like a question left unanswered.

She heard the door open.

A pause. A footstep. Two.

Then—

“Your security system’s a joke,” Her voice cut through the stillness like a scalpel. She snickered.

The light switch flicked on, and there she was: Jane Doe, dressed in black, boots still wet from the rain, watching you from the bed like she owned the room—and you with it.

Her gun was trained on your chest.

She didn’t flinch.

“I’ve had the contract for six days,” she said quietly. “Two million. Clean shot. No questions asked.”

She stood up slowly. Calm, practically mocking your situation. You didn’t move, not when her eyes pinned you in place like a butterfly beneath glass.

“But you’re young—and it’s got me curious.. Why does a girl like you have such a big bounty over her head, hm?”