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“I want you dead,” she said cheerfully.
He could not help it. He chuckled. The last time he had done that around her, the sound had been low and rough with smoke. It had only been two weeks, but at this point, he could not associate that laugh with himself more than the feeling of not having a bullet wound in his body. It only made him hate her more.
“What’s new?” he said at last.
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Or, in which the Handler wants Five dead, and there's only one person she would trust with the job. It's not herself.
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Bookmark Notes:
fuck the handler
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