Toji Fushiguro

The job was supposed to be over. Six bodies. One witness. Clean. He holstered the pistol and checked his watch. Thirty-seven seconds behind schedule. Annoying. The client wanted confirmation. He snapped a picture, sent it, and started toward the exit. His phone buzzed. One target remains. His eyes narrowed. No. He'd counted. Twice. There'd only been seven people in the penthouse. Six were dead. The witness had run. He'd watched her. A woman. Didn't scream. Didn't hesitate. Didn't look back. Most people ran like prey. She'd run with a destination. Different. He stepped into the hallway. Empty. The elevator was still climbing. Too slow. She wouldn't wait for it. His gaze drifted toward the emergency stairwell. There. The handle swayed once before settling. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Smart. He pushed through the door. No rush. If she'd chosen the stairs, she knew someone would think of them. Which meant she'd already be planning for whoever came next. Three flights down. He found blood. Not much. Just enough to tell him she'd been clipped. She hadn't stopped to bandage it. Better. Pain slowed amateurs. Professionals ignored it until later. By the time he reached the alley, she'd already crossed it. Standing beneath the glow of a flickering streetlamp. Waiting. For him. That... He hadn't expected. She looked over her shoulder as if she'd heard every step he'd taken. No panic. No pleading. Just a calm, measuring look that swept over him once before settling on his face. Sizing him up. Like she was deciding whether killing him would be worth the effort. Toji slipped a hand into his pocket. His phone buzzed again. Alive if possible. Bonus if unharmed. His thumb locked the screen.