Family is who you kill for. Who you die for. In this society, you and your kin are shadows, clinging to the darkness to obey orders absolute. But when such orders command you to abandon what little honor remains for wealth and notoriety, you find yo...
With steady hands, you draw taupe curtains on windows that reflect the light of a dying sun, melting into the horizon to pave the way for the illustrious moon. The space now cast in darkness, you follow the trail of shadows to the full-length mirror that lines a wall in the entryway of this hotel room.
"Lights on, 60%."
You tilt your head to a side, scrutinizing the dress that hangs loosely from your figure, done in a muted, subtle navy. With no loose threads to be found, you focus on your hair, on the carefully pinned bun and the solitary tendrils that weave their way down the side of your face. Just below, two earrings, diamond studs, add just a hint of distracting sparkle. But the most important accessory of your night will be the ring on your right hand's middle finger, and the thin, imperceptible needle hidden inside, filled with exactly one dose of lethality.
From the designer purse that sits at your side, you extract your mini-communicator. A few taps has the hologram pixilating to life, bursting from the screen as you confirm the details of your mission. Tonight, you intend on making the acquaintance of one Park Siyeon. Multi-millionaire. Entrepreneur. Target.
Why Siyeon? That's the one thing this file doesn't mention. Nor did your brother Yoongi, when he issued your orders, though that's been the trend for the last while. Tonight is the culmination of months of extensive planning, and Yoongi made it clear that this mission was not one you could afford to fuck up. Especially not after the last... incident.
Inhale.
Exhale.
It's been a while since you were in action, but you've pored over the documents. You know Siyeon's face, her habits. And this is not your first kill.
You drop the mini-com back into its home with your handkerchief and lipstick. The watch on your left wrist reads 7:31pm. The charity event downstairs started thirty minutes ago, and now you will be perfectly, fashionably late. Thoroughness (or perhaps paranoia) dictates you take one last look in the mirror. Then you slip into your nude heels before reaching for the door handle.
"Lights, off."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
a/n: i've begun finally uploading this story! please look forward to the next parts and please support by leaving comments :) i love reading all of your reactions!
