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The storm broke over Jericho's safehouse just after 3 a.m.—a downpour so loud it drowned the hum of the generator, the weight of the rain pressing against the roof like judgment.
Hayamei stood in the kitchen, soaked and unblinking. Her daughter was asleep in the back bedroom again, unaware of the blood trail her mother was getting ready to follow.
Jericho sat at the table, disassembling a rifle like it was nothing more than a puzzle. Ghost leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes on Hayamei.
She hadn't said a word since they returned from New Orleans.
Until now.
"I'm done with being a target," she said. "I'm done letting him breathe."
Jericho grunted. "You really think you're ready to kill your father?"
"I should've done it years ago."
Ghost spoke up, voice low. "He'll expect you to come for him now."
"Good."
She moved to the window, her reflection distorted by water streaking down the glass. For a second, she saw herself how she used to be—young, angry, desperate to escape. That girl was gone.
Hayamei was a weapon now.
And weapons don't beg for mercy.
⸻
They made the plan over cold coffee and firelight.
Hayamei knew where her father's next deal was happening: a high-rise on the outskirts of Baton Rouge, twenty floors up, surrounded by armed men and surveillance.
But none of that scared her.
Not anymore.
"What about Na'Nami?" Ghost asked.
Jericho leaned back. "I'll take her upstate. Keep her off-grid until this ends."
Hayamei knelt in front of her daughter later that morning, brushing curls out of her face as the little girl blinked up at her sleepily.
"Are we going on a trip?" Na'Nami asked.
"Just a short one," Hayamei whispered. "Jericho's gonna take you somewhere nice. Remember that secret name I gave you?"
"'Bluebird.'"
"That's right, baby. And what do you do if anyone but me or Jericho calls you by your real name?"
Na'Nami smiled faintly. "Run and scream loud."
Hayamei kissed her forehead.
"You're my whole world."
⸻
The high-rise looked like glass and steel and violence.
Hayamei stood on a rooftop across the street with a sniper rifle she barely had time to learn. Ghost was already inside the building, wearing the stolen uniform of one of her father's men. He'd slipped into the elevator hours ago, earpiece crackling with coded chatter.
