The Puppet Assassin [TTR sequel]

The Puppet Assassin - Ch 3 [cutting the crap -|- dizelde]

'Do not hesitate.'

I breathed in short gasps.

Leave?

Where would I go?

I took a step towards the bag. Why would I stay?

** **

It felt as though my legs were filled with jelly, every step I took was shaky. I had clambered out my bedroom window, the one that faced the back exit, and as soon as my feet had touched the ground I had regretted my decision to run away. What if someone caught a glimpse of me as I attempted to escape? And when I was gone I doubted that Scythe would allow me to stay free for long.

But what if there was a chance? What if the anonymous note writer had somehow set it up so I could be free? I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, hitched my bag's straps higher up on my shoulders and kept to the shadows beside buildings, avoiding windows - just in case someone had skipped the meeting - and ran to the trees that crowded around the entrance at the back. There was no one in the guard station. That was impossible. The guards on duty would be flayed if this was found out. What kind of distraction had made them risk death by leaving their post?

I treaded carefully out the gate, out of the complex, out of assassination. And breathed easily for the first time in my life. But my relief only lasted a tiny moment. Now I was out, where could I go next?

I kept walking, there was nothing else really for me to do. A few metres out I began to pick the pace. I wanted to get as far away as I could before that hour was up. Before Scythe returned to the house. I had mixed feelings about the thought of him when he found me gone, a small amount of belongings with me. Would he be sad or furious? Would he let me go or order a group to find me? I shuddered and lengthened my stride until I was running flat out.

My heart beat levelled and I developed a rhythm. The heavy bag on my back was a slight annoyance as it jumped up and down but I began to ignore it after a while, shifting into my exercise mode where nothing bothered me but fatigue.

The time on my watch told me that I'd been running for an hour and a half when I reached a building. At first I was tempted to continue running straight past it. The walls were made of wood and the roof was dilapidated and crooked. It looked as if it could have been made in the early 20th Century. But I couldn't pass up the chance of finding someone who could give me a ride to the nearest city, or at least finding out where I was. I slowed to a walk and strode up the uneven path, avoiding the bumps and crevices without thought.

And then came to an abrupt stop when I got the feeling that I was being watched. I looked up and saw a dark-skinned man crouching on the roof, staring dully down at me. When our eyes met, he raised his brows, as if astonished, and then smirked. Without hesitation, he swung his legs over the side of the roof and dropped down. Without a falter, he stalked towards me. I remained still and gave him a bland look. Inside, my heart was pumping with fear and exhaustion and my stomach was rolling over, doing flips.

"Who do you work for?" he asked. He had a British tone. I looked him up and down, jotting his appearance down into my memory. Five feet and seven inches, one hundred and sixty five pounds, mostly muscle. It seemed to me that his age was twenty two but with technology advancing facial reconstruction, I couldn't be certain. He gave off the impression that he was slim and harmless but I wasn't fooled. He stood on the balls of his feet, like a cat, and his shoulders were broad and tensed with muscle hidden beneath his baggy shirt. Sharp, sapphire eyes told me he didn't miss anything, especially not my study.

"I'll say it again. Who do you work for, kid?"

I drew myself up fully, I was the same height as him and no 'kid'. "I work for no one." God that felt good to say.