Taking cover

Chapter 1

The first thing Frisk noticed was the smell.

Smoke. Cheap cologne. Damp concrete.

Blood.

Her head throbbed with every heartbeat. A rough rope bit into their wrists, tight enough to numb her hands. Somewhere nearby, water dripped in a slow rhythm that echoed through the room like a ticking clock.

Frisk tried to move and the chair beneath her scraped loudly across the floor.

Metal.

Not good.

A sharp pain pulsed through the side of her face as memory returned in fragments.

The warehouse.

The safe.

The guards.

Frisk inhaled carefully through her nose. The burlap sack over her head smelled like mildew and dirt, rough fibers scratching against her skin every time she breathed. Whoever grabbed her had not been gentle about it.

A door creaked open somewhere ahead.

Footsteps followed.

Slow. Unhurried.

Confident.

Frisk stilled.

The footsteps circled once around the chair.

Then stopped.

Silence stretched.

Whoever it was wanted her nervous.

It was working.

A hand suddenly grabbed the sack and ripped it upward.

Light stabbed into Frisk's eyes.

She blinked hard against the dim yellow glow hanging overhead. The room slowly came into focus. Concrete walls. A single flickering lamp. Rust stains in the corners of the floor. No windows.

An interrogation room.

Frisk's stomach dropped.

Across the table sat a woman in a black suit with crimson lining along the collar. One leg crossed neatly over the other. Dark gloves covered her hands. Her posture was relaxed, elegant even, but there was something deeply wrong about the calm expression resting on her face.

She looked like someone who smiled while pulling wings off flies.

Her silver lighter clicked open and shut between slender fingers.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Frisk recognized her immediately.

Every thief in the city knew the name Evelyn Kane.

Underboss of the Black Roses.

The woman tilted her head slightly.