archer

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Being a heavy sleeper was a death sentence. Clint Barton knew this. But for some reason, he couldn't pry his eyelids open. 

Someone was in his room. He knew this. But he couldn't get his eyes to open, his mind unable to spring into action as the unknown assailant stood above him. 

She stood there. Watching as he slept. Waiting and watching. 

His bow and arrows were at his side. Within reaching distance, yet she let them remain there. 

In a way she was curious. 

No one had hired her to kill this man. 

This was all under her own instruction. 

All of her recent kills had been under her own instruction. It was odd and exciting. 

At her side, her fingers twitch, itching to finish the job. But she wanted to wait. She wanted to wait for the moment his eyes would peel open. Confusion glistening over his crystal blue orbs only to turn into panic. 

She wanted to see the surprise and embarrassment when he realized his target was standing over him, ready to kill. 

Her head inches up, the feeling of being watched prickling over her skin. The moon glowed through the billowing drapes, a window in the next building lined up perfectly with the room she was in. 

She steps back, a red glow lining up onto the wall in the spot she was standing in. 

Red lips pull into a frown, eyebrows dropping. 

Clint Barton would live for now. 

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