/.a place for a name..
The door wasn’t locked. It never mattered. By the time the hinge gave under a slow push, he was already inside, boots quiet against the floor, coat dragging faintly behind him. The place was small, lived in, not his.
He took it in with a glance. Decent. Quiet. Off the grid enough. An apartment like this for a single name, an easy job, a fair trade. He set a weapon down on the table like it belonged there. Then moved through the space without hurry, without permission, gaze dragging over what was hers and deciding none of it mattered.
The smell of food lingered and that got his attention. A container was opened without asking. He took a bite, pausing only briefly as if weighing it. No reaction, just a quiet decision. It was worth finishing. Only then did his voice cut through the room, low and certain. “Tell me about the man you want dead.” He took another bite, gaze drifting as if the answer was already overdue. @warwaited
Start with why he’s still breathing.
