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I huff out an exhale. But he’s right; I’m distracted. It’s that pretty detective’s fault. He’ll be here soon, so I need to stop thinking about his pouty lips and focus on the Maestru’s orders.

I slip through the kitchen back door and make my way through the house. The target, Serpens, is straddled over a woman in the hallway.

“I’m…not…yours,” she pants at him.

I like her. Her words resonate, and an invisible bond slots into place, connecting us. I’m glad she’s not on the order. I think I’d dislike having to dispatch her when we’re connected.

Serpens pushes himself up, but the woman doesn’t move, seemingly passed out. At least there’ll be less noise.

I take a silent, running leap and land on his back. His muscles tense under me, and he stumbles, but I’ve already got my arm wrapped around his neck. I squeeze hard against the sides and count down the seconds it takes for the lack of blood flow to kick in.

I’ve managed to get it down to five.

…Three…four. His legs give out, and his knees crash to the floor.

…Five…six…seven

I let go, and his head thuds.

Not my best work, but I’m distracted.

I wrap my hands under his arms and drag him into the kitchen. Once I’ve got him on one of the chairs, I dig through my small, discreet backpack, pull out the cord, and fasten him tightly.

Any minute now he should wa⁠—

He grunts, then gasps. It’s quite high pitched, I must admit.

Squinting, he looks around, then at me. His eyes widen, and I flick my shoulders back at the attention.

He must recognise me. I like that. My work precedes me.

I pull out my blade, my claw, my Gheruța, and step towards him.

There it is—the panic. It’s fascinating to watch. Most people don’t want to die, and when they know it’s going to happen, all the bravado drops. Sometimes they beg, some say they’re sorry, but the best? Well, I like the tears.

“He…he doesn’t need to do this,” he pants.

The desperation is…disappointing. Which means punishment is in order. I flick my wrist quickly, and the skin over his cheek beads red.

There’s always been this hope that one day someone will bleed a different colour. I’d like that. Imagine if we were all different colours. It would be like a prize.

“Please.”

I flick my wrist again. This time, a thin line appears across his forehead.

“Please.” He exhales hard, and I purse my lips. Honestly, is he not going to get it?

“Please.”

My Păzitor snorts.

I make another cut across his other cheek, a little deeper this time because I’m irritated.

Stepping around Serpens, I lean over ready to end this now. I like to watch as my Gheruță slides in. It’s so quick, so smooth to watch her cut through flesh.

Wide grey eyes meet mine. She’s awake. She can watch. She might enjoy it. I was going to end this quickly, but I don’t think she’s a fan of Serpens, so I’ll slow it down a little for her. So she doesn’t miss it.

She’s very…pink. I’ve never worn that colour before. I think I might like it.