Chapter 2 2.

AMALIA'S POV

I'm sprawled out on my bed, my phone propped up on a stack of pillows as Ian and Eli fill the screen. Eli's halfway through complaining about her professor, who apparently doesn't know the difference between explaining something and just confusing everyone further. Ian's cracking up, throwing in over-the-top reactions every few seconds like the drama queen he is.

"And then," Eli groans, dragging a hand down her face, "he told us to re-read the syllabus. Like that's gonna magically make thermodynamics make sense!"

Ian clutches his chest like he's about to faint. "No! Not the syllabus! Eli, how are you even surviving this?"

This idiot

"Barely," Eli mutters, glaring into her camera like it's her professor.

I'm about to chime in when I hear the familiar sound of tires crunching on gravel outside. My window's cracked open, and the sound pulls my attention like a magnet. I glance toward the glass, squinting at the car pulling into the driveway. My stomach twists when I recognize it immediately.

Aurora.

She steps out, her dark wavy hair catching the light in a way that's almost unfair. She looks as perfect as always-calm, composed, like she hasn't even thought about me in years. Maria's with her, laughing at something as they grab bags from the car.

I let the curtain fall back into place, sighing softly as I settle back down onto the bed.

"What's up?" Eli asks, her head tilting slightly. She's observant like that, always noticing the little shifts in my mood.

"Nothing," I say quickly, brushing it off. "Aurora's here. She brought Maria."

Ian lets out a low whistle, his face lighting up with mischief. "Ruh-roh. Still rouble in paradise?"

I glare at him through the screen. "Don't start, Ian."

Eli glances between us, looking a little confused, but she doesn't push. Ian, on the other hand, thrives on pushing.

"Come on, Mal. It's been years. You and Aurora should've made up by now," he says, leaning closer to the camera like he's trying to make a point. "You still care about her, don't you?"

Of course I do. I've always cared about Aurora. That's the problem. Even when she stopped talking to me, even when the distance between us felt like a canyon, I couldn't just stop caring. She's my sister.

"She's still mad," I say quietly, my voice softer than usual. "And I don't know how to fix it."

Ian pauses, his teasing demeanor melting into something softer. Eli looks like she wants to say something but holds back, giving me space.

"She'll come around," Ian says after a moment, his voice unusually serious. "Aurora's stubborn, yeah, but so are you. You just have to... wait her out."

I force a small smile, appreciating his attempt to reassure me, even if I don't fully believe it. Aurora's stubborn, yes, but I'm not sure waiting is going to fix anything. Still, it's not like I have a better plan.

"Anyway," I say, shaking off the heavy feeling settling over me, "enough about her. What were we talking about? Eli's disaster of a professor?"

Eli picks up where she left off, diving back into her rant with renewed energy, and Ian jumps in to stir the pot. I let their voices wash over me, the familiarity of our banter grounding me.

Even with Aurora just downstairs, I try to focus on the people who are here for me, who understand me-even the messy, broken parts. Maybe one day Aurora will too. But for now, I can only hope.

꧁☆꧂

The night air bites at my skin as I make my way down the quiet streets, the darkness swallowing me whole. I don't know why I do this. Every time I tell myself it's the last time, that I don't care anymore. But somehow, I always end up here-checking on them, even though I shouldn't. Even though I know how this will end if they wake up.

The house looms ahead, as dingy and lifeless as ever. The peeling paint, the broken shutters-it's like the perfect picture of what they are. I step closer, my boots crunching softly against the gravel, and I try not to let the memories claw their way back to the surface. Memories of yelling, slamming doors, and hands that hurt more than words ever could.

I shouldn't care. I shouldn't even be here. But they can't die yet-not until I decide they can.

I ease the front door open, cringing as it creaks. The smell hits me first: stale beer, sweat, and something sharp and chemical that makes my nose wrinkle. I step inside, my footsteps light, instinct kicking in even though the house is dead quiet.

There they are. Passed out on the couch, my adoptive parents looking as useless as ever. Beer bottles litter the floor, rolling slightly with each shift of the rotting carpet. Pills and powder are scattered across the coffee table, glowing faintly under the flickering light of the old TV.

For a second, I just stand there, staring at them. One part of me wants to hate them-really hate them-for everything they've done, for everything they've turned me into. But another part of me feels nothing at all. It's like staring at strangers who just happen to share the worst parts of your life.

I let out a long, slow sigh of relief. They're fine-if you can call this fine. Fine enough that I don't need to do anything tonight. Fine enough that I can walk away without their blood on my hands. Not yet, anyway.

I turn and head back out the door, closing it behind me as quietly as I came. The cold night air feels cleaner now, less suffocating. The weight I didn't realize I was carrying eases just a little with each step I take away from that house.

They'll keep living their pathetic little lives for now. I'll keep checking on them, even though I know I shouldn't. Because that's who I am. Not Amalia. Not Scarlett. Just... someone who can't let go of the past, even when it burns.

The shadows stretch out in front of me as I head home, and I let them swallow me whole.

꧁☆꧂

Eliana's apartment smells faintly of lavender, the scent clinging to the air as I sit cross-legged on her plush living room rug. A map of the city is spread out in front of us, red pins marking locations while blue ones highlight escape routes. Sebastian lounges on the couch behind me, one leg draped over the armrest, twirling a knife between his fingers like it's a toy.

"You're gonna cut yourself if you keep playing with that," Eliana says absently, her eyes glued to the map as she traces one of the routes with her finger.

Sebastian grins, not even glancing up. "Please, Ana. I'm a professional."

I snort, leaning back on my hands. "Professional drama queen, maybe. Can we focus? This mission isn't going to plan itself."

"Relax, Mal," Sebastian drawls, finally sitting up. "We've got this. It's just a few Russians. What's the worst they can do? Throw vodka at us?"

Eliana gives him a sharp look, her anxiety flickering just beneath the surface. "They're not just Russians, Seb. They're tied to the Perun assassin camp. These people aren't amateurs."

I smirk, the familiar thrill of a challenge sparking in my chest. "All the better. If they've been messing with shipments from the good mafias, they're just asking for a visit from us."

Eliana glances at me, her lips pressing into a thin line. "This isn't a game, Amalia. They're dangerous."

"So are we," I say simply, reaching over to pluck one of the pins from the map. "Here. This warehouse is where they've been operating out of. I'll take the north entrance, Ian can come in from the south, and you-" I point the pin at Eliana, "-take the roof. Sniper duty."

Eliana hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. I can see the worry in her eyes, the way she's already running through every worst-case scenario.

"Eliana," I say, my voice softer now. "You've got this. You're Athena, remember? The deadliest sniper I know."

She exhales slowly, nodding. "Yeah. Okay. I'll cover you."

"Good." I glance at Sebastian, who's already grinning like a kid on Christmas. "And you, Ian? Think you can handle the south entrance without blowing something up?"

He puts a hand to his chest, mock-offended. "I am offended by your lack of faith in me. I'll be stealthy. Like a shadow."

"A loud, cocky shadow," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

Sebastian laughs, the sound easy and confident, and I can't help but feel a flicker of reassurance. This is what we do. The three of us. Athena, Scarlett, and Ian. The world's most chaotic, deadly trio.

Sebastian doesn't have an assassin name

But someone's missing

As we finalize the plan, marking escape routes and timing out our entrances, I feel the familiar rush of anticipation. By the end of the night, the Russians will learn exactly what happens when they mess with the wrong people.

And they'll know one name above all others. Scarlett.

꧁☆꧂

The room reeks of sweat, blood, and desperation as I step over the body of the last guy in my way. My daggers gleam faintly under the dim warehouse light, blood dripping from the edges as I move silently, my breathing steady despite the chaos erupting around me. Eliana's shots echo from above, precise and deadly, while Sebastian's occasional bursts of cursing and gunfire tell me he's handling his side just fine.

It's almost too easy. These guys were sloppy-amateurs playing with fire they couldn't control.

The leader should be here. He's not exactly subtle, from what I've heard. A big, loud idiot who thinks fear is enough to keep his crew loyal. But as I push into the next room, it's empty. Quiet.

I tense, my instincts screaming at me a second too late.

The sharp pain tears through my shoulder, and I stagger, a hiss slipping through my teeth. I spin around, my knife already in hand, and find myself face-to-face with a man who looks like he's just seen a ghost.

"You..." His voice trembles, and his grip on the knife falters. "You're not real. You're a myth."

To the ones that haven't seen me

I can't help it-I laugh. A cold, bitter sound that echoes in the empty space. "Guess that makes you pretty unlucky, huh?"

His eyes widen as I lunge forward, knocking the knife from his hand. I pin him to the wall, blood dripping from my shoulder as I press the blade to his throat. "Who's behind this?" I ask, my voice low and deadly.

"I don't know" he smirks acting like his fear had vanished but it's still very visible.

"I'm not gonna ask again Ruben, who's behind this?" I ask very calmly as I stab his knife in his palm and he screams.

He stammers, his fear practically rolling off him in waves. "I-I don't know! We don't know anything! Just shipments, just orders!"

Useless. Typical.

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Then I guess you're not worth keeping around."

The blade slides cleanly across his throat, and he slumps to the floor, dead before he can even process what's happened. I crouch down, pulling a small, signature card from my pocket-a blood-red mark shaped like a phoenix. Scarlett's calling card. I leave it on his chest, making sure it's the last thing anyone will see when they find him.

The pain in my shoulder flares as I stand, and I grit my teeth. Something feels... wrong. I've been stabbed before-hell, I've been shot-but this? This burns.

By the time I make it back to the others, Sebastian is pacing near the exit. The second he sees me, his expression twists into a mix of anger and concern. "What the fuck, Mal?! You got stabbed?"

"I'm fine," I snap, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," he shoots back, stepping closer and grabbing my arm to inspect the wound. "You could've-"

"Shut up, Ian, and help me bandage it," I cut him off, wincing as the pain throbs harder.

He grumbles under his breath but pulls a med kit from his bag, muttering about how reckless I am. His hands are steady, but as he leans in, his face goes pale.

"Mal... this isn't normal. The wound-it's poisoned."

I blink, my vision blurring slightly as the words sink in. Poisoned. That explains the burning, the way my body feels heavier by the second.

"I've got this," Sebastian says quickly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Just stay with me, alright? Don't you dare-"

His words fade as my knees buckle, the world tilting sideways. Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision, and the last thing I hear is his panicked voice calling my name.