E

through it as sharp as a blade. My dirty little paws dug into pockets and pouches like an old man sifting through them slowly, lifting wallets and coins witho

s watching me, but if I go back, nob

IC

ights for three days now, interest accumulating moment by moment. Most kids her age had families, or at least a crew to cling to on the

it was not so

shouted, reaching for his a

nd dodging stalls. The vendor followed her, with two others, th

g fury. I cut off the peddler in half a second,

oice rough and commanding. "

er shrieked, but his fury

he was left with no line of reasoning. The trader s

art thudded against her ribcage. She was used to fleeing, to hiding, but for some reason, that one in the market square sent her brain, already i

," I said, ea

at the sight of me at the end of t

ing back. She looked down at her

inued as if she'd cut me of

need your

do you think you can manage that? Stealing bread and fleeing from

" she retorted sharply, although the tr

to frighten her. "Good is not survi

bed and three square meals a day

knees to get in her face, his piercing eyes locking with hers. "No.

ge him. There was something in what he'd told her,

she asked sternly, h

aling. No more running. You train, you learn, and you survive," I say to her bluntly.

g perhaps, glacial fear wrapped tight around her heart as she gasps roughly. She

u care?" she

And because nobody ever scooped me up when I was your

n. But for some reason, she just could not quite see

voice but firm. "But if

in, standing and extendi

alloused, but firm and unyielding surface of my palm. For the very first time i

E

ed my life w

back home after

en I was six years old, under a bridge. I was such a skilled pickpocket that he couldn't resist watching me. He sat and observed me for days, saw how I manag

at being able to blend in anywhere, anything, anytime, leave no footprint. This morning I read the letter. A plain white envelope with no address to send it back to, but I knew immediately whose seal was on it-a blood-red crescent moon, a dagger plunged dead into the center. Only one people carry that mark: my "family." My family, the family that I fled all those years ago. It was an invitation to come home. Come home, it read. Now. The word 'home' is a stranger, bitter on my

now comes crashing down on top of me. After I'd departed, always knowing that I could never really

or better or for worse, the

finally, something should have fi

th

s place whatsoever,

in one place for more than a moment, I had cared about or become interested in nothing. But between the luxury condominiums and the beach houses,

rtsies) hello

individual, and they're going to kill her tonight. Folded across the bed is a ruby-red night dress, slit high up on one side. The fabric is silky to the touch and perfect. Red's never been my style-it's bold, it's dramatic, it's deadly. I allo

ael: H

el: H

es it feel go

Not so mu

no trail, okay? Get in, get noticed, take care of your target and bail. An

. Will call after t

tay on you

e Daddy (

No issue. I wear a small pistol on my thigh for good measure and smile to myself. I am twenty-fiv

ng person's eyes, smile before little girl will choke, turn and break her neck, turn and take hold of the very same knife in little gir