Steam hissed from the grates along the ground. The underground garage smelled of oil, rust, and something older—like rot tucked behind the concrete walls. Allie sat in the back seat of a parked sedan. The driver was dozing off behind the wheel, head tilted, mouth slightly open.
She stared forward blankly, her fingertips twitching slightly.
When he stirred awake, she noticed the change. His eyes. The way they moved over her. Hungry. Entitled. He reached over.
"Hey… why don't we—"
A loud thud silenced him. He collapsed forward onto the wheel.
The woman beside him slowly lifted her gaze. Not Allie. Mara.
The blade gleamed once in the neon-red glow of a nearby exit sign. And then it danced.
Precision. Elegance. Carnage.
By the time it was over, the car was spotless. Except for the corpse. And even he looked like art.
Not a drop of blood had touched her.