The morning air was sharp and biting, the kind that stung the lungs and woke the senses. The alarm buzzed at five, and Lila silenced it with a swift flick. Her body groaned in protest as she swung her legs over the bed, but she ignored it. Pain was nothing new. Weakness, however, was something she refused to accept.
She laced up the old sneakers by the door and stepped outside. The streets were nearly empty, only hawkers setting up stalls and a few bicycles rattling by. She started to jog, her breath already heavy after a block. Her chest burned, her legs felt like lead, and the sweat poured down her face far too quickly. This body was pitiful—soft, sluggish, untrained. She muttered through clenched teeth, "Pathetic." But she didn't stop. Each labored step was a promise to herself that this weakness wouldn't last.
By the time she staggered back home nearly an hour later, she was drenched in sweat, her shirt sticking to her skin. Her mother peered out from the kitchen, flour dusting her apron. "Lila? Jogging? Since when?" she asked, half-startled.
"Trying something new," Lila muttered, brushing past without another word.
At school, the whispers began the moment she entered the hallway. Heads turned, mocking eyes followed her. The old Lila would have shrunk, head down, shoulders hunched. Not this one. She walked with her back straight, eyes forward, every step deliberate. It didn't take long before the familiar pack of girls cornered her.
"Look who decided to crawl back after fainting like a pig," one sneered. The others tittered behind her.
The leader leaned closer, a smirk curling her lips. "Maybe next time we'll just leave you in the dirt for good."
The hallway quieted, waiting for the usual timid retreat. Instead, Lila tilted her head, her smile sharp. "Funny. You bark a lot for someone who needs a pack to feel brave."
The words cut through the air. The leader blinked, caught off guard. Whispers rippled through the students gathered nearby. Lila stepped closer, her gaze steady and cold. "You don't scare me. I've faced killers with more bites than you. You? You're just children playing monsters."
The leader's smirk faltered. Her friends shifted uneasily. For the first time, no one had a comeback. Lila brushed past them as though they were nothing, leaving a trail of shocked silence behind.
In class, the dull rhythm of the teacher's voice made her restless. Equations littered the blackboard, but to her, they were child's play. When called to solve one, she rose lazily, scribbled down the solution in seconds, and walked back to her seat without waiting for approval. The teacher gawked at the correct answer, while the class whispered in disbelief. Lila leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and slept as though the world around her no longer mattered.
Evening brought a storm that had nothing to do with the weather. A heavy pounding rattled the door. Her mother froze, her brothers stiffened, and dread filled the air.
"Open up!" a voice barked. "Time's up!"
Before anyone could move, the door slammed open. Three men stormed inside, their eyes sharp with menace. One kicked a chair aside, another knocked over a stool. "Where's the money? Your deadbeat father left debts, and you think they just disappeared?"
Her eldest brother stood, fists clenched. "We said we'd pay. We just need more time."
"Time?" The leader hurled a vase against the wall, shards scattering across the floor. "You've had time. Pay now, or we strip this house bare."
The younger brother moved protectively in front of their mother, fury in his voice. "It's his fault, not ours! Don't take it out on us!"
The men only laughed, advancing. Lila stood back, silent, watching with narrowed eyes. Every instinct screamed to take them down, but she held herself still. Not yet. Not like this.
Instead, she slipped quietly into the back room and pulled out the battered phone she had found. Her fingers flew across the screen. Firewalls bent. Codes fell apart. Within minutes, she cracked open an account she hadn't touched since death—Laura's account. Her old self. The assassin's hidden funds.
Her lips curved faintly. Still mine.
She transferred two thousand dollars into the debt collectors' boss's account and set the phone down as if nothing had happened.
Minutes later, one of the men's phones rang. He answered, listened, and went pale. "Boss says… we're done here."
"What? But—"
"Money came through. Two grand. Pack it up."
The three froze, then exchanged nervous looks before retreating without another word.
Her brothers stared after them, stunned. "What just happened?" the younger whispered.
The eldest turned to Lila, suspicion in his eyes. "What did you do?"
She stepped from the hallway, her expression calm, unreadable. "Nothing." Her tone brooked no questions.
Before they could press further, she turned and climbed the stairs, leaving them in bewildered silence.
Far away, in a room glowing with the cold light of monitors, a woman in black knelt before her superior. "Sir," she said quietly, "a hack was traced. Someone accessed Laura's account. Two thousand withdrawn."
The man, broad-shouldered with a scar carved across his cheek, stilled. For a long moment, he said nothing, then a slow smile spread across his face.
"So," he murmured. "She's alive after all."