Chapter 10 Estella #2
“I see right through you, Estella,” he says, his tone steady but edged with irritation that simmers beneath the surface. “You’re trying to change the topic, but it doesn’t—”
“I wasn’t trying to change anything,” I cut him off sharply, not even pretending to hide the anger simmering under my voice. “It was just a joke.”
The knife screeches faintly against the plate as I slice through the eggs, stabbing the fork deep into the yolk. The golden liquid bleeds out slowly, spreading across the white porcelain like a wound.
I lift the fork, spear a piece, and bring it to my lips. The sharp bite of salt and heat hits my tongue, but it does nothing to cut through the lingering bitterness that clings stubbornly, refusing to fade.
“A tragic accident in a popular local restaurant,” Cane pushes, his tone as sharp as the knife scraping across my plate. My eyes roll so hard it almost hurts. “Isn’t the job I’m giving you enough for your desires?”
A sigh escapes me, heavy and involuntary.
The weight of his voice, his constant policing, drains the little energy I have left.
For a second, I almost rest my face in my hands—until I remember the cooling eye patches beneath my eyes.
It’s a miracle they’re still holding to my skin.
I adjust them delicately with my fingertips, exhaling slowly before turning my face toward him.
“It was necessary,” I say, my tone calm and steady. “She was insulting us.”
His brow arches. “Was she, really?”
“Did I ever lie to you?” I question.
“Yes. Many times.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. The silence stretches for a beat as I search for a response that doesn’t sound weak. “It was only to protect myself and Dante, I promise,” I finally say, even though the words feel thinner than air.
“You’re lying,” he says simply, tilting his head as he studies me. The look in his eyes cuts deeper than the words ever could. “Again.”
I purse my lips, letting my hands fall to my sides in mock surrender. A small, playful smile tugs at my mouth. “Clean and careful,” I sing softly. “Just like you taught me.”
“Of course,” he replies dryly. “She tripped during her smoke break and fell to her death.”
I drop the act, stab a piece of bacon, and shove it into my mouth. “It happens.”
He doesn’t respond right away, but I can feel his eyes on me, watching with that unnerving focus of his. Deep down, I know he understands. She did deserve it.
“I won’t be able to protect you anymore, Estella,” he lies. “If you keep doing whatever you want, you’ll get yourself killed.”
I laugh. “Nobody will kill me, silly,” I say between bites, licking grease from my lip. “I’m the best they have. You said it yourself.”
It’s not a lie. Cane has always told me I’m not just his favorite—I’m theirs too. It took years and a thousand cruelties to get here: practice until movement becomes muscle memory, patience until the work feels like breathing, the quiet repetition that turns violence into an art form.
Every assignment they hand me, I finish. Distance, wealth, power—they’re just details, variables that only shift the logistics. I’m not the only assassin in the organization, but I am the one who walks the line between craft and blood.
So what if I take a few side quests now and then? They never wrote a rule that an artist couldn’t dabble.
“I’m getting tired of your constant negative energy,” I say, exasperated. “Was there a particular reason for your uninvited visit?”
He exhales like a man finally conceding a pointless argument. “Yes. There’s a new job for you and Dante.”
Cane slips a hand into his coat pocket and draws out a folded sheet of paper.
The moment it appears, something sharp and bright flares inside me—a spark cutting straight through the dull hum in my chest. Excitement slices upward, quick and electric.
My hand rises instinctively, fingers already curling toward the edges of the page, eager to seize it.
But before I can fully grab it, he strikes the back of my hand. The gesture is barely more than a flick, but it carries the weight of both reprimand and ritual, a silent reminder of the roles we play.
“Because you disobeyed me again,” he begins, his voice tightening as his lips purse into a thin line. “And stirred up my trust… again.” He shakes his head slowly, as if disappointed in something that used to be different. “You’ll be working with others.”
The spark inside me snuffs out the instant the words leave his mouth, extinguished as quickly as it ignited. My hand falls, fingers uncurling in midair as if the strength drains straight out of them. Disbelief carves itself across my features, settling there like a fresh scar.
“What?” I ask, incredulous, the question fracturing into a short, disbelieving laugh I don’t intend to make.
“Did you think we’d let you continue without consequences?”
“I’m already working with Dante, wasn’t that punishment enough?” I shoot back. The idea of extra idiots around me tastes like an insult.
He sneers. “You’re not working with Dante. You’re teaching him. And I don’t see why you’re upset. The more people, the faster the job gets done.”
I arch a surprised brow. “You know I can do it alone—fast, slow, painful, painless, you name it. More people means more noise, more annoyance for me. I won’t be—” I falter, searching for the exact word that matches the sheer volume of my frustration. “—productive this way.”
Cane shrugs, the motion indifferent and final. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”
He drops the paper onto the table and flattens it with two fingers like a stamp. Then he pushes it toward me, and my eyes trace the small, official print on the page.
Mount McKinley.
Well. At least it’s a scenic death trap.
“The target,” he begins, clicking his tongue like he’s tasted something bitter, “is our agent. Former agent.”
“Somebody pissed you off, huh?” I ask, letting curiosity lace my tone as I inspect the paper with my fingers.
“He’s unreliable. Started demanding too much,” Cane explains, his words carrying that clipped, managerial calm that usually comes before bad news. “This is one of those examples, Estella. You think I say these things to scare you, but I’m actually worried about you.”
I look up from the paper, my brows furrowing. “Wait,” I blink, tilting my head, disbelief and offense carving themselves into my features. “Did you just compare me to some lame double agent nobody gives a fuck about?”
He looks up at the ceiling, as if searching for divine forgiveness. Realization flickers across his face like a shadow passing through light.
“Not exactly. I didn’t mean it like that,” he says at last. “Do you have a hunch what kind of information he’s been carrying?”
“How long are you planning on being cryptic and trying to make me care about this?” I ask, ripping my attention away from the paper and meeting his eyes.
He holds my gaze, his expression hardening, all humor stripped away. “We believe there’s an organization that targets The Order,” he says slowly. “Which means they’re trying to get their claws into me. Into you.”
For a heartbeat, the only sound in the room is the steady melody of the song playing from my vinyl, each note slicing through the silence like a metronome counting down to something I don’t want to name.
I blink a few times, searching his expression for the familiar glimmer of bullshit, the smirk, the tell—anything. But there’s nothing.
Just sincerity—bare, unguarded, and sharp enough to cut. That, more than anything he’s said, knocks the air out of me.
A cold wave slides through my stomach, leaving a trail of pins and needles in its wake. My pulse jumps, and the blood in my veins begins to hum with a low, uneasy vibration.
“Who are they?” I ask, my voice low, the slight tremor in it betraying the rush of adrenaline flooding me.
“We don’t know anything about them yet,” he begins.
“They’ve been hiding in the shadows, watching from afar.
The only thing I’m certain of is that this agent of ours may be carrying information about them—more than he’s ever admitted.
Everything we extracted from him before was false.
Once we realized that, we understood he was playing against us. ”
He sighs. “We need to eliminate him, but we haven’t been able to locate him yet. There’s a small village in the mountains; we believe he’s hiding there.”
Someone is hunting us—and The Order doesn’t even know who they are? In all my years with them, nothing like this has ever happened. Whoever these people are, they’re masters of hiding—shadows within shadows, unseen and unheard.
“So, what’s the plan once we locate him?” I ask, leaning forward. “Do I have to interrogate him?”
“No. God, no,” Cane replies, shaking his head frantically as if shoving the memory away. I know exactly which memory he sees—the last time I interrogated a target.
It happened over a year ago, and it was messy, chaotic, the kind of spectacle Cane despises. He hadn’t liked it one bit. Worse, he dragged me to a psychiatrist afterward, insisting on an evaluation, as if he needed official confirmation that I hadn’t completely lost it.
Well… no more than I already have.
“Just kill him,” he says finally.
I raise an eyebrow, curiosity pricking at me. “But don’t we need information about those people?”
“He’s chosen a side by repeatedly screwing us over. We can’t forgive that. And the longer this drags on, the higher the chance they’ll build a roof over his head or get him out of the country. We need him before that happens.”
I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, the corners of my mouth curling despite the danger of the situation. “Intriguing,” I murmur.
“Very,” he replies dryly, not sharing my intrigue. “Take Dante and head to this location first.” He taps a finger against the page, right where an extra line of scrawled handwriting sits beneath the main address. “The others will meet you there.”
I let out a quiet sigh, already feeling the creeping irritation at the idea of having more people around. Dante is tolerable, but the rest? I can already feel the noise, the distraction, the suffocating press of their presence.
But beneath the surface of my irritation, something shifts, subtle at first—a pulse of anticipation crawling along my nerves, low and electric, humming through every fiber of me.
Something new is coming.
And for the first time in a long while, I feel it.