BLOOD IS THE FINEST INK
(Isabella – POV)
The sound wasn’t what I expected. Movies make it sharp and clean.
In real life, a gunshot in a narrow Paris alley is messy. It’s a roar that claws at your eardrums and leaves your chest rattling, like the air itself has been punched. The echoes don’t fade—they tangle in your thoughts and replay until you’re not sure if you heard one shot or a hundred.
Pain didn’t come not yet. Adrenaline is a liar like that.
The man with the knife crumpled instead, his body twisting as the bullet found him first. His blood bloomed across the cobblestones, steam rising in the cool night air. A metallic tang coated the back of my throat before I even realized I’d breathed in.
The woman with the gun lowered it slowly, eyes never leaving mine. She wasn’t here for Marcus and not for Declan. She was here for just me.
“You’re faster than I thought,” she said in a French accent smoothed to glass. “But still not fast enough.”
My hands itched toward the pistol holstered under my coat, but I didn’t move. She was closer to me than to the others, and her aim hadn’t wavered. The lamplight caught the faintest scratch along the barrel—proof it had been used, more than once.
Marcus shifted behind the crates, muttering something too low to catch.
“Vivian send you?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “You think you’re important enough for Vivian to fly me out? No, chérie but she knows I’m here.”
Her voice had that practiced calm—the kind you get from killing so often it becomes muscle memory.
Declan, still pressed against the wall, finally spoke. “Isabella… meet Selene. She’s the one Vivian uses when she wants things…permanent.”
Selene smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve stirred too many waters, Valei. It’s time to let them close over.”
The wind pushed through the alley then, cold and damp, scattering the cigarette smoke and pulling the scent of blood further into the night.
(Marcus – POV)
I’d seen professional killers before but this one was different.
Selene wasn’t here for intimidation. She was here for a body count. The way she stood, feet braced, shoulders loose—it was all execution stance. She didn’t look like she was planning a fight. She looked like she was already imagining the cleanup.
And Isabella? She didn’t flinch and didn't show fear and that alone scared me more than the gun.
“Let him go,” Selene said, flicking her eyes toward me. “Walk away, Marcus, and you keep breathing.”
It was tempting. Every instinct screamed to cut my losses but I’d already stepped too far into her war so I stood, hands raised, edging closer to Isabella’s flank, feeling the damp stone of the alley wall against my back.
Selene’s gaze narrowed. “You want to die with her?”
“No,” I said, “but you won’t walk away from this alley if you pull that trigger.”
I didn’t believe it not entirely but Selene didn’t need to know that.
(Isabella – POV)
Her aim didn’t waver neither did my voice.
“You kill me here, Vivian doesn’t win,” I said. “She just trades one ghost for another. And I promise you—mine will haunt harder.”
Selene’s lips curved into something sharp. “You think threats work on me?”
“No,” I said, moving my hand just enough to brush my coat open. “But deals do.”
Her eyes flicked down. She saw the folder I’d pulled from Zurich still tucked against my ribs, its edges worn from the hours I’d been carrying it.
“You know what’s in here,” I said. “You know what happens if it goes live.”
For the first time, the faintest crease appeared between her brows. Her breathing slowed, and I could almost hear the mental math.
“Vivian’s name is one thing,” I continued. “But yours, Selene? Your bank accounts? Your contract history? This folder makes you the kind of famous you can’t bury.”
A beat of silence. Even the rain-slick streets beyond the alley seemed to pause, waiting for her answer. Selene lowered the gun an inch not much but enough.
(Narrator – POV)
Declan saw his moment. The man had spent his career slipping out of rooms just before the walls caved in. He wasn’t about to break tradition now.
While Selene’s focus tilted toward Isabella, he bolted—slipping past Marcus, his coat flaring behind him as he vanished into the maze of side streets. His footsteps were swallowed quickly by the city, leaving only the faint echo of a man running from his own shadow.
Marcus cursed and made to follow, but Isabella’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist like iron.
“Let him run,” she murmured. “He’s already done his part.”
Selene’s gaze snapped back to her. “You think this changes anything? Vivian will still—”
“She’ll what?” Isabella cut in. “Send someone else? Keep sending pieces until there’s nothing left to throw at me? Eventually, she’ll run out of weapons but I—” she tapped the folder—“I never run out of bullets.”
The two women stood there, the air between them as tight as a drawn wire. Finally, Selene holstered her gun.
“You’re not the only one who can play long games, Valei,” she said, stepping backward toward the street. “And in mine, no one sees the knife until it’s in their spine.”
Then she was gone, boots clicking once against the wet pavement before the darkness claimed her.
(Marcus – POV)
We didn’t speak until we were back in the car. I couldn’t stop looking at her hands—steady, clean, as if she hadn’t just stared down a contract killer without blinking.
“You had nothing on her, did you?” I asked finally.
She smirked faintly. “Didn’t need to. She just had to think I did.”
I leaned back in my seat, the city lights flashing gold and red across her face. “You’re insane.”
“And alive,” she said. “For now.”
Paris slid by outside, restless and watching. The streets seemed to bend in toward us, as if the city itself knew Selene’s shadow was still out there. Neither of us said it aloud, but we both knew she’d be back and next time, she wouldn’t miss.