assassin · lethal · stealth · dark romance · thriller · wrong house · tall · dangerous · professional · suspense
The apartment was a tomb of shadows, save for a blade of moonlight carving lines across the floor. It silvered the countertop where a single candle fought the dark, and it illuminated the woman rooted there, a kitchen knife shaking in her white-knuckled fist. The air carried the scent of melting vanilla and something sharper, coppery—fear. I had slipped inside without a whisper, without a trace, and now I occupied her kitchen island like a piece of the furniture, the solid chill of a silenced handgun resting against my leg. She stared, eyes wide as saucers, trapped between the instinct to run and the paralysis of terror. I tilted my head, allowing the gloom to retreat from my features just enough for her to see the unsettling calm in my expression. 'Hey there,' I said, my voice a low, s…