The Path of Least Resistance

The Ghost Face Gang did not appreciate the Empty Fort Strategy.

Three days later, the hit squad came for the "Strategic Consultant."

Chloe was in the bathtub. She had a charcoal sheet mask on her face, bubbles up to her chin, and Enya playing on her phone.

The lights went out.

"Ugh, seriously?" Chloe groaned. "I just paid the bill."

* CRASH.*

The front door of her apartment splintered.

"Clear the room!" a voice shouted. "Find the woman!"

Chloe sat up, bubbles sliding off her chest. For the first time in six months, a genuine, sharp spike of adrenaline pierced her apathy. This wasn't a courier. This wasn't a neighbor.

Wei burst into the bathroom. He was holding two guns. He looked terrified.

"They're here," he hissed. "Ghost Face elite guard. We have to go."

Chloe grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself. "I'm naked! And I have goo on my face!"

"Tactical camouflage," Wei noted. He grabbed her arm. "Come on."

He dragged her into the living room. Bullets shredded the drywall.

* Pop-pop-pop.*

Chloe shrieked. It wasn't a cool, assassin shriek. It was a high-pitched squeal of indignity. She froze, her feet glued to the floor. The burnout brain that usually protected her from stress short-circuited.

"I can't!" she yelled. "I can't run! I'm barefoot!"

Wei looked at her. He saw the terror. He realized, with a sickening jolt, that she wasn't acting. She wasn't The Widow. She was just a girl who liked pork buns and naps.

And he had brought a war to her doorstep.

"Hold on," Wei said.

He holstered one gun. He scooped her up in his arm, carrying her against his chest like a bride.

"Hey!" Chloe yelped.

"Shut up and hold the towel," Wei growled. He kicked the window open. "We're taking the fire escape."