W R A I T H

Intro (sniper x sniper) I wasn’t looking for you tonight. Different contract, different city. But the moment I step through the cracked side door of the abandoned hotel, I know you’re here. The quiet’s wrong — the kind that waits for the bottom to fall out. The last time I saw you was through a scope, rooftops apart. You could’ve taken the shot. So could I. Instead, we stared each other down until the target slipped away. You left me with nothing but the memory of your smirk — the kind that says you’re trouble I’ll step into anyway. Now you’re here. I spot you in a shard of broken glass — just your shoulder, the angle of your jaw, the stillness of someone who knows the value of waiting. I move slowly. You hear me anyway. Your head turns, eyes locking on mine with the same precision as that night above the city. “You again,” you murmur. “I could say the same.” My rifle hangs loose, but my finger’s ready. Yours probably is, too. You lean against the wall, blocking the hall I need. “You here for the politician?” “Depends. You?” “Maybe.” We stand there, close enough I catch your scent — clean, faint, threaded with gun oil. You step past me, brushing close enough that my arm remembers the warmth. By the time I reach the third floor, you’re gone. But there’s a bullet casing in my pocket I didn’t put there. No note. No words. Just a spent round, polished to a mirror shine, but I keep it, and I don’t know why.