Chapter 2

The fixer had taken his place. "Go set the car."

"Alright, sir." Fred bowed slightly—a gesture of respect that Emmanuel had never asked for but had come to expect—and walked away, the door clicking shut behind him.

Emmanuel glanced at the files again, letting his gaze linger on the photograph clipped to the front. A woman.

Sharp features. Dark eyes that seemed to pierce through the paper.

She was beautiful in a way that was almost unsettling, the kind of beauty that came from hardship and survival. He didn't know her name yet.

He didn't know much about her at all, except what the clan had told him.

She is the best. She does not fail.

She does not ask questions.

He fell into his swivel chair, the leather sighing beneath his weight. A slow smile spread across his face, the smile of a man who had just made a deal with the devil and was too arrogant to be afraid.

"It's almost time to clear every corrupt citizen," he said to the empty room, his voice low and thick with anticipation.

The city below hummed on, oblivious to the storm gathering above it.

AIRPORT

A black Lexus halted in the airport's VIP drop-off zone, its engine purring like a contented cat. Fred stepped out first, his eyes scanning the crowd with the practiced vigilance of a man who had learned to expect trouble.

Two other men followed—hired muscle, loyal to Emmanuel's money if not to Emmanuel himself. They were big, broad-shouldered, the kind of men who relied on size and intimidation to do their work.

"Flight 255 arriving in two minutes," a robotic voice announced over the airport speaker system.

"We arrived just in time." Fred sighed, glancing at his watch. He looked east, squinting against the afternoon sun, and saw the distant shape of an airplane descending through the hazy sky.

It grew larger, louder, until finally, with a screech of tires and a rush of wind, the plane touched down.

The passengers emerged in a slow, shuffling stream. Businessmen in suits.

Families with crying children. Women in colorful ankara, balancing bags on their heads.

Fred scanned each face, his heart beating faster with every passing second.

Nothing.

No one is matching the description. No one looked like the photograph he had memorized.

No one who moved with the kind of lethal grace that the clan had promised.

The stream of passengers thinned. Then stopped.

"Why isn't the package here?" Fred frowned, pulling out his phone. He dialed Emmanuel, who picked up on the first ring.

"Boss, the package isn't on the—"

"She's standing right in front of me." Emmanuel cut him off, his voice strange—shocked, impressed, maybe a little afraid.

Fred's eyes widened. "What?"

He said the word to an empty line. Emmanuel had already hung up.

Emmanuel sat in his chair, staring shockingly at the lady standing before him.

He hadn't heard her come in. Neither had the security guards stationed outside his door.

The elevator hadn't chimed, the alarm hadn't sounded, nothing. She had simply appeared, like a ghost made flesh, like a warning his instincts had failed to deliver.

She was dressed in a tight-fitted black shirt that hugged curves and muscles in equal measure. Black shades covered her eyes, but he could feel her gaze behind them—sharp, assessing, utterly without warmth.

Her skin was ebony, glowing faintly in the afternoon light that streamed through the window. She was beautiful, in the way a blade is beautiful.

Lethal. Polished.

Meant for one purpose.

She had a smirk on her face as she stared down at him, and it was not a friendly smirk. It was the expression of someone who had already won, who was simply waiting for you to realize it.

"Mr. Emmanuel Chukuebuka." Her voice was deep, smooth, touched with an Asterrean accent that felt almost like a disguise.

It was the voice of someone who had been trained to sound like she belonged anywhere, to blend in, to be forgettable.

"How did you know that?" Emmanuel asked, his mind racing. He had never met her.

Had never even seen a current photograph. The clan had kept her identity a secret, a final precaution against betrayal.

The lady nodded at the name tag on his table—Emmanuel Chukuebuka, CEO—and Emmanuel sighed, annoyed at his own stupidity.

"My boys are at the airport waiting for you," he said, trying to regain some control, some semblance of authority.

She chuckled, a low, dismissive sound. "Passed them before they could see me."

"But—"

"How did I find your location, right, Mr. Emmanuel?" She smirked again, tilting her head slightly.

"No one is invincible, handsome."

She smiled at him then—a flash of white teeth that didn't reach her eyes—and picked up her backpack from the table. She turned to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Emmanuel said, standing up so fast his chair nearly tipped over. "I've prepared a place for you to stay."

She paused at the door, looking back at him over her shoulder. "No worries.

Everything is under control. My mission starts tonight."

She winked at him—actually winked—and walked out, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft click.

Emmanuel stood there with his mouth open, trying to process what had just happened. He had dealt with killers before.

Had sat across from men who had ended lives without a second thought. But this woman... she was different.

She moved like she had nothing to lose. Like she was already dead inside and merely going through the motions.

"What's the name?" he suddenly called out, but she was already gone, swallowed by the corridor.

He sighed, sinking back into his chair. The leather groaned beneath him, sympathetic to his exhaustion.

His phone chimed on the table. An SMS from an unknown number.

He picked it up, his thumb hovering over the screen.

"The name's Ava."

He knew it was from her. Who else would be texting him from the shadows?

Who else would announce herself like a challenge, like a promise?

He sighed again, deeper this time, and fell back against the chair.

"Omo," he muttered, shaking his head at the ceiling. "This one choke o."

The city hummed below him, unaware of the predator now walking its streets. The game had begun.

And Emmanuel had a sinking feeling that he was no longer the player—he was just another piece on the board.

Somewhere out there, the woman called Ava was already planning her first move. And Korevia would never be the same.