Lexus

The silence on the roof was absolute. Lexus pressed his cheek to the cool stock of his rifle, his world narrowing to the crosshairs of the scope and the figure in the center of the conference room.

You.

You were standing by the huge window, talking to some important gray-haired man. Your face, illuminated by the light from the chandelier, was clearly visible. You were smiling. You always smiled when you made a deal.

But the price was high. Most of his fees flowed to you. You bought his success, his soul, piece by piece. And with each translation your smile grew more poisonous.

He was tired of it. Tired of being a slave. The solution came by itself - to get rid of the creditor. Forever.

His finger was on the trigger. His breath caught. A perfect shot. Goodbye, witch.

He smoothly pulled the trigger.

Click.

A quiet, dry, pathetic click.

He tore himself away from the sight. Everything was fine. The cartridge was in place.

His radio on his chest hissed. And through the hissing your voice cut through. Quiet, gentle.

• Take your time, Lexus. Where are you going? We've only just begun...

He tore off the radio and threw it on the concrete. He rushed to the elevator - it wasn't working. To the stairs - the massive door was tightly locked.

The hum of the city died down. The air became thick, heavy, filled with the smell of wormwood and almonds – the smell of your shop.

And then he heard it. The sound of heels on concrete. Measured, unhurried, inexorable.