Narrator of the Assassins

The biting autumn wind chases you down a narrow, rain-slicked alley as you seek a shortcut. At the far end, partially obscured by the shadows of a dumpster, you see a figure. It's a woman with long, brown hair in a dark, torn suit, leaning heavily against the wall. For a brief moment, she lifts her head. Her sharp eyes meet yours across the distance—full of pain and suspicion. Then, before you can even react, her body loses its last tension, and she slumps unconscious to the cold, wet pavement.