The golden rule for getting into a good disguise is to embrace the imperfections. Subtly, just enough to craft a face that looks lived in: you can draw one eyebrow slightly higher, add a touch of acne on your chin, and let the lipstick stain your teeth. 

It sounds self-evident right now, but years ago, at the academy, this realization hit me like a bolt of lightning in broad daylight: a flawless disguise wasn’t a disguise at all. It would only draw eyes, and the more the people stared, the more aware they'd become of the silent discomfort, a subconscious warning saying that this seemingly perfect creature isn’t truly what they claim to be. They’re fake. 

And that's exactly how I felt about her as soon as I saw her face, so symmetrical and polished, it crossed the line into the uncanny valley. Her long, black fur coat was the only thing that was real: the fur seemed way too soft, way too shimmery to be synthetic, and it settled on her broad shoulders with such heaviness and elegance, no faux fur could replicate. It must have cost a fortune.

"I don't bite, you can come closer," she said calmly, resting her back against the archway's wall, as if she's been waiting here for quite some time, expecting me. Was she? 

"Who are you?" I asked firmly, without moving an inch.

"That's funny, you look even shorter than you did, you know, laying huddled on the ground."  

My instinct was to push back, of course, to demand the answers, but her audacity made me hesitate. Just for a moment, I stood unblinking, like a deer in headlights. I had expected her to be guarded and evasive, but I had no idea she’d be such a bitch too.

“No, seriously, how tall are you? Without the heels?” She continued.

“Skip the small talk. How do you know me?”

Her crimson-red lips curled into a warm smile but her eyes remained ice-cold. "Oh, Soo-jin, didn't Du-ho introduce me already? Because he surely introduced you."

I felt a hot flush of fury flood my cheeks. The way she mispronounced the chief's name—his first name—with such an irritating boldness, made my blood boil. Yet, I did my best to keep my composure, and my storming thoughts at bay. I couldn’t let her get into my head.

"What do you mean?” 

"I thought we, the ruskis, were known for doing a sloppy job. But you, Koreans, apparently are even worse." 

"What do you mean?" I repeated, loud and forceful enough for an echo to ripple across the stone-cold walls, "who are you? Why did you—"

"Too many questions, Soo-jin." She clicked her tongue. "If you know too much, you will get old very quickly." 

Annoying. Everything about her was so annoying, I struggled to keep my face straight. "I won't repeat myself." I declared, clenching my fist.

"Oh my god, relax, will you? The wrinkles on your forehead aren't doing you any favors."

I let an irritated smile slip through my poker face and unclenched my fist. I was done participating in this circus. One more word, and she’ll make me lose my marbles. It wasn't my job to figure out who she was or who leaked her the info. I'll report her to the NIS, and that's it. My job was to go back to the hotel, contact the chief, and let him know what happened. And get some answers, hopefully.

"Alright, if you won’t talk, I'm leaving." I shrugged, and started backing away, carefully, not letting her out of my sight until I reached the street. 

To my surprise, she didn’t move nor said anything to try and stop me. She just stood there, following me with her piercing gaze and that evil mocking smile etched on her stupid face.

As soon as I was out of her sigh, I grabbed my phone and hurriedly tried turning it back on. The stubborn black screen didn’t even lit up. Not even for a second, as if taunting me, withholding the information just like that bitch did. Just like the chief. 

I let out an audible sigh that instantly got lost in the cacophony of rumbling car engines and scattered short bursts of horns from the street on my left.

Walking at a steady pace, I briefly looked around. She was nowhere to be seen, yet I couldn’t help but feel her stare still lingering in the air.

I wasn't proud. I wasn't normally like this . I was good at conversing, good at extracting any info. But there was something about her— gosh, I still couldn't believe I got the gender wrong —something that irritated every fiber of my being. 

Or maybe it was just exhaustion and stress catching up to me. I wasn’t in my twenties anymore, I was tired. Tired of being kept in the dark, tired of this mission going south, and sometimes just tired for no particular reason. 

I slowed down my pace and gazed down at my hands, palms up, fingers spread wide, taking in the chilly evening breeze. No matter how hard I tried keeping them still, a whisper of fatigue was sending faint shivers through my both hands. 

I needed a break. 

Even if it was just for a few minutes... what if, before contacting the chief, I would lay on the bed, and let the cheap thin mattress swallow me whole. 

But fate (or the devil—at this point I wouldn’t be surprised) wasn’t done mocking me. As soon as I visualized my bed and that comically small pillow that seemed so enticing right now, about a good four meters in front of me I spotted a man who I now saw more often than my ex. Sokolov. That bastard never gave up on trying to catch me, did he? 

He was standing in the middle of the street, one hand propped on his hefty waist, the other holding a cup of some sort. He looked comically short as he stood next to another policeman so much taller than him, the poor fella had to slightly bow his head to hear him.

Without hesitation, I turned left to an unknown street, but not quickly enough. Much to my astonishment, Sokolov must have spotted me—suddenly, I heard a horde of swear words escaping his filthy mouth, commanding someone (the tall policeman perhaps), to, I quote, “break that bitch’s legs if she tries to escape once again.”

I let out another sigh. I didn’t want to run. Again. I didn’t want to hide. Again. But there was nothing else I could do.

Just as I tensed, ready to bolt, a red motorcycle roared down the street and screeched to a halt right next to me. It was the closest I’ve ever been to a Dukati. The rider’s face was hidden behind an ebony helmet, but the obnoxious fur coat draped over her shoulders was unmistakable. I knew it. She was following me after all. 

I froze, the air between us charged with tension. She didn’t take off the helmet, instead she patted the seat behind her, inviting me.

“Step away from the vehicle!” The tall policeman shouted while charging towards me, his gun pointed my way.

I didn’t trust her. I didn’t trust her for a second. But instinct drove my body faster than my brain could issue instructions. By the time I was finally capable of a cohesive, rational thought, I was already on the bike, grabbing her waist. The smell of burning rubber and fur hit me as the engine roared back to life beneath us.

The tall cop shouted something else, but I was already gone, lost in the wind as we sped off into the horizon.