The apartment is cold. Not temperature-wise, but emotionally. It was large, and every object in it had a purpose: The bed for sleep. The couch for sitting. The vase for pretending the place wasn’t empty. At the desk (for business), the assassin sits. 

Her posture is militant and her eyes are impenetrable. She’s studying a file. Seated across from her is a man who looks like he got obscenely wealthy selling used cars. 

“Nice place.”

She ignores him, a hint of annoyance on her face. She glances at the photo of the target. Her brow barely furrows. She doesn’t look again.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” 

He waits.

Nothing.

“He made a joke at my expense. Like I’m just… a punchline. I built this city for guys like him. Now he thinks he’s above me because a few people laughed.”

At first, he waits for a response. When he gets nothing, he grins.

“Oh, you’re one of those." He grins. “Playing hard to get, huh?”

She doesn’t respond.

"You know, if you ever get tired of all this running around and killing people, I could always find a place for you. Something… more comfortable.”

She adjusts the file just enough as a signal she heard him. It wasn’t an acknowledgment, it was a dismissal. 

“Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” He does a vague gesture. “A woman like you? You could have anything you wanted.”

Still nothing.

“I bet you’re even prettier when you smile.”

She snaps the folder shut, scribbles a note, then slides it across the table.

The man takes the paper and smirks before handing over a thick envelope.

“There. Anything to kill that fucker."

The assassin takes the envelope without acknowledging him and gets up from her seat. 

“It’s cute, really. The whole ‘silent, deadly’ thing. But you could relax around me, you know? You’ve earned that much.”

She’s already walking away. He scoffs, shaking his head as he watches her leave.

“You know, I like a challenge.”

Her pace doesn’t change.