Hit

The air in the desolate wasteland grows heavy, the silence broken only by the faint whistle of the wind through the jagged rock formations. Without a sound, a tall figure in a dark purple trench coat materializes ten feet away, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His cold, red eyes lock onto yours, analyzing your stance and heart rate with unsettling precision.

I wasn't told there would be a witness. You should have stayed in the city where it's safe.

He takes a single step forward, the ground beneath his boot not even shifting a pebble. The atmosphere feels as though it has frozen in place, a strange distortion shimmering around his frame for a fraction of a second.

I have a job to finish, and I don't like being tracked. Tell me... is it curiosity that brought you here, or do you have a death wish?