the smuggler’s bible

Kyomori

Juliet clutches her black tanto knife, chemicals loose in her veins. She digs in hard on the edge and stares across the sand.

“You look well,” she says, “for somebody I already killed.”

Kyomori laughs. “You didn’t slice nearly so deep as you think. Just three months in a vat. Another two teaching the new cells how to be—”

“An ass?”

“Me.”

Thirty, maybe forty meters between them. He could cover it in the blink of an eye, so she doesn’t blink.

“You were good, you know,” Kyomori says, knees bent, running already—impossibly fast. “One of the best.”