the smuggler’s bible

Cotillion

Cotillion, the elite assassin, shoots fast and silent as a whisper. 16 and 15 crumple to the ground and the shitty coffee they were drinking drenches the floor of the security checkpoint.

“All clear.” Sous-vide taps his console. “Shift change and sweep are—hold it, there’s something else.”

“Guess a fella can’t even take a minute to hit the can,” 14 says, coming around the corner. He drops his cigarette and stubs it out into the carpet with the toe of his boot.

“Time out,” Cotillion says. He stares at the grey smear. “Do you have any more of those?”