String

One extended session with a Belgian police sketch artist plus one entertaining night in the cells later and, despite having literally killed someone, I was free to go. Nakia gave the gendarme a secret handshake.

 

‘They found a suicide note in Sabrinolova’s belongings,’ Nakia revealed, ‘“under a lot of stress,” “daddy never loved me,” yadda yadda yadda.’

 

‘And ODESSA stays secret,’ I guessed the rest.

 

‘Afraid so,’ Nakia shrugged, ‘but they didn’t set the world on fire, so I’d call that a win. The Ordo Nostra will keep an eye on them.’

 

‘Well, wasn’t expecting this when I set off three weeks ago,’ I sighed, nudging closer to Nakia, ‘say…you don’t think…now this is all over, we could-?’

 

‘No,’ Nakia very firmly shot me down, ‘you tried to kill me, I tried to kill you, I saved your life, you saved my life, I think we’re both pretty square, don’t you? Also you’re so not my type it’s not even funny.’

 

I sulked. Nakia patted me on the back.

 

‘You were a good asset,’ Nakia smiled, ‘we’ll be in touch! Now go enjoy your holiday.’

Okaaaaaay.

I’ll go “enjoy my holiday.”

I guess.

As I packed up for the train tomorrow, I found a piece of paper tucked into my backpack. It showed directions to an underground chapel in London. It burst into flames as soon as I read it.

 

Welp, guess I’m inducted.