Zoe's POV

The church smelled of old wood and candle wax.

I sat in the last pew. My black sweater was loose, bought from a thrift store two states away. Dark jeans. Black sneakers. A baseball cap pulled low. Nothing that would stand out in a security camera. Nothing would make anyone remember me.

The pastor walked down the aisle.

He was in his fifties, tall in a simple black clergy shirt. His face was kind.

I hated that.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Pastor Alex. Are you feeling okay?"

I did not want to talk. But this was my last job. My last morning of being this person. So I looked up at him and told the truth.

"No," I said. "I'm not okay."

He sat down beside me.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"I'm a sinner." I said. "And I'm about to sin more."

He didn't flinch. "We are all sinners. But God's mercy is bigger than any of that."

I shook my head. "Your God might forgive me for everything else. But not for what I'm about to do."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "If you know it's a sin, it's not too late. You don't have to do it."

I laughed. It came out wet and broken.

"You don't understand. This is the price for my freedom. I do this, and I'm out."

He looked at me.

"What is it you have to do?"

I held his gaze.

"I was paid ten million dollars to kill you."

I waited for him to scream, to run, to beg or call for help.

He did none of that.

He just sat there. Then he turned his body toward me and let out a slow breath.

"Ten million dollars." There was no fear in his voice. Only wonder. "I have never seen that kind of money in my whole life." He shook his head slowly. "And someone spent it to end me."

I kept watching him. Waiting for the fear to arrive.

It didn't.

"You serve God," I said. "You built this place, or you tend to it, or whatever it is you do here. You're a preacher. Why would anyone want you dead badly enough to pay that much?" Something genuine moved through me then, cutting through the detachment I had spent years cultivating. "What did you do? What were you, before all this? Why would anyone want a preacher dead?"

He turned to look at me, and his eyes were very calm. "That's a better question for you. Because you're the one here to kill me."

"The system only kills bad people. You must have done terrible things. Things you're not proud of."

He looked at me with pity.

"You're saying that because you need it to be true," he said. "Not because you believe it. You need the guilt to go somewhere else."

He was right. I hated that he was right.

I shook it off. Pulled the gun from my waistband.

The gun was heavy in a way it had never felt before.

"Will your God forgive me for killing his servant in his own house?" I asked.

He smiled. A small, sad smile.

"He already forgave you. Long before you were born."

My hand trembled. I could not remember the last time my hand trembled on a job.

"You're not afraid of me," I whispered.

"There's nothing to be afraid of when you're about to meet your maker." He tilted his head. "I only feel pity for you. It breaks my heart to see you like this. You are so young, and you are so tired, and I can see that something terrible was done to you long before now."

Something inside me cracked.

The tears came before I could stop them. Hot and ugly. I wiped my face with my free hand, but they kept coming.

"It's nothing personal." I managed to get out.

"What's your name, child?"

I should not have answered. I knew better. But my mouth opened anyway.

"Zoe."

"Zoe," he said. "I forgive you, Zoe. It's okay—"

I pulled the trigger before he could finish. I don't deserve his forgiveness, so I didn't want to hear it.

He fell back against the pew. His eyes stayed open.

I closed them with my fingers.

Six years. Six years of working for the system. I had never let a target see my face before. Always a mask. Always a disguise. Always a ghost.

But I let this man see me and I told him my name. Ridiculous.

I was supposed to feel relief. Freedom. I had just bought my way out.

But all I felt was the weight of his kindness pressing into my chest.

I left.

The small church sat on the outskirts of Flagstaff, Arizona, miles away from the life waiting for me in New York.

***

On the plane to go back to New York, I stared out the window and thought about the name I had given him.

Zoe.

My real name. My code name was Whisper.

I chose it because a whisper is not announced. It does not knock. You don't hear a whisper coming, and then suddenly, it's already in your ear. And you're dead.