“𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨”

Good fuckin’ riddance.

She was top of the class. The best of the best. And slowly, the number of students dropped. Fifty one year. Twenty the next. They “washed out”; a crude euphemism that everyone saw through.

But Sarah grew stronger. More capable.

More dangerous.

The perfect weapon for the program.

And the program would make sure of that.

A hundred of the smartest children, trained, honed, focused into killing machines.

Sarah was twelve when she first took a life. Thirteen when she first enjoyed it. And slowly, so slowly she didn’t notice it, the girl inside her died.

A killing machine with a razor sharp instinct.

The West had all but lost the Cold War, saved only at the eleventh hour by the Soviets collapsing in on themselves. That would never happen again. England, America, the Atlantic Powers wouldn’t let themselves fall onto the back foot again.

It was cold when they came for Sarah, dragging her kicking and screaming into the winter night, away from her home and her parents.

She didn’t know it yet, but it would be the last time she’d see them. She’d been chosen. Selected for a program. To become something far greater.

A weapon.

1. 𝚂𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙷
————

The top & the bottom

The top & the bottom.

𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝
—————

- looked past Harry at her wrecked car.

“Shit. Yeah. Guess I’ll stay the night too. Get on, but keep your hands right or I’ll tell my mom.”

Climbing onto the back of the hot pink bike and wrapping her arms around the teenager’s waist, Harry smirked.

“No promises, kid.”

- to tremble. Best not to think about the kid’s mom right now.

“Hey. Claire. You did good. You did the right thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I got a favour to ask.”

Claire scoffed. “Want me to not tell mom about this?”

“Sorry kid,” Harry laughed, “she’s gonna find out. No, I need a ride home.”

Claire-

- arrived.

“Jean-Michel? Oui, c’est Harry. Yes, mate. Yes, I’m not surprised you heard. Two. Yeah, peripherique. Near the stadium. We’ll leave now. I owe you one.”

She thumbed the call off, glancing at the time. Christ, fifteen minutes ago she’d been dreaming of-

Harry looked at Claire, starting-

- up of thanks. A rifle through his pockets and- aha!

A pistol. A small one, too. A spy’s pistol.

American.

Why was an American following Claire Kinsey around Paris in the dead of night?

A question for another time, with more sleep attached. She needed to make a call before more witnesses-

Kneeling down by the half-open door, she admired her handiwork. Two neat holes in his head above the eyes that stared back at her. Maybe she wasn’t as rusty as she thought.

Now what had he been reaching for…?

Harry pulled him back off the wheel, silencing the horn, to which Claire gave a thumbs-

“I’m fine, kid. You?”

Claire shrugged. “I dunno man, I’ll let you know when then adrenaline runs out, I guess.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, being chased will do that.”

“Who is that guy?”

A fair question. Harry stepped closer, her gun still drawn. Nobody else in the car, it seemed.

Claire’s voice was all concern. For Harry, not for herself. For a girl who’d been stalked around Paris for a few hours she was remarkably selfless.

The spy became aware of a stinging in her forehead. A gentle touch showed blood. Must have banged her head on the steering wheel.

- he reached for something.

“Don’t!”

He kept reaching, the clarity coming back to his gaze.

“Show me your fuckin’ hands! Les mains! Montrez-moi tes mains!”

His hand went for the door and Harry squeezed twice.

The squeal of a car horn, the screech of brakes.

“Holy fuck, Harry, are you okay!?”

- matter of seconds, and then jolted forward as Claire’s follower slammed into the back.

As both cars came to a stop, Harry grabbed her gun, kicking the door open and stepping out, pistol raised.

The other driver was visible through the cracked windscreen, dazed. He tried to focus on her as-

- as she moved in front of the offending car. Immediately, the driver tried to get out from behind her, to keep eyes on the girl. Harry made sure to move with him, tapping her brakes to bring him just close enough to-

Harry braced herself, yanking the e-brake.

Her car slowed from 45 to 0 in a-

- her brakes, her back light flashing. Good, the girl was smart. Now how to- ah.

Ahead of her, Claire merged left. In her rearview mirror, one of the three cars around them moved with her.

Ahead, Claire moved right. Behind, the same car mirrored her.

Got them.

Harry flashed her lights again-

- spotted the familiar bright pink of Claire’s motorcycle, her jacket flapping in the wind.

At least she was wearing a helmet

Harry looked around. Three cars around them, minus the one now veering off. Any of them could be the culprit.

Harry flashed her lights, sighing in relief as Claire tapped-

- black car. Harry had gotten on the ring road ten minutes down from the Seine crossing, as promised, but nothing. No sign of -

Wait-

Ah, fuck.

She’d neglected to ask what Claire was driving. She’d assumed it was a car.

As the car in front of Harry merged right to get off at the next exit, she-

- and a half. 90 seconds from dead asleep to behind the wheel.

She was getting slow.

Harry tossed her phone and her gun into the passenger seat, speeding out of the garage and down the long driveway, spitting up gravel in her wake.

—

At three in the morning, every fucking car on the road was a-

“I know kid. I’m on my way. You know what our security cars look like right?”

‘𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩.’

“Good. Don’t react when you see me. Just keep driving. Ten minutes, kid.”

She ended the call as she climbed into the car, turning the engine over. A quick glance at the screen showed a call time of a minute-

- 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.’

Yeah, that was a problem.

“Where?”

‘𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘘𝘶𝘢𝘪 𝘥’𝘐𝘴𝘴𝘺?’

Good. She was close.

“Don’t act unusual, just keep going. You’re on a night drive, clearing your head. It’s twenty minutes from me to you and I’ll do it in ten. Okay?”

‘𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥.’

- help the girl.

‘𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦? 𝘐’𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯’ 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥, 𝘮𝘢𝘯!’

Harry leapt to her feet, thumbing the phone onto speaker and tossing it onto her bed as she got dressed.

“Where are you?”

‘𝘐’𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥? 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘤𝘢𝘳’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦- 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘦-

‘𝘔𝘰𝘮 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐’𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐’𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦.’

“Right.”

She wasn’t security for hire. She was contracted specifically to the royal family, and no matter what weird wreath of a family tree they had, Claire wasn’t that.

But- Joan would never let her live if she didn’t-

Harry rolled her eyes. They were meant to use her code name on this line.

“Yes, this is Harry. Who’s this?”

She couldn’t place the girl’s voice. It wasn’t Joan, who’d wobbled out of her room a few hours ago. Daphne was down the hall. Eleanor was with Daphne. That left…

“Claire?”

Harry stirred. Someone’s phone was ringing. She groaned in her sleep, something she hoped was close to ‘answer that!’.

It kept ringing.

Wait, that’s 𝘩𝘦𝘳 phone. The work phone.

Shit.

Her eyes snapped open as she sat up, reaching for it, suddenly wide awake.

“What is it?”

‘𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺?’

𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝
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