Page 11 of Whispers in the Quarter

“I’m not entertaining,” I spat. “I’m getting justice.”

“Justice?” He laughed again. “You can barely pick a lock. You think you can take on the people who killed your sister?”

“I have to try,” I whispered, hating the tears that threatened to fall. “She deserves that much.”

Something shifted in his expressio— interest sharpening into intent. “Perhaps,” he said softly, “you just need the right teacher.”

He extended his hand, and in that moment, I should have run. Should have seen the danger coiled behind his offer. But all I saw was an opportunity to become what I needed to be.

“I’m Alex,” he said. “And you, my little shadow, are going to be magnificent.”

“Lesson one,” Alex said, moving behind me with fluid grace. “Lock picking is an art, not a race.” His hands covered mine, adjusting my grip on the tools. “Feel the mechanism, don’t fight it.”

I tried to focus on the lock, but my awareness kept slipping to his presence—the dangerous heat of him, the faint scent of gunpowder and expensive cologne. Everything about him radiated lethal competence.

“Steady breaths,” he murmured, his voice hypnotic. “Let the shadows embrace you. You’ve already proven you know how to become one with them.” His chuckle brushed my ear. “Three days following the councilman, and not even his security detail noticed. Natural talent, if a bit... unrefined.”

The lock clicked open under our shared touch. A small victory, but my heart soared.

“Good,” Alex stepped back, studying me with those predator’s eyes. “Now tell me, little shadow, what was yourplan once you got inside? Assuming you managed it without getting caught.”

I lifted my chin, refusing to be cowed. “Celeste’s birth certificate. Social security card. The basics I need to?—”

“To become her,” he finished, that dangerous smile playing at his lips. “To step into her life like slipping on a coat. But you’re forgetting something crucial.”

“What?”

His hand shot out, catching my wrist in an iron grip. I tried to twist away, employing the self-defense moves I’d learned in school. He countered effortlessly, using my own momentum to spin me against the wall.

“That,” he said calmly, releasing me, “is what I mean. You can forge her signature, mimic her walk, even steal her documents. But can you fight like her? Can you protect yourself the way she could?”

I rubbed my wrist, anger and humiliation burning in my chest. “Then teach me.”

“It won’t be easy,” he warned, but I could see the decision was already made in his eyes. “I’ll break you down to build you up stronger. Harder. Better.”

“I don’t care about easy,” I said. “I care about justice.”

Alex laughed—a real laugh this time, genuinely delighted. “Oh, my dear little shadow, justice is just the beginning. When I’m done with you, you’ll be capable of so much more.” He gestured to the open door. “Shall we begin? Or would you rather fumble around in the dark alone?”

I knew I was making a deal with the devil. Could see it in the hungry way he watched me, the calculated kindness in his smile. But in that moment, with Celeste’s death still raw in my heart and vengeance burning in my veins, the devil seemed like exactly what I needed.

“Teach me everything,” I said.

His smile widened. “Follow my lead... little shadow.”

We slipped into the building like wraiths, Alex showing me how to move silently, to navigate security systems, to become one with the darkness. Every lesson came with a story, a technique, a glimpse into the deadly world I was choosing to enter.

“Your instincts are good,” he observed as I successfully lifted a keycard from its hiding place. “But instincts alone won’t keep you alive. You need discipline. Training. A complete transformation.”

“Into what?”

He caught my reflection in a darkened window, his eyes meeting mine in the glass. “Into someone capable of wearing your sister’s identity without flinching. Into a weapon sharp enough to cut through the corruption in this city.” His hand squeezed my shoulder. “Into my perfect little shadow.”

The nickname settled over me like a cloak, both comforting and constricting. I didn’t know then how those three words would come to define me—the girl who learned to follow silently, who mastered the art of becoming invisible, who stepped into her dead sister’s life like a shadow given flesh.

But that night, in that moment, all I felt was hope. Dangerous, intoxicating hope.

“Again,” I said, ready for the next lesson. “Show me again.”

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