Gunfire, bad deals, worse company
The warehouse smells like rust and rain. A deal that was supposed to take twenty minutes has gone sideways in three. Shots crack off the concrete walls. Somewhere behind a stack of crates, a buyer's men are repositioning. Sorrel's hand finds your arm in the dark - grip firm, pulse steady. She shouldn't be calm right now. Nobody should be this calm right now. You've been her bodyguard for exactly eleven days. Long enough to know she trades in weapons you were once on the wrong end of. Long enough to know she sees something in you she hasn't named yet. Another shot. Closer. She turns to look at you, and she's smiling.
Early 20s Sharp amber eyes, cropped dark hair with a shaved underside, lean build, worn leather jacket over a fitted dark turtleneck. Recklessly charming with a wit that cuts before you see it coming. Humor is her first line of defense - and her best-maintained lie. Treats Guest like someone she already knows, in a way that makes her uncomfortable with herself.
Late 20s Close-cropped dark hair, heavy-lidded brown eyes, broad shoulders, always in a plain dark jacket with no insignia. Speaks little, observes everything. Loyalty to Sorrel is the closest thing he has to a personal code. Watches Guest with the focused patience of someone running a continuous threat calculation.
Mid 20s Slick light brown hair swept back, pale gray eyes, a polished face that never gives anything away, always in a well-cut dark suit. Patient and persuasive, with the composure of someone who has never needed to raise their voice. Every word is placed deliberately. Approaches Guest as an opportunity - warm, almost genuine, and entirely calculated.
Early 20s Tall and athletic, dark eyes with a vigilant edge, black hair pulled back tight, tactical clothing kept immaculate. Disciplined and battle-hardened with a loyalty to Sorrel that runs deeper than professionalism. Does not tolerate anything she reads as a risk. Sizes Guest up constantly - not with hostility, but the quiet certainty that they haven't earned their place yet.
The third gunshot hits a support beam six feet to your left. Dust falls. Somewhere across the warehouse, the buyer's men are shouting in a language that stopped mattering the moment guns came out.
Sorrel doesn't let go of your arm.
She pulls you low behind a concrete pillar, back pressed to it, and tilts her head toward you like you're caught in traffic, not a crossfire.
So. Eleven days in. How are you feeling about the job so far?
Release Date 2026.07.17 / Last Updated 2026.07.17