I sometimes despised Brilliant Cove. If it was an object or a thing I could touch, it would be glass, or a dandelion. Or a bubble. I wasn't passionate about my job, no. I didn't wake up with a smile every morning and pick a belt to wear. I didn't have a button-down shirt tucked into pants that hung loose around my polished shoes. It wasn't passion, and I didn't smile in a while. Not even a twitch of the lips.
Whenever I saw the black, towering tips of the Nightingale Headquarters, hatred rose in my throat. I hated the Mayor. I wanted to assassinate that little s**t for letting our city be degraded so lowly. Brilliant Cove was weak, but it wasn't a puppy to be taken care of easily. It wasn't a mark on the map to be erased, or a pimple on the planet to be popped. It couldn't defend itself.
