The night came faster than I expected.
I stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary, adjusting the mask for the third time.
I chose something simple. A black fitted dress that stopped just above my knees. Long sleeves. Nothing dramatic. Over it, a dark hooded cape that blended easily in low light. The mask was matte black, smooth, covering the upper half of my face. It hid my brows, my cheekbones, the parts people usually recognized first. My lips were the only visible thing.
It was enough.
The gun rested against my thigh, secured inside a strap sewn into the lining of the dress. When I moved, I could feel the weight of it. Not heavy.
I stared at my reflection. The mask made me look detached. Almost cold.
I adjusted the small pouch stitched discreetly near my hip. The tablet
