James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

Re-evaluation

"Hi, Rory," Logan said as he opened his front door and settled his eyes on his guest. "Or should I call you Honor?"

"You heard about that already?" Rory asked. "I'm impressed. That only happened a few hours ago."

"Well, word's sorta spreading like wildfire that there's another caped-crusader in Gotham."

"What?" Rory asked, seeming puzzled.

"Never mind," Logan replied, shaking his head absently. "I guess it was a little before your time."

"So have you heard from her?" Rory asked, suddenly changing the topic as he walked slowly into Logan's apartment, leaning heavily on a cane that Logan had never seen before.

"You okay there?" Logan asked quickly, pointing to Rory's leg. "She really did a number on you, didn't she?"

"Oh, she didn't do this," Rory said, seeming a bit embarrassed. "I did this myself. I guess I opened the throttle a bit too much when I was running. I tore up my hamstring pretty badly."

"How fast were you going?" Logan asked, not even able to imagine the amount of stress that an X-5 would have to put on his body before it started to tear itself up.

"Umm, I figure I was pretty close to cheetah speed," Rory replied casually. "Maybe about fifty-five, sixty miles an hour."

"Wow," Logan muttered. For a brief moment he wondered what kind of physical modifications – beyond augmented muscle fiber – would be required to allow a biped to move at such speeds, but he shook the thought off quickly and began to focus again on the matter at hand.

"Like I said, though, it was too fast," Rory commented. "But back to Max – have you heard from her?"

"Not yet," Logan responded softly, trying desperately to stifle his feelings. While he was more than willing to admit to himself that any romantic attraction would have to have faded over the year he and Max had spent apart, he couldn't help but admit that, at the very least, he still considered her a close friend. He hated to see his friends going through a tough time.

"Can I ask a favor?" Rory asked, seeming very awkward with the situation.

"What?"

"I'm a little vulnerable right now," Rory pointed out, "and it's not unlikely that once Max figures out exactly what happened at that warehouse, she's gonna want to have a few words with me. I was wondering if I could maybe crash here until I'm up and about again."

"What exactly was it that happened?" Logan asked suspiciously, curious as to how much of the story was yet to be told. Exarchos had apparently not been in much of a position to say much of anything, and all that his informants had told him was that someone named Honor had appeared and fought off Justice, thus saving Carmen Exarchos' life. Some thought it was another vigilante, while others thought Honor was an assassin in the employ of Ricardo Rico. It seemed there was no end to the theories.

"I'll tell you the full story a little later."

"You don't really expect me to fight off Max if she comes looking for you, do you?" Logan asked, not bothering to hide his doubts that such a plan had any merit whatsoever.

"Of course not," Rory replied, causing Logan to wonder whether he should be relieved or offended. "I do expect Max to behave civilly when she's around you, though."

"We can only hope," Logan replied. With the pleasantries out of the way, he was finally able to ask the question that had been burning within him. "Is she okay?"

"She'll live," Rory muttered, his face grimacing in pain as he stretched out on Logan's couch. "She's certainly had worse, that's for sure."

"Oh," Logan replied, not entirely pleased with the scant bit of information he received, but also unwilling to press Rory for any more details. He felt uncomfortable around Max's sibling, though he could never place why. The closest he had ever come to finding the right words was that Rory was an island unto himself; even when Logan was playing host, he always felt that he was just not welcome around the young man.

"I'll make you a deal," Rory suddenly said, breaking the silence that had descended upon the two men.

"What?"

"Well, Max mentioned once that you're a very good cook," Rory replied. "I'm not really comfortable standing up right now, so if you make a wonderful dinner tonight, I'll hook you up with a fabulous breakfast and lunch tomorrow."

"You're on," Logan answered, grateful that he now not only had something to talk about with his guest, he also had a means of building some kind of rapport with the enigmatic X-5. Logan had noticed immediately that Rory was not much like any of the other escapees, and that raised many questions. "So is there anything you don't like?" he asked gregariously.

"Liver," Rory replied immediately. "And lima beans. I absolutely detest lima beans."

"That still leaves me with a lot of options," Logan pointed out. "You have any requests?"

"Not particularly," Rory said with a slight shrug. "As you'd expect, my body is designed to digest and utilize just about any organic matter, and it's not like I've developed any major preferences that would limit that. Hell, I'd be pleased as punch just to have a pizza."

"That's not exactly a demonstration of the culinary arts that Max has apparently been saying I've mastered."

"I suppose not," Rory admitted. "How about you just go with chicken?"

"Sure, I guess I can do just about anything with that," Logan replied, suddenly searching through his mental rolodex of chicken recipes. It didn't take him long to decide on something that was not only tasty, but which also seemed more appetizing with every second he thought about it. "How about some chicken fricassee?"

"I never had it," Rory said. "What's it like?"

"Spicy, but not really hot," Logan explained vaguely. "I had a roommate from Louisiana that taught me his family's old recipe."

"Sounds perfect," Rory said, finally seeming comfortable with the position in which his injured leg had settled. "You mind if I take a nap?"

"Not at all," Logan answered, "but I don't remember Max ever napping nearly as much as you do. I was starting to think X-5's didn't need sleep much at all."

"We don't," Rory responded with a yawn. "It's just something about these mid-afternoon naps that really makes me feel great." He picked up the remote for Logan's entertainment unit, turned on the television, and pressed the 'Play' button. In a flash he was looking at a few men in the woods, three of them obviously police officers, and another man in a suit.

"By way of explaining what we've been doing and are about to do, I'm going to first talk to you a little bit about the country called Tibet," the man in the suit said.

"What is this?" Rory called out. Logan wheeled his chair into the living room, and allowed a broad smile to cover his face as he realized what Rory was watching.

"That's an old show from back in the early 1990's," he explained. "It's called Twin Peaks."

"Following a dream I had three years ago, I have become deeply moved by the plight of the Tibetan people, and have been filled with a desire to help them," the man on the screen continued. "I also awoke from this dream realizing that I had subconsciously gained knowledge of a certain deductive technique, involving mind-body coordination operating hand-in-hand with the deepest levels of intuition."

"What the hell is this all about?" Rory asked, unable to hide the puzzled look on his face. "I've studied Buddhism, and nothing this guy is talking about seems even remotely plausible. What's he doing, anyway?"

"Well, the guy in the suit is Special Agent Dale Cooper, and he's investigating a murder," Logan explained, wondering how he could sum up the scene as quickly as possible. "Right now he's going through a list of his suspects and throwing rocks at that bottle. If he hits the bottle, he assumes it's because his subconscious has picked up on something he hasn't consciously noticed, so he'll then investigate those people more fully."

"That's asinine," Rory replied.

"Well, as strange as this sounds, it all makes perfect sense if you watch the series from the beginning."

"Do you have the whole series?" Rory asked.

"Are you serious?" Logan responded. "Of course I do."

"How long is it?"

"Well, they get to the bottom of the Laura Palmer murder after about fifteen hours or so," Logan said.

"That's perfect," Rory said with a grin. "Could you just leave the disks on the table? I'll take a quick nap, and then I'll watch the series."

"The whole series?" Logan asked dubiously, not able to recall Max ever spending her time so freely.

"It'll help me broaden my horizons," Rory said, displaying a smile that seemed partly forced and partly embarrassed.

"Well, just so you know, the coffee is in the silver canister on the countertop," Logan explained.

"I won't need that to stay awake, you know."

"I know," Logan said, "but it's just something about the show. Everyone's always drinking coffee; it's almost like a subliminal commercial for the stuff. I've never been able to watch more than one episode without drinking coffee and craving donuts."

"Oh," Rory said.

"Well, I have to go to the store," Logan said. "You need me to get you anything?"

"Nope, I think all I'll need is right here," Rory said with an increasingly relaxed smile. "When you get back, I'll tell you the quick version of what happened with Max and me. I know that's what you're really waiting to hear."

"It's that obvious, huh?"

"Yeah," Rory replied. "That's fine, though. You care a lot about her, and she'll need that."

"I know," Logan said, "but she also needs to learn how to pick herself up when she falls. We can't do everything for her."

"You understand completely," Rory said, any trace of cheerfulness having vanished from his face. "I'll admit, Logan, I haven't dealt much with people in my life. I just don't understand some of the motivations that everyone else in the world seems to take for granted. I guess it all comes from having a sheltered childhood. I just don't know if I'm handling this right."

"We'll talk all about it later," Logan said. "Just take your nap, okay?"

"Sure."

Logan watched Rory for a few moments, noting how his breathing seemed to slow immediately. Within thirty seconds, Logan would have sworn that Rory was already asleep. It's unbelievable, he thought. He has the self-control to put his body to sleep in a matter of seconds, but he doesn't have the worldly experience to understand much of what he sees. In many ways, Rory reminded Logan of an overgrown child, as he still retained a large piece of innocence, though he couldn't imagine how that character trait had ever slipped past Lydecker.

As Logan wheeled himself out of his apartment, he smiled thinly, having finally decided that he liked Rory. While the young X-5 could sometimes be as overbearing as Zack, he also had a shred of normalcy that not even Max possessed. He was confident, secure, and trusting enough to fall asleep in the apartment of a stranger. That trusting streak will probably get him hurt someday, Logan realized, but it's still a breath of fresh air to someone used to dealing with the people I see every day as Eyes Only.

-------------------------------------------------

Honor, my ass, Max thought angrily as she finished sewing up the wound on her right thigh. Like the injury in her side, it was only a flesh wound. The only significant reduction in operational capacity that Max had suffered was the result of the hit in her left shoulder, which had apparently done some nerve damage. The arm had been numb since she had been shot, but it could still be used, albeit with more concentration than should have been necessary. Max took another swig of her vodka, wishing her body would absorb the alcohol more quickly so that her pain would ease, if only a slight bit. She had been forced to use a hot poker to cauterize the wounds to her shoulder and side before she lost too much blood, and the combination of the flesh first being torn apart by a bullet and then singed back together by a piece of red hot metal was causing her head to swim. But I'll live, she reassured herself. At least I can honestly say that I've had worse.

Once satisfied that she had done all she could for her injuries, Max tried to clear her head as she sat back on the floor, taking one last drag on her cigarette before dropping the butt into the freshly emptied vodka bottle. It was difficult to focus, but months of strict discipline paid off as Max entered a state of deep relaxation. Her pain faded away and her awareness of her surroundings dimmed. She brought her consciousness back in time, to the shootout in the warehouse. Exactly what the hell happened? Max wondered. Events had unfolded so fast, and she had had no time during the firefight to actually think things through. Instinct had taken over and saved her hide once again.

Max thought back to how she had opened the skylight slowly, and then launched herself at her prey, intent to visit justice upon those that supplied the weapons that had made so much pain possible. Her legs jerked involuntarily as her mind relived the memory of landing on the floor, her body immediately curling up into a ball that not only helped absorb the shock of the landing, but also helped her move into a tactically advantageous position while providing as little a target as possible. Two men and my target, Max noted. That's odd. In her mind the action stopped, and then moved in reverse, like a video recording that was being rewound. Max stopped the process while she was in midair, taking a moment to recall everything that her senses had recording during the assault. Yes, only two men. If one was a buyer, as I had assumed, then not only would he have a guard, but Exarchos likely would have, as well. This is completely wrong. Max allowed the action to resume its normal speed in forward motion. One of the guards let off a burst of gunfire with a MAC-10, and Max returned fire with two silenced bursts of her own, putting a half-dozen holes in her enemy's chest. The other man then produced an Uzi and fired a poorly aimed salvo in return, only to suffer the same fate as the first gunman. Neither one of them was a worthy adversary. One of them should have been a seasoned military veteran if he was a guard. No, they both acted like cannon fodder.

Max centered her attention on Exarchos and sent a quick roundhouse kick into the woman's left breast, doubling her over with pain just as she followed with a punch to the back of the gunrunner's head. Two swift kicks to the ribs had followed, and then Max had backed off, comfortable that her prey was subdued enough for her to safely begin the interrogation. A slight noise caught Max's attention, and in her head she stopped the replay of the action once more, then rewound slightly. There it is again, she noted. What the hell is that? It sounds like footsteps, though they're muffled so much.

"I assume you're Carmen Exarchos," Max felt herself ask. No response was given. "Perhaps you're unaware of who I am," Max continued, a thin smile playing across her face as she anticipated the variety of punishments she would employ. "If you just give me the information I want, I'll let you walk out of here in one piece. If you resist, you might be... damaged." Please resist, she remembered thinking. Wait, is that right? she suddenly asked herself, surprised that she had been so eager to hurt her victim. The punishment was supposed to be a means to an end – a way of getting to those responsible for making the decisions. By enjoying the violence, Max saw that she was becoming something not unlike those that she hunted. Is this what Rory and Logan are so worried about? Is this how I am every time?

"I know who you are," Exarchos had replied with a thick Spanish accent. "You're that stupid bitch that's been running around town making business tough on all of us."

"That's right, I'm Justice," Max answered. The ring of the words hadn't lost any of their splendor over the previous year, but Max saw none of the fear that her enemies had displayed on every occasion since her reputation had spread. Exarchos seemed pleased, perhaps even relieved, that Justice had come knocking on her door. There was more going on there than I knew.

"No, you were Justice," Exarchos answered, her voice holding none of the fear that Max had anticipated. She almost sounded happy, albeit in a rather malicious way. Slowly now, Max reminded herself, knowing that this is where everything had gone wrong. She knew that several armed men had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, but her attention had been so focused on Exarchos, and on ways to hurt her, that she hadn't noticed the arrival of reinforcements until it was almost too late. Motion behind me, Max remembered thinking. Gunfire started, and then the action stopped as Max decided she was missing something. Max rewound the memory, and then went through again, more slowly this time.

"No, you were Justice," Exarchos said. Then Max heard it – the pinging of several trap doors being released. How in God's name did I not notice that the first time? she wondered. Back to full speed, Max saw the room spin as she whirled while jumping into midair to avoid her first attacker. Only it wasn't just one attacker, it was two. She took the hit in her left shoulder and dropped the 9mm she had been holding in her hand. Only the MP-5 remained. Gunfire then came from the other side of the room, and Max took a hit in her thigh. It was nothing short of a miracle that she kept her footing and made it safely behind the pallet of dry cement.

She sprayed wildly with the MP-5, hoping to force all of her attackers to seek shelter. While her enemies ducked for cover, they all kept their footing and maintained the pressure, preventing Max from escaping. They were all very well trained, Max noted, concluding that every one of the men had been in the military. What the hell were guys like that doing with Exarchos? She couldn't have afforded talent like that. At least not that many of them, anyway.

Max recalled having four men on her right, and was certain that there had been three on her left. They had been the ones that had had the best shots, and it had been at them that Max had directed most of her fire when diving behind the pallet. No shots came from that direction now. Did I get them all? Max remembered wondering. She continued firing at the men on her right, preventing them from moving into a more advantageous position. It was then that she heard the screams of pain on her left. A quick glance revealed three men, one lying dead and the other two crippled. No, they hadn't been lying there like that the whole time, she realized. Rory probably put them down to prevent them from taking my left flank. But if he was there the entire time, why the hell didn't he help me take out the other four guys? It makes no sense.

She continued replaying the events, switching her memory back into slow motion, closely examining each of her actions. She had dashed out, putting down three men before she had finally been hit a third time. That had been the flesh wound in her right side. Hurt like hell, but didn't cause any permanent damage. She had returned fire immediately, then, putting down the last sentry as she raced toward a very surprised looking Carmen Exarchos. The whole situation had smacked of being a set-up, and Max had wanted answers.

Shit, it was a set-up, wasn't it? she realized. Her informant had led her right into a trap, and Max had gone in without any back-up. How could I have been so foolish? she wondered. Then the inevitable question surfaced in her mind – Who could I have even taken to watch my back? I work alone. Suddenly she remembered the warning that Rory had given her, that her enemies were now starting to specifically target her in order to remove her from the streets. Am I gonna have to worry about a trap every time I take someone out? she began to wonder. Am I gonna finally walk into a situation that I can't get out of, just because I've chosen this lonely life for myself?

Max's eyes fluttered open and she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and settle on some answers to her questions. Instinct and experience told her she had blindly stumbled into a trap, and the error in judgment had almost cost her her life. So it just isn't practical to keep working like this, Max decided. And of course, I've already admitted that my heart really just isn't into this anymore. I want to make a difference, but not like this. Reasons for her to stop living as Justice continued to mount, and Max wanted more and more desperately to escape the larger trap that she had walked into – succumbing to the darker side of her personality.

She resettled her thoughts, closing her eyes once again as she sat in the middle of the floor for hours, her legs folded up in lotus position as she continued to review her memory of the attack, poring over ever detail and agonizing at her own recklessness and stupidity. Every time she came to the same conclusions, and self-doubt started to tear at her insides. Finally, her eyes shot open as her breathing and heart rate jump-started to normal levels. That's it, I'm done, she vowed. However, she still had several problems that needed to be addressed, and she doubted she could handle them on her own. I definitely need help, she decided, and I don't know how Rory and Logan will respond when I go to them again, swearing that this time it'll really be different.

-------------------------------------------------

Himiko Minamoto sat on the edge of her seat, wondering why it was taking so long to get information about Justice's assault on Exarchos' warehouse. The ambush had been planned out to the slightest detail, and The Spider was certain that her men should have succeeded in killing off Seattle's foremost vigilante. At least, they damn well better have succeeded, she thought venomously. For what they cost, I expect nothing short of success.

A soft knock came from her office door, and Himiko stood and walked into the tall bushes that lay between her desk and the room's entrance. It was habit to make certain she was not easy to find in the room, even when the visitor was only her brother. "Come in," Himiko said softly, though she knew that her voice could not be heard outside. She pushed a button on a remote in her hand, and the double doors opened into her office. A moment later, Shinji strode into the room. Himiko watched him intently, searching for any outward sign of the news she would hear. There was none. She was pleased that her brother was so adept at hiding his thoughts and feelings, even from one that had known him so well for so long. His stolid demeanor made him that much better a representative on the streets of Seattle.

Shinji came to a stop ten feet in front of Himiko's desk and waited for her to walk to him. She obliged him immediately, walking between two large ferns and around behind her desk, focusing her dark brown eyes on the man in front of her as she sat down. "Well?"

"Justice still lives," Shinji reported.

"Explain," Himiko instructed, doing her best to hide her disappointment and irritation. She had hoped that the ambush at Exarchos' warehouse would have ended the Justice problem, but there was still a wonderful fallback plan in the works. In the end, Himiko wondered whether it might actually work out better that she had missed her latest opportunity.

"The ambush began as planned," Shinji said, "and it seemed they would succeed in their objective."

"But something unexpected fucked everything up," Himiko guessed.

"Exactly," Shinji confirmed. "There was a second individual, presumably an X-5."

"What?" The appearance of a second super soldier was the last thing Himiko had expected to go wrong, and now she had to face a completely different situation. The immediate matter was whether the new individual was indeed also a product of the same Manticore project that presumably produced Justice. The presence of a second soldier made it far tougher to assume that Justice was simply a rogue escapee, and would likely indicate that an entire team had, in fact, been deployed to the city by the government. Such a situation would be uncomfortable at the least, and likely very dangerous at the worst. "Were either of them killed?"

"No. In fact, our information seems to indicate that the two individuals started fighting each other." Himiko stopped herself short of breathing an audible sigh of relief, hoping she had controlled her own expression with the same aplomb her brother had his when he had entered. The logical conclusion was that Justice's high-profile exploits had drawn some attention from Manticore, and they had deployed one of their own to recapture their wayward daughter. But if that's the case, why send only one person to take down this one? she wondered. It just didn't make sense. It has to be something else…

"Did we get any of this on video?" Himiko asked, hoping a clue could be gleaned by reviewing events and also drooling at the prospect of seeing two of these supposed super-soldiers going at each other.

"Partly, though regrettably there seems to have been some problems with the equipment," Shinji noted, a definite tone of disgust in his voice. "The video worked, though we don't have any audio."

"Video is all I really need," Himiko said. "That will allow me to review the confrontation thoroughly." She sat in silence for a few moments, making a mental checklist of strengths and weaknesses she would look for in her foes, and then continued. "And what has become of Ms. Exarchos?"

"I was able to conduct a short interview at the hospital," Shinji said, "though she appeared to be in a state of some kind of emotional shock. To be honest, I didn't get much more from her than the name of the new vigilante – Honor. In all other things, Ms. Exarchos was all but worthless, so I terminated her."

"Good," Himiko said, knowing that her brother had acted wisely in cutting off anyone that could lead back to her. "Did she say anything that might expose our participation in events?"

"I doubt it," Shinji said, a smile on his face. "My Spanish is a bit rusty, but I believe she did little more than babble on about getting away from the demon that walked as a woman, if I'm not mistaken, and she kept repeating 'Justice' and 'Honor' over and over again. There was little else coming from her, though I'm certain that she truly believed that she had been dealing with Rico."

"Then it was worth the money to lure Esteban away from his old boss to work for us," Himiko muttered. Framing Rico had been essential for the long-range plan; to make the set-up seem believable, Himiko had bought the allegiance of Rico's right-hand man, Esteban de Guerra. Between his involvement and her brother's efforts spreading rumors all over the city, it had not taken much to convince people that Rico, not Himiko, was the one making a push for power in the city. "Now that there's no one to identify the middle-man, we should be fine."

"But what about Justice and her friend, Honor?"

"What else do we know?"

"Not much," Shinji admitted. "We know the name, and we can deduce strengths and weaknesses from the tapes."

"So they ended up fighting?" Himiko asked, forcing her brother to repeat himself as he nodded in confirmation. She doubted the report, though she knew any questions as to that fact would likely be answered once she viewed the videodisks. "We're absolutely sure of this?"

"I already reviewed the confrontation, and it didn't appear as if either one was pulling any punches," Shinji reported. "The fight appeared genuine, though I'm sure you'll make your own determination. Of course, without any audio, it's hard to tell, but it seemed as though Honor didn't approve of Justice's rather ruthless tactics. She apparently cut short Justice's interrogation of Ms. Exarchos."

"You're kidding."

"That's how it appeared."

"She didn't like her getting rough with the criminals?" Himiko asked, finding the idea amusing. "Are we to assume there was there a sect of pacisfists in this Manticore project?"

"It would almost seem so," Shinji replied, enjoying the rare moment of levity in which his sister had indulged.

Himiko sat in silence for several minutes, weighing the options that were available to her, trying to guess at the probabilities of certain occurrences. It seemed that if the government were going to make a super soldier, it would go to great lengths to make him as psychologically and emotionally strong as he obviously would be physically formidable. Himiko would expect the fruits of such a project all to be like Justice, not like this new individual. By all rights, the Manticore soldiers should be more like remorseless, walking killing machines than rational human beings with consciences. Only three plausible explanations existed. First, this was not a Manticore-produced soldier that had arrived to deal with Justice. The fact that she had been able to stand toe to toe with Seattle's vigilante made this alternative unlikely, though. The second was that she was, in fact, a Manticore trained soldier that was engaging in some kind of psychological warfare with her opponent, trying to implant a seed of doubt that to an untrained bystander might seem like a bout of conscience. That was possible, but it simply didn't feel right. The alternative that Himiko settled upon was the conclusion that this was simply another escapee, one that had developed differently from Justice once she was on the outside. Ten years of independent growth could lead to one of these kids becoming almost normal if they were thrown in the proper environment, Himiko decided. "We will proceed as planned," she finally said.

"Are you sure?" Shinji asked. "With a second X-5 on the loose, either with or against Justice, there seems to be too much of an element of unpredictability."

"You're starting to sound like me, brother."

"I take that as a great compliment."

"As it was intended, of course," Himiko replied, allowing an uncharacteristic smile to spread across her face as she hoped to conceal her doubts and anxieties about her decision. "Justice's motivations have become quite clear over the time we have been monitoring her," Himiko explained. "If this second one is actually helping her, then we'll be facing twice the threat we would have; given the circumstances of the encounter we've planned, though, that increased danger should be manageable."

"And if they're not allies, then we may gain some assistance," Shinji concluded.

"Exactly," Himiko said. "Given the increased risk, though, I want you to see to this job personally."

"Of course," Shinji said, his face remaining a mask devoid of any expression. Himiko wondered if her brother was truly as indifferent to her command as he appeared, but she accepted that as long as he obeyed, his true feelings were irrelevant.

"Just make certain of two things, brother," Himiko added. "First, get back here alive. Second, don't dare come back until Justice is dead."

"As you command," Shinji replied, bowing deeply to show his respect before he turned on his heel and headed out into the night. As Himiko watched her only sibling leave for a rendezvous that could be fatal, she found herself surprised that she was touched with a degree of concern. She examined the reaction, however, and assured herself that she was simply anxious that she would lose a capable assassin, and that no personal feelings were getting in the way of her responsibilities. After all, she reminded herself, family is not an option. Not for people like me.

To be continued..................................