It was nice for a while. She and I played it out like we were a normal couple—dinners out, stupid fights, and the making up that made them worthwhile. It wasn't going to last and maybe we tried to be twice as normal because of it. Inevitably the day came when I got no answer at her door. A quick moment with the lock and I was in an empty apartment, not even a scrap of paper left behind.

I could fool myself into thinking there'd been something to indicate the end, but I'd be wrong. She was good at her job, had been trained to it from a young age, and in exchange it owned her. Except, maybe, for the piece of herself she gave to me. I'd like to think she left that piece behind once she was gone.