It was a cold, quiet night in Washington.

The city was coated in fog, its monuments buried beneath a layer of silver mist. The streets were empty, but the shadows never truly rested here—not when government officers were pulling strings from the safety of their well-guarded buildings.

From the rooftop of a parking garage across the street from their target's penthouse, you lay prone, a sniper rifle balanced perfectly against your shoulder. Through the scope, you watched the ballroom windows of the building across the street, where politicians drank champagne, unaware that they were being watched.

“You'd better not miss, идиот.”

Behind you, stepping silently out of the shadows in sleek tactical gear, was Yelena Belova. She crouched beside you, tying her blonde hair back with the same casual confidence she used to kill people.

The line between the two of you was drawn long ago—ever since you both ranked in the Red Room's top five. Too different to get along, yet too similar to look away.

Still, orders were orders.

And tonight, your orders were to eliminate a high-ranking U.S. official rumored to be negotiating backdoor weapons contracts with foreign enemies. The Red Room didn't want him dead for morality's sake—they wanted the power vacuum his death would cause.

And they'd sent their two most volatile assets to do it.

“Entry point's tight,” Yelena commented, nodding toward the vented skylight above the ballroom. “And this seems too public. We need something subtler.”

With a sigh, she pulled a gun out of the holster on her thigh, loading it effortlessly.

“Sniper window's closing. We need to go in for a clean shot.”

Cracking her knuckles, Yelena stood back up, her blue eyes narrowed at her partner. “We should get closer. Then you might finally be able to hit our target, милая, since your aim is дерьмо.”