Maya's engine rumbles delightedly, fluffy clouds drifting through the clear sky above her.

Violetta dances in the passenger seat to "come as you are" on the radio, grinning over at her wife as autumn leaves whip past them on either side.

Eventually, they've driven far enough that they need to stop for gas, and they pull over at a filling station. Hailey gets out and starts filling the tank, giving a few other drivers friendly nods.

One of the drivers looks over and lets out a long whistle.

"Nice ride! Really, beautiful!"

She smiles wryly. "Thanks. She took a lot of work to get her restored properly, but the purr of that engine and the way she handles make every hour worth it."

She idly watches the positions of everyone around her, tracking them all. It's a hard habit to break.

Slowly the tank fills.

"Oh man, I'll bet!"

He walks closer and leans over the car, patting the hood.

"How much?"

Hailey arches an eyebrow. "Not for sale, sorry."

He stands.

"Oh, c'mon now, everything's got a price. How much?"

She gives the boy a flat look. "Not happening. Not for any price."

The pump handle clicks to a stop in her hand, and she hangs it back up on the pump, then closes the tank.

The man steps back from the car.

"Whatever girl. Hey, think about it, okay?"

She gives him an unimpressed side-eye as she gets into the car. "Thought. Declined. Have a nice day."

Off she drives.

Maya rumbles angrily as she peels out of the lot.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Violetta rests a hand on Hailey's thigh as they drive off.

"Dumb kid got pushy about trying to buy our car. Not worth the stress."

"I prescribe fast driving and loud music, love. Put him out of your mind."

They spend the rest of the morning driving, rumbling down curvy roads and taking in the scenery, eventually making it home in time for a late lunch.

Hailey's in a better mood by the time they pull up to their two-story Victorian house on a spacious plot by the water. She makes them some grilled chicken sandwiches using last night's leftovers, and the afternoon improves.

Violetta cheers Hailey up a bit further with some quality time.

God she loves her wife.

Eventually, after a homemade curry dinner, the happy couple retires to bed.

…A scratching sound at the door…

…A rustling sound in the hall…

And then, very suddenly, Hailey is being dragged out of her bed by her hair and thrown to the ground.

A heavy blow to her stomach knocks the wind out of her, and another to her head sets her groggy mind spinning.

Hailey can hear Violetta scream behind her, and more sick thudding noises as the men do who-knows-what to her wife.

A weight presses down on her from above, and she can hear a man further away ask something in Russian.

"Alright, where're the car keys?"

"Violetta!" Hailey screams. She spits out some blood and groans, then shouts curses back at them in Russian. "Get the fuck away from my wife, you cocksuckers!"

She struggles to pull herself onto her hands and knees, crawling toward Violetta, vision swimming, head spinning.

A boot suddenly meets the side of her head, and she sees stars.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!"

A familiar man sidles into Hailey's view, and drives his foot into her stomach, laughing.

"Bet you wish you'd taken the money, huh bitch?"

He calls over to one of the other men,

"Hey, fuck her up, huh?"

One of the other men picks up a metal bat, and Hailey can only scream in horror as he delightedly swings it into her wife's head.

Hailey coughs and wheezes from the kick, slumping against the ground, barely able to move.

"Prick," she croaks out, barely audible. "Dn't tch 'er."

The man looks down at her, disgust plain on his face, and—

"Hey! Found the keys!"

One of the men jogs into view and tosses the keys to his friend.

How dare those bastards touch Maya's keys. They don't deserve to polish her rims, let alone touch her keys. 

The man chuckles, and picks Hailey up by her hair.

"Guess that makes this goodbye, huh?"

Hailey just glares at him, burning his face into her memory, memorizing every detail of this night.

This prick and his friends will pay for hurting Violetta and stealing Maya. 

She spits in his face.

He glares down at her for a moment, then—grinning—he drives his fist into her face, and with it, the last of her waining conscious from her mind.

"Say goodnight, bitch."

An indeterminate time later, maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour, Hailey comes to.

She looks around in horror, and crawls to Violetta.

Violetta's breathing, but she sure ain't moving, and that's a lot of blood on her head.

"Violetta, baby, please. I need you, love. I can't lose you. I can't."

She struggles over to a counter and drags a phone down, calling 911, cradling her wife, breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps.

Hours later, Violetta is mostly stabilized, but still unconscious.

They don't know if she'll wake.

She's scheduled for more scans.

Hailey... can't sit still any longer.

She's not doing Violetta any good like this, nor Maya.

She walks out of the hospital, and catches a bus going to the city.

Just over an hour and a transfer later, she's walking up to a garage, ignoring the mechanics, and heading straight for the owner.

The owner is a short, older man with graying hair, holding a drink and staring down into it.

As she walks up to him, he looks up apprehensively.

She gives him a level gaze. She even manages not to growl.

"She here?"

He pauses for a moment before speaking.

"…She was."

A single eyebrow arches in an unspoken question.

He sighs.

"She was, and now she isn't."

"I…"

"…Look, I kicked them out, but… it was Tarasov's kid. Iosef."

He looks down into his drink.

"I roughed him up some, but that's the most I could do. Probably got her plates changed someplace else."

A scowl twists her lips.

After a moment, she steadies herself.

"Good to know. I'll need wheels in the meantime."

"I think I can help you there."

He stands and sets his drink down, before leading the woman around to the lot behind the shop, where a few finished cars sit in the evening light.

He motions to one of the cars.

"I'd loan you any of 'em, but knowing you, I'm guessing I know which one you'll pick."

The car in question is a sleek black musclecar with two thick white stripes running down the hood from the windshield.

Looking the loaner over gets the first hint of something other than steel from her expression. "Yeah, it'll do. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

She accepts the keys and gets in, throwing a comment over her shoulder as she does.

"I'd ask you to blacklist Iosef, but."

The man sets his jaw in a sad grin and nods silently, before making his way back inside.

Hailey drives home.

She carefully cleans the house.

Sweeps up the glass.

Scrubs the floors clean of blood.

Then she goes to the shed.

She gets out a sledgehammer, then goes back in, and heads down to the basement, her footsteps heavy, hammer leaning on her shoulder.

Step.

     Step.

          Step.

               Step.

                    Step.

                         Step.

                              Step.

She drags a rug out of the center of the room, then lines the hammer up with the middle of a discolored patch of cement, and swings.

The first hit cracks it.

The second makes a dent.

Crack.

Crack.

She screams as she hammers her way through the cement, rage and grief spilling out of her.

After the final swings, she brushes aside the cement chunks to uncover a wooden chest, and opens it.

At the top are a pair of foam-lined trays. The left contains silencers, grenades, knives, and spare magazines. The right contains twenty-four stacks of twenty gold coins each, grouped into neat rows of eight, laid out horizontally.

She takes out those two trays, and underneath are a high-powered sniper rifle, a shotgun, an automatic rifle, and several scopes.

She carefully inventories everything, and checks the condition of all the weapons.

This chest laid the foundation of her life with Violetta. It feels fitting, now, to reopen it to hunt the boy who tried to take that from her.

The old phone on the desk behind her rings.

She'll answer it.

"What," she snaps.

"Hello Ha—" he pauses, then starts again. "Hello Hailey."

He clears his throat.

"I'm—I'm sorry to be calling you so late. I know you must be tired."

"Do you now."

Her voice is curt and cold.

She clenches the receiver tight enough that the plastic creaks audibly.

"I… yes, well. I guess… it must be fate. Or, happenstance, or just bad fucking luck for our paths to cross again…"

"Or bad genes," she scoffs, metal clicking as she disassembles and cleans the shotgun, handset wedged against her shoulder.

"Well now, let us not resort to harsh words. I think we can both agree that it is for the best if we settle this like m— like civilized adults. There is no need for anger or passion when we can simply be reasonable and evenhanded and set these things behind us. I—"

She can't help but cut him off, voice gradually building from a growl to a roar in her rage.

"Set this behind us? Viggo, how exactly d'you expect me to set behind me the fact that your son stole my car and maybe killed my wife?"

Silence, for a moment.

"…I would hope that you could see the bigger picture here, and understand that cool heads and calm discussions are what is best for all of us."

For a moment, the only sound is Hailey racking the shotgun and setting it down as she finishes cleaning it.

When she speaks, her voice has returned to that low, sharp edge of frost.

"I fail to see what you've got to offer beside a clear path to your son's blood and my car."

Silence again.

"…I… Look, we have known one-another for a long time. If it will put this behind us, we can replace the car, swear my… child to stay away from you and your family, and we can help to pay for treatment for your wife's… injuries."

For a long moment, Hailey has no words.

"If you had offered to return my car, that would've been less of an insult. 

"Blood for blood, Viggo. With interest."

A sigh is audible through the receiver. Then, a click, and the line goes quiet.

She hangs up the receiver, then resumes cleaning her rifles.

When that's done, she gets out her bulletproof vest and takes it upstairs, dressing for a busy night: black undershirt, the vest, black dress shirt, her signature dark green tie, and a black suit, fitted perfectly, with hidden pleats to allow for easy movement.

Knives hidden at her hips and in her boots and up her sleeves.

Viggo knows what she's planning. It's obvious.

He can only respond in one way.

She goes up to her bedside table, opens the drawer, and pulls out a heavily-customized SIG Sauer P226. The trigger's been replaced with a flat one sized for her finger, the barrel replaced with a threaded one for her silencers, and the slide replaced with one ported for reduced weight and recoil. The slide and barrel have been treated with black cerakote, while the trigger, hammer, decocker, and slide and mag releases have been with dark green. To finish it off, the backstraps and side panels have been replaced with custom pieces designed to sit perfectly in her hand, with a dark green design engraved on the textured panels: a thorn-covered rose vine curling around a dagger.

The weapon gleams faintly in the moonlight, sitting firmly in her hand and emitting a subtle aura of excitement.

Hailey loves her gun. Mae never fails to cheer her up a little, even when things are awful. "Work to do, babe."

She fits a suppressor to its barrel, screwing the attachment on securely, then pats it once.

And she steps out to the living room, tucking herself into a corner of two particularly sturdy walls, shielded from any windows or doors, to wait, listening carefully.

For minutes on end, there is nothing.

No sound, no light: nothing.

…Then, faintly, she can just barely hear the unmistakable sound of feet scuffing at the gravel path in the yard.

She tracks the origins of the sounds as carefully as she can without moving from her spot. Reverse ambush time.

The scuffing noises draw slowly closer, migrating around the house and towards the large bay window at the side.

She carefully cocks the hammer on Mae, moving slowly and silently so as not to give away her position. She's ready to lean past the edge of the wall for a brief moment the second they break the glass.

The noises continue to progress for a moment or two longer, before—as predicted—the glass of the window shatters inwards, and three dark-clad men follow the now-broken glass inside.

She leans past the edge of the wall, quickly and precisely sights on the nearest of the three, and puts a silenced shot through the center of his forehead, then smoothly shifts her aim to the other two without waiting for the first to drop, first hitting them center-mass to stun them and then shifting to their heads to keep them down.

Each man falls in turn, viscera spraying as their bodies hit the floor.

The room is silent for a moment, before a gunshot cracks through the night air and a bullet-hole appears in the wall beside Hailey.

She ducks back into cover, tries to figure out where that shot came from.

Another shot flies by, over her cover, and she can see from where it hits that it's coming from one of the men still out in the yard—they must have had some waiting behind while the others broke in!

To be expected, honestly. She leans out the side of her cover instead of popping back where she was and takes him out with a quick shot, then another beside him, before ducking back to safety once more.

The bodies crumple to the ground outside, and the bullets cease whizzing over her cover.

She can hear someone opening a door outside in her periphery.

She shifts to a different spot of cover with better protection and sight-lines on the door that just opened, then carefully holds her gun out, aimed in that direction, trusting what impressions Mae can give her.

Peaking over the cover, Mae can see three men moving through the door. One of them is holding a rifle, and the other two are carrying metal bats.

Touching on their mental connection, it sends Hailey the impressions of the three men, their relative positions, and their weapons, along with a small thrill of excitement—it hasn't gotten to have quite this much fun in years!

Yeah, she agrees. This is a lot more exciting than twice weekly range time, for sure.

Okay, carefully use Mae's guidance to put a shot into the rifleman's chest, possibly just stunning him through the vest, and then lean properly out of cover to put a round between his eyes in a blink. Two more shots to take out the melee dumbasses while they're surprised and out of range, and then back behind cover to listen for more of these fucks.

Down they go in a hail of well-placed bullets!

Then, a sound from behind her as a man with a bat jumps through the broken window, then another to the side as two more come through the door!

Window boy gets a steady headshot, then she smoothly turns toward the two at the door, tapping them each once in the chest and once in the head, before ducking back behind cover, Mae's slide stuck back as the mag runs dry. Smooth reload, then rack once to chamber.

Anyone else want to die tonight?

Another man comes through the door, followed by several bullets from another, aimed to force her back into cover!

Suppressive fire? First time they've tried that all night. She might actually develop a shred of respect for them if they keep breaking out these tiny scraps of skill.

It's not enough, though. They're aiming high, for chest-height when she's standing. She drops low and holds Mae out, shooting out the first guy's left kneecap.

The man collapses to one knee, shouting out a curse in Russian as the other man runs around him, still firing short bursts of gunfire over and around her cover.

Okay, he's actually worth a modicum of effort?

She ducks around the other side of the wall she's using for cover and gets out of view for when he comes around looking for her.

The man walks slowly to the wall, carefully watching for her to pop out, then turns around the wall, trigger ready to—nothing? Where is she?

He quickly checks around him. Which way did she go?

And then while he's looking this way and that, she pops out and shoots him in the chest, then once more in the head, before stepping the rest of the way around toward the door to shoot out the bat-wielder she kneecapped. Any other takers? She's still got eleven rounds left, just in her current mag.

She looks and listens carefully.

…

…Silence.

Job well done. Time to look around the grounds just in case, make sure there aren't any stragglers hiding.

There don't appear to be any more hiding in or around the house.

After several minutes of looking around, there's a sharp knock at the door.

Viggo can't have more goons that quick. She heads toward the door, stepping quietly, and peers out the peephole to see who it is.

Outside are flashing blue and red lights, silhouetting a man in a uniform, standing at the door, empty hands by his sides.

Ah. Cops. She knows the town cops, so that's easy enough. She opens the door and leans out, carefully keeping her gun out of view.

The man waves casually.

"Hello, Hailey."

Yep, she knows this one.

"Hello, Jimmy. Noise complaint?"

The man nods.

"Noise complaint."

He looks past the woman, peering into the house at the several still-bleeding corpses visible from the door.

"You uhh… you working again?"

She glances thoughtfully at the bodies for a moment, then back at Jimmy. "Nah, just sortin' out some... irreconcilable differences."

He gives the bodies a worried look, then looks back to Hailey, the question clearly on his tongue…

…And then clearly thinks better of it.

"Alright then. I'll leave you to it."

"Have a good night, Jimmy," she replies before shutting the door and walking over to the phone.

She picks up the handset and dials a number from memory.

"This is Harper.

"Yes, Hailey Harper. I'd like to make a dinner reservation for thirteen."

Once that's all confirmed, she hangs up and heads down to the basement, counting out thirteen of the gold coins into a small stack, then heads back up to the living room and looks up a glazier in the phone book while she waits, leaving a message asking to schedule a window replacement as soon as possible.

Before too long, a large van pulls up, and an older gentleman knocks on her door, backed by several burly-looking men, all carrying various forms of cleaning equipment.

She opens the door to let them all in. "Charlie."

He tips his hat as the other men enter. "Hailey."

The men get to work, moving bodies, cleaning floors, and clearing away damaged decorations. There's a lot to clean up, but there are a lot of them, and they work with practiced efficiency.

She watches over it all dispassionately.

She's tired as fuck, but she doesn't get to rest yet. 

Still work to do.

At least Charlie's men are as reliable as always. 

When they finish up, she drops the coins into his outstretched palm with a quick cli-cli-cli-clink of metal on metal.

Charlie nods to her again as he's paid, and then he and his men file back into the van, driving away into the night.

Awful damned day.

Hailey packs a suitcase, including two stacks of coins, and a few more in her pocket, then locks the chest back up.

She loads the suitcase into the trunk of the loaner, along with a case containing the shotgun, sniper rifle, and a bunch of ammo for both of those and Mae.

And then she drives to the city. It's a bit over an hour to her destination in lower Manhattan.

She pulls to a stop in the loading zone out front, gets out her suitcase and duffel, and passes the key to a valet before heading inside.

A woman watches from inside the coffee shop across the street, staring intently over her drink as the doors close behind the other woman.

A woman is talking to the concierge at the front desk, and turns to look at Hailey as she takes her keycard.

Huh. She arches an eyebrow at her.

Been a while since she's seen Perkins.

Perkins winks at her as she walks past, to the elevators.

"Nice seeing you, Hailey."

Hailey gives her a sharp, short nod. 

"Perkins."

Then up she goes to the counter.

The small woman at the front desk looks up as she arrives.

"Hello, Mrs. Harper. I have you for two nights?"

Ah, despite herself it's good to see Emillia again.

"Depends how business goes. Could be more."

She smiles.

"Then we look forward to having you."

She looks around a bit.

"Looks all shiny in here. When'd the old girl get a facelift?"

"Oh, around four years ago—but she really hasn't changed much."

She smiles and pats her desk lovingly.

A faint glimmer ripples along the surface of the stone counter-top. 

Interesting.

She arches an eyebrow at Emi. "Same owner?"

That too. She giggles.

"Same owner."

That's good.

She pulls a coin out of her pocket and slides it across the counter.

"Thank you."

She smiles appreciatively.

"You're in room eight-eighteen."

She nods appreciatively and turns to head for the elevator.

She pipes up as Hailey nears the elevator.

"Always a pleasure to have you, Mrs. Harper."

She gives Emillia a nod and an almost smile. Always been a friendly sort, though Hailey's not in a particularly good mood to appreciate that about her right now.

She heads up to the eighth floor, down to her room, and lets herself in, setting her suitcase and duffel by the couch before sitting down on the bed and staring out the window.

What the fuck.

Viggo predictably didn't budge, his goons are no better than last she saw them, her wife's in a coma, her car's lost in whatever garage Iosef took her to, and she's back at the Continental.

This is not where her life was supposed to go.

The bed warms consolingly beneath her.

She pats the bed softly and keeps staring out the window.

There's a soft knock at the door to her room.

Huh.

She gets up to look through the peephole. Who's coming to visit her at a time like this?

A familiar face smiles at her through the peephole, one hand raised in greeting.

Well she's a bit of a surprise. Honestly shouldn't be, though.

Hailey opens the door.

"Hello, stranger."

Ami smiles a slight grin, raising her other arm to offer a hug.

"Aww, I'd hope not."

She smiles and pulls Ami into both the suite and a hug, closing the door behind her.

"Been a bit. What brings you here?"

She winces, even as she squeezes Hailey in the embrace.

"I wish we didn't have to get into that yet, but we probably should."

She steps away after a moment.

"I'd love to be able to say it's just that I missed you, but it's bad news, I'm afraid: Viggo put a hit out on you."

She spits his name like a curse.

"Tried to hire me personally—the fucker."

Hailey groans. "Of course he did. Asshole. Oh and now you've probably been seen, which means it's only a matter of time before he realizes you're helping me, and then he'll be out to kill you, too."

She winces again.

"I've been hoping not, but probably."

"Hope you're not planning to go home anytime soon."

She grins ferociously and chuckles.

"Not before we take care of him, one way or another."

But she should probably move them away from this topic, for now.

"How are you doing, though? I only heard a little from Viggo, but… Violetta isn't here."

She leaves the implications unstated. Hailey wouldn't leave Violetta alone with Viggo's men after her. Not if she had any choice.

Her face falls.

She looks out the window.

"Hospital. Iosef beat her into a coma, because we wouldn't sell him Maya when he asked as a fucking stranger at the gas station."

Her face falls further.

"Fuck. I'm so sorry."

Her arms wrap protectively around Hailey, and she finds her fingers running through the girl's hair without any instruction from her mind.

"………"

She tries to find words of comfort for her friend, but fails, and just holds her there for a long moment.

She sighs raggedly and buries her face in Ami's shoulder, breath hitching a bit. "I'm gonna kill him, Ami, and anyone who tries to stop me. And if Vi doesn't make it, I'll kill my way through the entire Tarasov mob."

Fuck, it really is that bad, isn't it?

She strokes her hair and lets her sob into her chest.

"I know. I know you will, and I'll help you do it." Even if it destroys you.

Gods help her, she hopes it doesn't come to that.

"Entitled prick," she growls after some more sobbing. "Try to murder a woman just because she won't sell to you."

She keeps squeezing Ami. It's really good to have a friendly face here after all this.

Ami hums in agreement, squeezing back gently.

"A lot of jobs lately—most jobs, really—I avoid thinking about whether it's worth it."

She pauses for a moment, caught up in the feeling.

"But him? We're all better off without him."

She wipes her eyes and grins raggedly up at Ami.

"Glad to see you. Some measure of cheer other than the work itself."

She smiles weakly.

"I'm glad. You—you know I'm always here for you, right?"

She pauses a moment.
"…I stayed away to avoid involving you in… all this, again, but… I wanted to see you any chance I could get."

Hailey looks off to the side, the faintest hint of pink on her cheeks. 

"Ami..."

She trails off. Heartfelt emotion's never been her strong suit.

Then she turns back toward her, looking her consideringly in the eyes.

She stares back, the tiniest bit flustered, but hiding it well.

"Yeah?"

Hailey steps closer, eyes searching, an almost taut tenderness on her face.

Almost on reflex, Ami steps in as well.

…Is she…?

She crosses that last gap, reaches up, buries a hand in Ami's hair, and pulls her down into a desperate kiss, fear and anger and need and nostalgia all pouring into that simple action.

She loses herself in the kiss, her thoughts drifting away as her lips meet those of the woman she's—fine, yes, loved for so long.

Gods, she should have admitted that years ago, should have…

…She pulls away, sighing.

"…We really need to talk to Violetta."

Hailey takes a flustered breath and looks away, huffing.

"Damn it, she is going to be so smug when she wakes up."

She lets out a tiny, slightly-relieved sigh.

"Yeah. She will, won't she?"

She paces and huffs and grumbles. "'You've got a crush on her, Hailey,' and I kept denying. 'You should invite her over for dinner, Hailey,' and I didn't. Now look at us. She's going to want a kiss from you to see what the fuss is about, and of course she's won the bet now and I'm going to owe her two weeks straight of extra-elaborate meals after she's recovered."

She blushes a bit at the mention of Violetta kissing her—that sounds wonderful, if also a bit terrifying.

Then she grins. "Like you weren't already going to give her that?"

"I mean, sure, but it's the principle of the thing."

She giggles. "Of course, of course!"

Laughing again, she sits down on the bed.

Hailey frowns and looks down at her hands.

"She'd better wake up. I'll be so pissed at her if she doesn't."

Ami sighs and hugs her. She wants to reassure her—tell her of course Violetta will wake up, it'll be alright! But she'd be lying, and they'd both know it.

So she hugs her and strokes her hair and just says "Me too."

She blows out a tense sigh, hugging Ami some more.

"Fuck it. Nothing for it but to kill our way out of the mess. Put Iosef out of our misery, make sure Viggo doesn't come back to bite you for warning me, figure out where the little bastard put Maya."

Ami chuckles at Hailey's phrasing.

"Sounds like a plan."

She holds her there for a few more minutes, then stands and walks to the room's kitchenette.

"Want something to drink, before we go to find him?"

"Unless you've got a better idea, our best lead's going to be downstairs, and we could get a drink at the same time."

She smiles.

"Sounds good to me."

And downstairs they go.

After a bit of freshening up, anyway.

Once that's done, they head out along the purple-carpeted hallway, down an old-fashioned cage elevator, through the laundry facilities and utility rooms, to a black door with a coin slot.

Hailey inserts a coin.

A grated window in the door slides open briefly, before closing back up, revealing a classy jazz club, with a bar, live music, and guests scattered around tables and booths.

Ami grins, her posture relaxing ever-so-slightly at the music. She's always liked jazz.

She takes Hailey by the hand, and confidently moves inside the club alongside her.

Hailey spares Ami a small smile and a handsqueeze as she takes the lead.

She heads deeper into the club, eyeing the tables and booths for someone in particular.

As they pass, Perkins grins and nods to the duo from her place off to the side of the room, her eyes tracking them for a moment.

She gives Perkins a nod. Not much of one. That's not who she's looking for. And Perkins always seemed a bit... off, to her.

Hmm.

She usually takes a booth, doesn't she?

Perhaps this redhead sitting in a booth by herself in the back?

That's the one.

Hailey makes her way smoothly there.

"Carmen," she greets her as she sits down.

"Hailey," she replies warmly, before turning and nodding to Ami as well. "Ms. Kueda."

This is interesting. She expected Hailey to work alone, as is her usual wont.

Carmen bumps Ami Kueda up a few ranks in her interest tracker.

Ami gives Hailey a brief sideways glance. She didn't realize those two were on a first-name basis.

Then she smiles and lowers her head in acknowledgement.

"Miss Scott! It's a pleasure."

"Likewise, Ms. Kueda."

She turns back to Hailey. "I hear there was a bit of a rough party at your home last night. It is good to see you returned unscathed."

"A good way to dust the rust off, I suppose."

Carmen smiles gently and replies, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Iosef Tarasov." Hailey's voice is slow, precise, and flat, the name spoken like a native.

She nods lightly. "What about him?"

"I'd like to talk with him."

Ami chuckles darkly.

"A talk," she replies, lifting her martini, "you say."

She takes an elegant sip, before setting it back down.

"I'm familiar with the parlance, Hailey."

She leans forward across the table.

"I want to ask you this: have you returned to the fold?"

A beat.

"Just visiting."

Carmen arches one elegant eyebrow.

"It does not look like it," she replies, voice sharpening faintly under the weight of her concern.

She gestures at the pair across from her. "Here you sit, accompanied by one of the only names that approaches the notoriety of your own, a trail of blood darkening behind you. From what I can see, you appear to have both feet back in these treacherous waters, while my fellow creatures of the depths circle eagerly for a chance to drag you in. You got out once, Hailey. I doubt even you could repeat the feat."

Ami winces. She knew, on some level, that it would come across that way for her to be here with Hailey, but it still stings to hear.

She wants to say she's just here as a friend, but even if she could make herself believe that, she doubts anyone else would.

Hailey frowns thoughtfully.

Then she takes a breath.

"Where can I find him?"

Carmen takes a breath and another sip.

"You know the rules, Hailey. No business may be conducted on Continental grounds, lest you incur heavy penalties."

She puts down her glass and picks up her pen, preparing to return to some paperwork.

"Have a drink, and relax.

"For now."

Of course.

The rules.

She frowns and makes to get up, muttering as she goes.

"It's personal."

She moves to follow, turning towards Hailey as the other woman moves.

She didn't expect anything different.

Carmen always tries to follow the rules just close enough to keep the Continental safe, to keep Hailey safe, to keep her staff safe.

She had to try, though.

And maybe Carmen will find a way.

Whatever. Time to kill for now.

She heads to the bar.

The bartender, a busty blonde in a shimmery bronze halter top and a skirt, grins in surprise at the approaching pair.

"Ami, good to see you, been a bit. And holy shit, Hailey! How long's it been, four years?"

That gets a faint hint of a smile from her. Yelena's always been good people.

"Five and change."

Ami waves a small, loose wave and sits down at the bar.

"One can only hope for another five to come—as much as we'd miss you."

She smiles bittersweetly. "I hope so. The road out'll be even bloodier than last time, though, and I think I'm gonna miss people more."

Ami winces. "…You won't be the only one."

Gods, she does not want to think about that right now. Getting Hailey through this is something good to focus on, but as much as she wants the best for her friend, the thought of not seeing her again for another five years is one she really can't bear to dwell on.

"—So how've you been, Yelena?"

"Oh, same old wonders: running an assassin bar, movie dates with the wife, trying out her latest creations downstairs in the range," she replies with an easy smile. "You two want your usuals?"