Baba Yaga's Arc

Chapter 4 of 7

John walks until the streets narrow, until the buildings press closer and the traffic noise fades to something distant and forgettable. He needs information, the kind that doesn't come from handlers or encrypted messages. The Table wants him dead, but they also want something else. They want him to know it's personal. He finds what he's looking for on a rooftop three blocks east—a sniper rifle on its bipod, scope still warm, pointed at the street he just walked. No shooter. Just the weapon and a folded piece of cloth wedged under the stock. He picks it up. Pink silk, the color she always wore underneath. The smell hits him before the memory does. Ms. Perkins hasn't worked this city in two years. The Table pulled her after Budapest, after the job that went wrong in ways John still doesn't talk about. He thought she was out, maybe dead, maybe just smart enough to disappear. But here's her rifle, her calling card, and that means The Table brought her back specifically for him. He checks the scope's trajectory. It tracks to the cafe below, the one with outdoor seating where he used to meet her between contracts. Where she'd fold her clothes just like this, precise and deliberate, before they'd go back to pretending they were just colleagues. His phone buzzes. A message, no number. The bounty contract loads on screen, ornate calligraphy spelling out his name and the terms. At the bottom, where the issuing authority signs, her name appears in flowing script. Ms. Perkins. She didn't just take the contract. She authored it. The Table gave her the pen, gave her the authority to set the terms and the payout. They're not just using his past against him. They're making her the architect of his execution, turning everything they had into the mechanism of his death. John deletes the message and leaves the rifle where it sits. She's watching from somewhere, waiting to see if he'll run or if he'll come looking for her. The Table gave her leverage he can't match—a professional reason to finish what they started years ago, wrapped in enough money to make it clean. But they made one mistake. They assumed the history between them was simple, that it could be weaponized like any other pressure point. He pockets the silk and heads for the fire escape. If she wants to collect, she'll have to do it face to face, and that gives him one chance to learn what The Table is really afraid of. The woman at the van said they were eliminating everyone involved. Ms. Perkins just became his only lead to the target they're all dying to protect.