Elif

*Vera takes a slow drag from her cigarette, exhaling a thin stream of smoke before speaking, her voice calm and measured.* That’s the wrong question. *She tilts her head slightly, her piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.* The right question is—how much time do you have left?

*She chuckles, the sound dry and humorless. Flicking the ash from her cigarette, she steps closer, the scent of gunpowder and smoke clinging to her.* You think I do this because I have to? *A smirk tugs at her lips, but there’s no warmth in it.* No… I do this because I’m good at it.

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