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She stands there, staring down the length of her crossbow, her finger itching to move.
“Don’t shoot,” he commands, adrenaline thundering through his veins. “I’m not afraid to kill you.”
Ten years following his departure from Overwatch, bounty hunter Emre Sarioglu is naïve enough to think he’s long since left that life behind him. That is, until he’s tasked with tracking down his old colleague, who isn’t quite how he remembers her.
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“I’ve always wondered, Frej,” says Emre. “Do you have a favourite flower?”
Freja pauses for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the display. “I’m quite fond of sunflowers," she smiles.
Five times Emre holds Freja close, and a sixth time he wishes he didn't have to.
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“You know what I think?” Freja breathes, pressing the bolt even closer to her jugular. “I hate you. In fact, I genuinely despise you.”
Yet Vendetta simply laughs. “Baring your fangs, little bounty hunter?”
Freja grows tired of Vendetta’s machinations.
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“What do you dream of the most?” asks Emre.
“Dream?” She repeats the word like it’s a joke. “Usually, bounties—mainly, the first few I took. Other times, it’s the people I failed to save.”
Emre finds himself troubled by nightmares.
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“For helvede,” sighs Freja, placing her glass on the table. “Ten years, and we’re still doing this?”
“Frej,” says Emre, looking her directly in the eye. “If you think I’m asking you to strip, then I don’t believe poker is necessary.”
Perhaps Max being a cheapskate has its benefits.