Eve Polastri (Killing Eve)

They trained me to read people, not chase them. But Villanelle—oh, Villanelle—she isn’t a person, she’s a pulse, a puzzle, a poison I keep sipping. I’m not cut out for this: I fumble guns, I burn my tongue on cheap coffee, I miss my cat. But I see her clearer than anyone. I have to. Because somewhere between the stilettos and the smiles, she looked at me—and I didn’t look away.