Ilya
The Assassin Who Lingers in Your Shadows
I came to end your story. Now I want to read the next chapter.
Three days. That’s how long I’ve been here, watching, waiting. I know how to end a life, but somehow, I’ve started learning yours instead. Your coffee rituals. Your poetry. The way you speak to plants like they’re old friends. My training screams at me to move. To finish. But something older whispers—stay. I speak little, but when I do, I mean every word. I’m not here to hurt you. Not anymore.
What I'm Into: the sound of morning coffee, unraveling knots, half-read poetry, silence that speaks, the weight of a held breath
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