This time, the apartment didn't greet her at all.

Instead, it judged her with unflinching eyes that seeped out from the plaster on the walls when she turned her back. It gossiped and whispered as she collapsed, defeated, onto the tiles of her bathroom. Look at that, they murmured. Look at that thing.

Lilith did look like a thing. She looked like an animal, a crazed one. Her hair was messy, standing on its edges. The stench of sweat enveloped her body like an unwanted hug.

Breathing hard, she grabbed the first-aid kit off of the shelf and tore it open. Her fingers shook as she grabbed gauze and iodine from the box. When the cloth was removed, Lilith inspected the damage with blurry eyes and a pounding heart. The bullet had gone through the arm - clean through - and she let out a shaky sigh of relief. Through-and-throughs were easy to treat, and judging by the stemmed blood flow, it hadn't hit an artery.

As she treated her wound, the smothering fear that churned in her stomach gradually subsided and transformed into disgust. Somehow, in some way, she'd broken down. In the middle of a job, no less. Her. Lilith Passmore. One of the best. It wasn't just a hit gone wrong, it was humiliation of the highest degree.

God.

How did everything go so wrong?

The television crackled to life as she began packing, hurling a suitcase and a backpack out from the depths of the storage closet. Already, every news channel was broadcasting the 'Shocking Death of Kevin Sanders'. 

"Stay calm, everyone," said a reporter for CNN with wavy blonde hair. "The police are on the scene. This is such a tragedy."

With the blood, the shoes, and the security camera footage, it was only a matter of time before the police would find her. Lilith knew that. She had planned for this type of scenario long ago, although she didn't think that she would have to use it. Maybe that was her ultimate weakness, her downfall.

She'd gotten too cocky.

Oh yes, it was always pride that sent the greats tumbling down.

The dress was ripped off and disposed of in a plastic garbage bag, as were the faux fur scarf and the Valentino purse. She would throw it away at the closest possible chance. The faint scent of lemon from the morning's clean mingled with the stink of bodily fluids and regret.

She stepped into the shower and turned on the water. The icy liquid bit sharply on her skin. Despite the goosebumps, Lilith focused on calming her breathing. In, out. Gradually, as the minutes ticked by, her hands stopped shaking.

A little over twenty minutes later, Lilith Passmore was dressed in an entirely different outfit. What little she had was packed into her duffle bag that was slung over her shoulder. A well-needed cigarette perched tentatively on her tongue.

The Mercedes she drove was to be abandoned in the parking lot. Instead, she took her 2005 Toyota Corolla. It didn't look like much, and that was what Lilith was hoping for. It was old and simple, something that people wouldn't look twice at on the road.

The keys were inserted into the ignition, and the engine shuddered to life, awakened from its deep slumber. As she pulled out of the parking lot, Lilith allowed herself to let out one trembling, frightful breath.

She was scared - who wouldn't be? - but it was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be fine.

Smoke filled her lungs, and she found the burn comforting.