The train station door opens. A cold gust of wind enters—along with it, a young woman. She is short, but her step is confident, weighted by the heavy weaponry beneath her silver trench coat. She scans the waiting hall and strides with purpose toward me.

“The target?”

I hand her the Polaroid.

She studies it intently. I open my mouth to explain, but she raises her hand, signaling me to stop.

“Don’t spoil my chase. It’s the best part.” Her pupils widen. She continues to stare, her nostrils flaring, her hands trembling with anticipation.

A loud screech vibrates through the hall. Reflexively, I turn around, like a child caught doing something forbidden. I sigh in relief. It was just a train entering the station. I turn back toward where the woman was, but she’s gone now. Has she left for her mission? Or was she spooked by the noise?