Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think. *** Valentin awoke with a start, his hand shooting out to catch the crystal tumbler before its contents could spill out onto the weathered rug in an amber stain. Bleary-eyed he set the glass carefully on the low table in front of him and sighed. He had done it again, sliding into a fitful sleep in the armchair, some late night reality television show painting his slumbering form in strobe. "You old fool," he told himself, sitting forward and running a calloused hand over his eyes. He had never understood why the more you slept, the more tired you became. One of God's backwards jokes no doubt. He picked up the remote and turned off the television, standing up and looking around the cramped room. He had thought the Service would provide him with a place to retire, nothing huge, just somewhere comfortable where he would be left alone. A place where nobody would ask questions. Too many people asked too many questions nowadays. Instead he had been abandoned. His last assignment had been completed without any problems and then they had simply ceased contact. It hadn't taken him long to realise that he had been 'phased out.' He felt betrayed but it wasn't as if he could contact anybody to complain. Officially the Service did not exist. He was left alone and in the cold. Valentin had found this place with what little money he had left: a small, dingy bedroom in the house of Mrs Lubrovich. His job had paid well but he had gotten to used to a lifestyle he could not maintain. Not anymore. Lubrovich was a harridan but had given him shelter in a time of need. Usually she was banging on the floor at this time to tell him to go to sleep. She didn't like the television on too loud. Hell, she didn't like him brushing his teeth too loudly. Not so tonight. Opening the door with a soft click, Valentin made his way to the kitchen in darkness. He liked the darkness. It had often proven a friend. Finding the sink he filled the tumbler with water. The whisky had made his mouth dry. His lips felt fragile, as if they were about to crack and his tongue threatened to cleave to the roof of his mouth. That wasn't what had woken him though. What had it been? Valentin had always had the ability to wake quickly: it was an important skill for his work. He took a drink of water. It had a smoky, bitter taste from the residues of whisky coating the glass. It seemed fitting. As he turned to go back to his room, something sharp bit into the ball of his foot. He cursed and lifted his leg, easing off his sock, now wet with blood. He gripped the thin piece of ceramic that had cut him and pulled it out. It had gone deep and was followed by a rush of inky blood. Valentin wrapped his sock tightly around the wound and crouched down to inspect the shattered coffee mug, discarded on the floor. Mrs Lubrovich was not the kind of person to leave a mess like this. Not anywhere. She was fiercely proud of her small house. It must have been the mug breaking that woke him, but what would the elderly landlady have been doing fumbling in the dark in her own kitchen? His stomach dropped as the familiar feeling of unease stole his breath. He knew better than to call out or make any more noise than he already had. She wouldn't answer. Whisky, fatigue and - while it was hard to admit - age had slowed his wits but no longer. All was not well and so it was time to become a ghost. Valentin melted into the deep shadows of the kitchen, long practice blending him with the night. *** Tomas wiped the last of the stains from his hooked knife. The old bitch had died hard despite being unconscious when he cut into her. Her leathery skin had proved more resistant to his blade than he had anticipated. It had taken all of his effort to muffle her death-throes. She had fought like a lion until her strength had left her through the jagged tear in her throat. It was not a clean kill but he would put it down to inexperience. Nobody would know after they torched the house.