Anna had long since lost track of time. Days bled into one another, each indistinguishable from the last. The mansion, with its cold walls and silent rooms, had become her world. The outside world felt like a distant memory, a place she once dreamed of escaping to—before the woman took everything from her.
At fourteen, Anna had become a weapon. The woman's hands were cold, her instructions delivered without empathy or warmth. Anna was no longer the scared little girl who had walked through the mansion's doors. She had hardened. She had learned to suppress the screaming voice inside her that wanted to run, to fight, to be free. But that voice grew weaker every day, drowned out by the relentless training, the blood on her hands, and the cruel efficiency with which she had learned to carry out her missions.
The woman had no patience for hesitation. "No weakness, Anna," she would say. "Weakness gets you killed. It gets those you care about killed." Those words echoed in Anna's head as she pulled on her black combat boots, the soles worn thin from years of use. She glanced at herself in the small mirror hanging on the wall—her eyes were hard, no longer the soft blue of a child, but the cold gray of someone who had seen too much.
It was early, too early for her to feel anything other than exhaustion. The missions were constant, each one more dangerous than the last. Her tasks had evolved from simple surveillance to full-blown assassinations. Her body had grown accustomed to the physical pain, the bruises, the broken bones. The mental anguish, though, that was harder to swallow. Killing had become a routine. She did it with precision, with detachment. The faces of the people she killed no longer lingered in her mind. They were nothing more than tasks, completed and forgotten.
But today would be different. Today, the woman had assigned her a mission that would test everything Anna had become.
Anna stood before the woman in the sterile, dimly lit room, her hands clenched at her sides. The woman was seated at a large wooden desk, papers scattered before her. She looked up when Anna entered, her expression unreadable.
"Sit," the woman commanded, her voice sharp and commanding.
Anna obeyed, lowering herself into the chair across from the woman. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn't let it show. She had learned long ago to mask her feelings.
"Today," the woman began, "you'll complete your first solo mission. You'll need to eliminate someone. A target. He's a traitor—someone who's been selling secrets to our enemies."
Anna nodded, though she felt a chill run down her spine. The woman's eyes narrowed. "I want you to understand something, Anna. This isn't just about skill. It's about loyalty. Loyalty to me. Loyalty to this organization. You have no one but me. You understand that, don't you?"
Anna met the woman's gaze, her throat tightening. "Yes."
The woman smiled, but it wasn't kind. It was a smile that sent a chill down Anna's spine. "Good. Go prepare. You leave in thirty minutes."
The mission took place in a quiet, upscale neighborhood on the edge of the city. Anna moved like a shadow, her footsteps silent against the pavement. She had trained for this moment her entire life. The house was elegant, its stone walls gleaming under the moonlight. She could hear the faint sound of a television playing inside, the hum of an ordinary evening in a world she no longer belonged to.
The target was inside, unaware of his impending fate. Anna paused at the edge of the driveway, taking in the scene. It should've been simple. She had been sent here to kill a man. No questions asked.
But as she prepared to enter the house, something inside her stirred. A voice in the back of her mind whispered, Is this the person you've become?
She silenced it.
Stepping inside, Anna moved quickly. Her training kicked in, and she made her way through the house, heart pounding. She found the man in his study, standing by a desk, staring at the papers in front of him.
Without a word, Anna moved toward him, a knife drawn in her hand. The man turned just as she reached him, his eyes widening in shock. But before he could react, Anna was already on him, her blade sinking deep into his chest.
Hours later, Anna returned to the mansion, her clothes soaked in blood. She felt nothing.
The woman was waiting for her in the same room, her eyes scanning Anna's face as she stepped inside. "It's done," Anna said, her voice cold.
The woman nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You've done well."
Anna stood motionless. She had expected to feel something—relief, pride, anything. But there was nothing. Only emptiness.
"You did what I told you to do," the woman continued. "You followed orders. That is what matters. Loyalty is the only thing that will keep you alive."
But Anna wasn't listening anymore. The words no longer had meaning. She was beyond them. She had become what she feared most—a machine, devoid of emotion, of purpose other than to serve the woman.
"I did it," Anna said, her voice hollow. "I'm loyal. But I'm not the same person anymore."
The woman studied her, her expression unreadable. "No," she said softly. "You never were."
Later that night, Anna sat in her room, staring out the window. She could see the stars in the sky, distant and cold, just like everything in her life. She thought of Calvin—her brother, who she had promised to protect. But he wasn't a child anymore. He was growing, becoming something that she no longer knew. She had failed him. She had failed herself.
A soft knock at the door broke her from her thoughts. It was the woman, standing in the doorway, watching her with cold, calculating eyes.
"You did well today," the woman said, stepping into the room. "But you're beginning to show signs of weakness. I won't tolerate that."
Anna turned her gaze toward her. "Weakness?"
The woman nodded. "You think you're different, but you're not. You are mine. And you will do what I say, without question. Do you understand?"
Anna's heart thudded painfully in her chest. She wanted to scream, to push the woman away, but she couldn't. She had no power here. She was just a weapon—nothing more.
"Yes," Anna said quietly. "I understand."
That night, as Anna lay in her bed, she stared up at the ceiling, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. She had become something unrecognizable. The girl who had once dreamed of saving her brother was gone, replaced by a person she barely knew.
But she couldn't stop. She couldn't quit.
The thought of Calvin—alive, healthy, and safe—was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.
I'm doing this for you, Calvin, she thought, her eyes closing. I'll never stop fighting for you.
But deep down, Anna knew. She had crossed a line she couldn't come back from.
She was no longer the person she once was.
And the worst part? She didn't know if she ever could be again.