Cho climbed down the rusted ladder hammered into the gorge wall.
The old piping creaked and complained bitterly. Dropping the last few feet into the stream soaked her boots, but watching the mud and blood washing away in the glacial meltwater had a kind of hypnotic reward. She swayed, catching a gloved hand on the worn rock wall. The gore soaked burlap sack dripped rivulets of red into the clear water. She’d pushed hard on the need for this particular trophy—but Annika had been insistent, with Isabel quietly backing her play. Defending the town from the have-nots who wanted everything Bad Choices had—that’s where her skills were best used, and not appearing at an enemy’s bedside to quietly remove their head. She hated the idea of politics—no matter how terrible the world became there would always be people who wanted “political solutions” like this.