Cohost writing prompt: @spy-thief-assassin-who — Assassin who is getting paid by a lot of different people to kill you
"Hello, Tourmaline," a voice says softly, and Tourmaline freezes midway between her cabin and the bridge, still midway through drying her hair, towel obscuring her view.
"Echo?" she says, in a strangled voice.
"Mhm," Echo says. There are soft sounds of movement, somewhere behind Tourmaline.
("Pray you don't see me again," the assassin had said coldly. "If you ever do, it won't be your lucky day."
("You don't have to do this," Tourmaline had wept. "You don't have to be this—" but she was talking to empty air.)
She lets her head drop, fingers clenching on the end of the towel, heartbeat a painful, rapid jab against the inside of her chest.
"Guess it's not my lucky day," she croaks.
"Nope," Echo says. "The ex you have in every port, they clubbed together to have you scrubbed. That takes a truly amazing number of scorned lovers, Tourmo, real spree you went on, there."
"They weren't you." Tourmaline closes her eyes. The knife, she thinks; Echo is good with knives. It might not even hurt.
Echo sighs a little, a horribly familiar don't-be-stupid noise, and Tourmaline thinks about it, with difficulty, for long, long seconds.
"Oh," she says, and her lips twist into a wrecked little smile. "No, that's ridiculous, isn't it? How could they even find each other, let alone agree on hiring a hitman and coordinating payment without anyone talking. You're joking. That's a joke." A tear leaks out of of one eye. "Nobody's paying you at all, why would anyone pay you to kill me, I'm nobody."
Behind her, Echo lightly touches the point of her hip.
"Guess it's personal," Tourmaline chokes out, and Echo takes a quick breath, circles her, and carefully folds the towel back from her face like it's a veil.
"Have you really spent all this time believing that I'd only come back to kill you?" the assassin says quietly, and Tourmaline nods.
"You said," she whispers.
"Tourmo, precious," Echo says, and frames her face with cold hands. "I'm not here for that. I haven't quit that work, but we can — if you still want, we can talk about it, what kind of future there is in it." She pauses, and adds, in a more uncertain tone, "I miss you so much."
Tourmaline opens her eyes. "I miss you, too," she whispers.