The Assassin's Surrender VIIII
There are still people hanging out at this time of night, but the train can get iffy.
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I grip my trusty switchblade. My blond hair is tied up in a loose bun, leaving my neck exposed over my black jean jacket’s collar. My high rise black jeans, white tank, and black combat boots give off a don’t fuck with me vibe, but I can never be too careful. Especially when I look like a damn Barbie doll with my porcelain skin, brown eyes, and long legs. Of course, looks can be deceiving. My foster brother, Micah, taught me to fight and how to manage weapons, and I have no problem defending myself. I’ve done it before, and I’m sure I will do it again.
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