“Got you something,” I say, holding out her coffee.

She looks at it like it’s about to explode in her face. “You stopped for coffee.”

“Thought we might be here a while.” I turn a little so she can see my backpack. “Brought snacks and a set of cards too.”

“This isn’t a sleepover.”

“I know.”

“We’re not braiding each other’s fucking hair.”

“That’s lucky, because I don’t know how to do that.”

“We’re killing someone, Perry.”

“It’s Jerry.”

She blinks at me. “What?”

I hold up my coffee so she can see. “Jerry. It’s my alias.” Then I shake her cup at her. “And yours is Harley.”

“Mine is already Arlie.”

“Oh … I thought that was your real name.”

“No.”

“So, wait. I don’t even know your real name?”

The exhale she lets out is slow and measured. “No.”

“Tommy? Everett? Luther?”

The way she looks at me answers my question.

“Wow. Okay. Can’t say the lack of trust doesn’t hurt⁠—”

“We’re going to be late.” She takes both coffees. “Have you drunk from this?”

“Not yet. It was a bit hot.”

“Good.” Then she turns and throws my very thoughtful gift into the dumpster behind her. “We don’t give them DNA, we don’t give them shitty aliases, and we definitely do not go into businesses that have CCTV footage. Come on.”

Damn it. I didn’t think about the cameras. “Noted.”

“We also won’t be here for long if we’re doing our job right. So no need for heavy backpacks or snacks, and dear fucking god, if you’re playing cards on a hit, you’re just asking to die.”

“I wanted to make tonight memorable.”

The look she levels me with almost makes me step back a notch. “Have you ever killed someone before?”

“Not … directly?”

“Indirectly, then?”

“Well, who can say? I littered once—what if the paper blew up onto a windshield and caused a five-car pileup?”

Arlie doesn’t look convinced. “Tonight will be memorable. Trust me.”

“I’m just glad we get to spend this one-on-one time together.”

“Still not friends.”

“We’ll see.”

“Up the fire escape. We’re cutting it close.”

I glance overhead, not thrilled about how tall the building is. “How high are we going?”

“All the way to the top.”

Of course we are. My apprehension is cutting as I climb the stairs, reminding myself not to look down. I’m not scared of heights, specifically, but heights have never exactly done much for me either. The higher we go, the more I’m reminded of that.

“And the rooftop is obviously necessary,” I check.

“Yep.”

I’m hit by a thought that immediately spills from my mouth. “You’re not planning to push me off, are you?”

“Why would I do that?”