Brianna slipped out through a side exit she’d marked weeks before. The rain washed the soot from her jacket, turning the grime into a slick, dark sheen. She walked the alleys with the same measured stride she’d taken before, blending into the night like any other goon slipping away after a job.
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Brianna didn’t run. She stayed where she was, hidden, as the fire grew. The heat pushed against her skin, and the smoke began to curl up the stairwell, painting the concrete with ghostly wisps. She could see the orange glow reflecting off the rain‑slicked windows, a silent beacon that signaled the success of her work. Brianna slipped out through a side exit she’d