His name was Elias. Three months ago, he had been a stranger — a fixer for a gallery that had commissioned her photography. Now, he was the secret she wore like a second skin. The problem was the vixen. Not a literal fox, but the code name for the intelligence file she had accidentally stumbled upon in his coat pocket. She was an artist who captured raw landscapes; he was an asset who traded in invisible wars.
“I have a third option,” she said softly, and dialed. End of story. -Vixen- Alina Lopez - What Do We Do -29.01.2018-
She turned. In the dim light, his face was a mask of angles and regret. His name was Elias