He didn’t know her.
She saw it in the blankness of his eyes, the numbness of his cheeks. Or maybe that was the drugs, spiraling away every trace of his intelligence.
Eva repeated her question: “Excuse me, do you know where the train station is?”
The binoculars slipped from his fingers and cracked against the pavement like a gunshot. Feodor jumped, spun in circles looking for an assailant. The streets were cold and quiet, steam rising from the gutters. Eva suppressed a sneer as he scuttled to collect the binoculars.
“That… that way.” He pointed down the street, then returned to spying on his own house.
By then it was too late: her men had done their job.
Inspired by the storytelling course I’m attending.