The Queen of Assassins

Justice is never dead.

That was the famous line that people remembered from Margaux Cortez. A line that resonated with me on the very day when I watched the two most important individuals in my life succumb to their deaths.

At that exact moment, I had come to understand what Margaux must have felt like when her loved ones were killed before her eyes.

The pain, the powerlessness, it all boils down to a wave of anger that burns from the inside.

It was an unbearable kind of burning—one that will never leave unless it was satisfied.

Vengeance.

Most would claim it was a futile cause to believe in if one was to seek justice. But society has taught humanity otherwise.

If the justice system had been fair to everyone, overlooking the social status of a victim or the criminal, I would like to believe that there would be fewer people who would resolve to execute justice using their own hands.

Decades and even a millennium had passed, but it was all the same. Those who had no power: the poor, those who were considered below the society, unimportant people, would never have the chance to receive the justice they had long sought and thirsted for.

The world was unfair.

But like Margaux Cortez, I don't want to give up on humanity. Even in this cruel society that continued to raise generations of ruthless, powerful people, good could still rally against the evil.

It won't be just about the winning side if one knows where to stand.

The scale could always be tipped. And I am about to prove that theory to be right.

My name is Amiel Abbegail Ross, daughter of Christian and Caitlyn Ross, and this is my story.

**

Amiel stood in front of the casket. The rain pelted heavily against the black umbrella that she remembered to bring.

The black elongated case containing her father's lifeless body blurred in her vision as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. She gripped the umbrella handle tightly, her chest feeling heavy.

She has been suppressing her sobs and trying to act brave.

Beside her father's casket was her mother's.

Closing her eyes, she forced back the hiccups of painful sobs that wanted to burst out of her, demanding to be released.

A few people dressed in black had gathered around her.

Excluding the priest, Amiel barely knew any of those present.

They were people her parents talked to and invited into their home, but she was mostly never allowed to associate with them.

"It's best not to get yourself involved in the business yet, deary." Caitlyn's voice, Amiel's mother, rang in her ears. She wanted so desperately to hear it right now. But alas, she had nothing but vivid memories of her and her parents.

They call her deary and never her first name, especially when they had guests over the grand mansion.

"But, I know how to defend myself," Amiel remembered protesting, her face pulled into a slight frown.

Christian Ross, her father, would then chuckle and ruffle Amiel's hair tenderly. He would pinch her nose gently and poke it.

"And whose daughter are you?"

"Yours and the great Miss Caitlyn Ross."

Amiel's hand trembled. She listened to the priest say amen before hastily throwing the white roses in her other hand—one for her father and one for her mother.

Without waiting for anyone, Amiel excused herself from the crowd. She lowered her head, watching her feet trudge through the mud as she started to run.

At first, her pace was slow; the sobs that she had desperately tried to hold were finally finding their release.

No one stopped her. Even if someone tried, Amiel would fight her way to be freed.

She ran and ran until she could no longer feel her feet.

The umbrella slipped from her hands as Amiel sobbed, dropping to the ground.

She cried, the raindrops soaking her hair, dress, and skin.

But she didn't care.

"Always remember, deary, we love you." Amiel's mother's voice echoed in her ears again, fuelling the tears that fell from her eyes.

Thunder rumbled from the skies, calling forth more rain to fall. Amiel could feel her skin shivering against the cold.

She didn't care about getting sick either. To her, life had lost its meaning. She was alone.

A surge of anger, hatred, and sorrow crushed her all over again. She was led back to the flashes of that fateful night.

Bright light, a horn honking from a distance, and then the crash.

It almost happened in a slow-motion but was also fast-forwarded to the part where Amiel's parents took their last breath, holding each other's hands before closing their eyes forever.

Screaming and punching her knees, Amiel cried even harder. She was going along with the thunder and the oncoming heavy downpour.

The heavens knew precisely how she was feeling, and it was mourning her loss.

Her parents were her everything.

But now, she was left with nothing.

And no one.

Her life had spiraled into emptiness.

Amiel only cried heavily, but a little while later, she noticed the rain no longer bothered her.

Lifting her head, she found a white umbrella protecting her from the raindrops.

Next, she assessed the person holding it.

Amiel couldn't put his face anywhere. A black sunglasses protected his eyes from view, but from her position, she could tell he had a strong jaw.

Gazing up at the man in a black suit, she noticed his body resembling Dante's, one of her parent's security detail.

Amiel took a moment to close her eyes and stopped herself from crying.

The stranger carefully reached for Amiel's hand with his other free one.

Amiel opened her eyes and stared at the hand offered to her. She looked at the man's face, trying to search for anything.

"A young girl shouldn't be here soaking and shivering from cold."

"That line is supposed to impress me?"

The man chuckled.

"Forgive me for not introducing myself." The man didn't remove his offered hand. Amiel felt pity and accepted it.

He helped her get back on her feet.

"You can call me Seven."

Amiel briefly exchanged handshakes before pulling her cold hands free.

"I've never seen you before."

Seven smiled mysteriously. It piqued Amiel's interest.

"No one has," Seven paused. "But you, Amiel Ross, you have quite a talent."

"And so? Was I lucky enough to see you? Your name barely rang a bell."

Seven hummed, and a slight smile formed a curve on his lips.

"I don't expect you to know me. But please, lend me your ears. I have a proposal to make."