This is something I found in the older sections of my stories, and is several months old (thus, obviously not one of my better works, XD). I normally don't write in first-person, or this single genre, but apparently had decided to try it out. Genre: Suspense (If you want to call it that ... *shrugs*) I hope you enjoy the below. Dangerous Business They were standing in the room below, circled around a small round table. Lamplight gave a warm glow to the cold stone room, making the table's dark wood gleam. The violet tapestry I was crouching behind smelled of mold, and it muffled their voices. My fingers closed around the dust-layered wool, pulling it back slightly as I inched closer to the stone banister. A low voice drifted to my ears, silky menace underlying his calm tone. "One of your spies, my dear Malory, has turn out to be quite a disappointment. A double-crosser," the eldest of the trio growled, flicking a strand of longish brown hair out of his amber eyes. A young woman stiffened, jaw clenched. Her silver gaze was resolute. "I cannot predict Ezra's every movement, sir. His habits have changed, as well as his loyalty," the young woman added, shaking her head. The lamplight made her coppery, shoulder length locks shimmer. "What do you suggest?" "Kill the coward." My throat constricted, Ezra's lively blue gaze dancing in mind's eye. So the suspicions were true - That he had serviced elsewhere before joining our side. Still, I had to learn more before I could leave. The early spring climate had greatly chilled the stone I was now kneeling on, seeping through the rough black fabric of my trousers. I slid my hand into my short, laced boot. My fingers wrapped around a smooth, warm wooden handle. I withdrew the revolver from my boot, resting it against my thigh. "As for our other pressing matter?" another person inquired, impatient. His back was turned to me. "We make our move at dusk tomorrow." I let the tapestry fall back in place, moving back. The heels of my boots clicked ever so slightly. I froze, listening intently. They had fallen silent. One muttered something. The words â€˜probably' and â€˜rat' were all that I could distinguish. A smile played about my lips. How right they were. A little rat was stealing the cheese, and taking it home. I continued to moved back, staying in the shadows, before straitening. Presuming everything went according to plan, I'd be in a neutral zone within the hour. Careful to keep at least an inch from the wall, I proceeded. The revolver was lightly clenched in my bare hand, although not ready to fire. Still, the second it took to pull back the hammer could mean life or death. I rounded the corner, turning into another dark hallway. My boot suddenly caught on something, throwing me off balance. The offending object clattered to the floor, shattering the night's silence. My first reaction was to catch myself. The revolver skittered across the hall, colliding with the wall. My palms slapped against the flagstone, stinging from impact. I stifled a gasp as the sound resonated through the halls. My calf was throbbing, but it was trivial. Being caught was inevitable, unless I moved quickly. I scrambled to my feet, breaking into a run. Every sound made put me on edge. One bullet was all it would take. I ducked, scooping up my weapon as I ran. My long auburn braid fell over my shoulder as I straitened, bouncing with my pace. Stairs came into view. There was also an open window. I paused as I reached them, considering. Going down the stairs was time consuming, but jumping was risking leg injury. I flipped open the revolver's ratchet, holding it in a ray of moonlight. Five shots. One bullet short of a full round. But other than that, I was out. Terrific. Footsteps suddenly echoed in the spiraling stairwell. It sounded like two people coming up. I snapped the ratchet shut, clambering onto the window sill. Cool night air bit at my bare arms. The ground was quite a way down - At least fourteen feet. A tree branch dangled several feet away. It would at least break the fall. I tucked the revolver in the back of my belt. And sprung. The rough bark scratched at my palms, the leafless branch bobbing. I released as the branch dipped again. Hard ground, parched from lack of rain, was what met me. I winced, rolling. Dry grass poked at my arms. My legs were beginning to protest, but there was little time to dwell. I stood, jogging along the wall. Someone or something suddenly crashed into me, appearing out of nowhere as I turned. The back of my head struck the wall. A low moan escaped my lips. Pain radiated from the area. "Well, well … What have we here?" a masculine voice purred, a gloved hand suddenly closing around my throat. The grip was loose enough to allow air flow, but it could quickly tighten. I blinked several times, waiting for my vision to refocus. Moonlight lit the vicinity, thus making me highly visible. The soldier held me to the wall, smirking. His hazel gaze raked over my body, lingering on my breasts. My hands curled into fists. He frisked me, roughly. My eyes narrowed, temper simmering. The revolver was the only weapon I had, and it was against the wall. Which meant I was in quite a predicament. The evening chill was settling in, seeping though my gray tank top. Goosebumps were appearing on my arms. The soldier finally met my green-eyed glare. "Who are you?" he asked, leaning somewhat closer. The bitter scent of whiskey was evident on his breath. "A girl with a bad attitude," I replied smoothly, my tone chilled. He seemed to have had one shot too many. But trained reflexes are not easily slurred by alcohol. I slowly slid my right hand behind my back, carefully watching him. The soldier seemed amused by my response. My fingers curled around the smooth wood. "How old are you, anyway?" he asked after a moment, undeterred. "What does it matter?" "I want to know if you're legal." "Old enough to vote, but not old enough to drink," I replied vaguely, annoyed - Both with myself and with my â€˜company'. I began to withdraw my weapon, , making small, almost unnoticeable movements. The metal slid against my spine, catching on my tank top. Just when things couldn't afford to become more precarious. "Know how to fight, babe?" the soldier drawled, interested. I pulled the revolver up sharply. A thin strip of fabric ripped with it. "Yeah. I know how to shoot, too," I said coolly, bringing my weapon into view. The cool steel gleamed in the moonlight as I tapped the barrel against his chest. "Kindly get your hands off me," I added, clicking the hammer back. He immediately complied. I clubbed him with the butt of my gun. Hard. The soldier crumpled. I stepped over his limp form with disdain, replacing the hammer. "Idiotic drunk …" I muttered, walking into the cover of the trees. My transportation was nearby. It was safe to say I'd put in a full night. One of dangerous business. At least Ezra was on our side … And it might be possible to gain more information from him, I mused as I walked. Wondering. Would the quiet spy fully betray his old alliance? It certainly explained why he seemed so troubled at times. I sighed, knowing the caution he had exercised to cover his tracks and avoid â€˜hunting' parties. Hold too much valuable information, and one was likely to have a sniper reserved for them. A less than warm feeling, to say the least. Perhaps we would be able to talk soon … The trees were thinning out again. Parked next to the dirt road was an inconspicuous black Ford. I paused at the bed of the truck, fishing for the keys. It wasn't long before I found them, slipping into the cab. I immediately turned the heater on high, tuning the radio to an orchestra station. The relaxing sounds of a piano filled the small truck, accompanied by a flute and violin. I soon eased out onto the road. It was time to head back.