The passing of time had become a blur for Anna. She had learned to ignore the calendar, the seasons, and the fleeting memories of the girl she used to be. Time was nothing more than a series of cold, silent hours spent in training, executing orders, and silencing the voice inside her that cried out for a different life.
At 15, Anna had already earned the woman's trust, and with it came more responsibility—and more missions. Her face, once soft and innocent, had become as hard as the steel she carried in her chest. The people around her came and went, their lives nothing more than transactions. She no longer mourned them. She no longer cared. The world she had once imagined, filled with love, peace, and family, felt like a dream too distant to reach.
Anna's room was a sanctuary of solitude, decorated only with the barest of essentials—a small bed, a table, a chair. Her reflection in the mirror no longer resembled the girl who had begged for her brother's life. The woman's influence had shaped her into something new, something cold, something deadly.
Every morning, she would wake up to a routine that had become second nature. She trained her body to be fast, agile, and strong. Her mind was sharpened by constant tests, puzzles, and games designed to break her down and rebuild her. The woman had taught her how to manipulate, how to read people, and how to twist situations to her advantage. There was no weakness in Anna anymore. Only a sharp, calculating mind and a body that could kill with precision.
One evening, after another successful mission, Anna sat in the woman's office, awaiting her approval. The woman looked at her with an expression that could be read in a thousand different ways, but Anna knew what she wanted to hear.
"You did well, Anna," the woman said, her voice low and almost approving. "You're becoming everything I've trained you to be. There's no one else like you."
Anna's heart remained still, even as a part of her—a small, faint part—wanted to feel proud. But she couldn't. She had learned to bury pride under the weight of duty. To feel anything would be to acknowledge that she still had a soul worth saving.
"Thank you," Anna replied, her voice flat. The words felt foreign in her mouth, but they were the right ones to say. "What's next?"
The woman's eyes flickered with a dangerous light. "You'll continue as you always have. No questions. No hesitation. You know what's at stake."
Anna nodded, suppressing the urge to scream. She had no choice. She had no room to argue. The woman was the only one who had ever cared for her. Or at least, that's what she told herself. The alternative was far more terrifying—being alone, forgotten, discarded.
---
As the years passed, Anna's existence became one of silence and discipline. She had learned to play the role of the perfect weapon—never questioning, never faltering. But beneath the surface, something inside her was beginning to wither. The guilt over leaving Calvin behind never truly faded, though she had long since stopped searching for a way to make amends. She had given up on trying to understand what had happened to the little boy she had promised to protect.
Anna had heard about him through letters, each one more painful than the last. He had grown stronger, healthier. He was the child she had dreamed of saving, but she wasn't there to witness it. Instead, she was becoming the person who had failed him. And there was no way back.
One night, as Anna sat alone in her room, staring at the same blank walls she had stared at for years, her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," she called, her voice distant.
The door creaked open, and Victor stepped inside. He was a tall, cold man who had been assigned to train her in the darker aspects of her work. He was always distant, never showing warmth or affection. His demeanor was a perfect match for the life Anna had been forced into—a life of shadows, manipulation, and violence.
"Another successful mission," Victor said, his eyes cold but with an undercurrent of something that Anna couldn't quite place.
Anna didn't respond right away. She was lost in her thoughts, but she nodded slowly, acknowledging his statement. She had become so numb to the praise, the acknowledgments, that they no longer meant anything.
"You're becoming a master at this," Victor continued, stepping closer to her. "But don't forget, Anna, this life will consume you if you let it."
Anna finally looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a strange emptiness in his eyes, one that mirrored her own. She wasn't sure if he cared for her, but she knew one thing: he was the closest thing she had to an ally in this world.
"I haven't forgotten," Anna said softly. "But it doesn't matter anymore."
Victor paused, his expression unreadable. "You say that now, but I can see it in your eyes. You're not like the others. You still think there's a way out. And I'm telling you—there isn't."
Anna looked down, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. "Then why do you care?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Victor's lips tightened, and for a moment, Anna thought he might say something—something that would finally break through the wall she had built around herself. But instead, he turned and walked to the door.
"Because I see potential in you," he said, his voice almost a growl. "But potential doesn't matter if you can't control it."
And with that, he left her alone again, just as everyone else did.
---
Anna lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. The silence was deafening. She could feel the weight of everything she had become pressing down on her chest. There was no escape from this life—no way out of the darkness that had swallowed her whole.
This is who I am now. This is what I was meant to be, she told herself, though a part of her refused to believe it.
Her training, her missions, the numbness—it had all built up to this moment. She had become a tool, a weapon, a shadow. She was exactly what the woman had molded her to be.
But in the silence of the night, as she lay awake, Anna couldn't help but wonder if there was something more. Something she had lost. Something she could never get back.