The second assassin hadn’t stopped running.
Even as his partner’s final scream was silenced by Sally’s swallow, he sprinted across the endless floorboards, legs burning, gaining no distance.
Sally barely shifted, she simply lifted one bare foot.
The shadow fell like night. Heat rolled downward first, warm skin, faint jasmine laced with the day’s lingering musk and sweat. Toes flexed lazily overhead, casual as stretching after a long day.
He froze, staring up.
The sole descended slow, and deliberate.
Thump.
It caught his legs first. Bones snapped like twigs; pain exploded white-hot through his lower body. He screamed, high and thin.
Sally slid her foot forward in one languid motion.
Warm flesh enveloped him, soft yet crushing. The ball of her foot rolled over his hips, waist, chest. Every ridge of her sole pressed in: toe prints grinding ribs, damp skin searing skin, sweat soaking torn clothes and stinging open wounds. He crawled uselessly until he was fully enveloped underneath her sole. His body mashed up against the hot arch, lungs fighting for the thin, humid air that smelled only of her.
“Pests Eliminated” she murmured, voice soft and possessive. “None of you shall touch my Master.”