A Girl
The room was thick with the kind of silence that only came when two people had wildly different understandings of a situation.
Wednesday had seen this moment before—the dazed confusion, the split second when the human brain scrambled to catch up with reality. The instant when instinct kicked in, when fear set in.
But this? This wasn’t that.
The girl—the target—was clearly still processing. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers clutching the blanket like it might shield her from what was coming. But the longer she looked at Wednesday—really looked at her—the more something strange flickered across her face.
Admiration? No. That wasn’t quite it. Awe? No. Worse. Appreciation.
Wednesday barely stopped herself from scoffing.
She’s checking me out.
Even now—wide-eyed, clearly terrified, but also unmistakably… distracted. Still groggy, still confused, but very clearly checking her out.
Wednesday had no idea what to do with that. She had seen people beg, bargain, scream. Had seen their survival instincts kick in like clockwork.
But this? This was new.
And then—to make things even weirder—the girl let out a weak little laugh, rubbing a hand over her face.“Okay,” she muttered, voice still scratchy with sleep. “Either I’m dreaming, or I’m about to get murdered by the hottest person I’ve ever seen.”
Wednesday exhaled slowly.
What.
She had been doing this job for years. She had seen every kind of reaction. But no one—no one—had ever flirted with her in the same breath as their impending death. It threw her off balance.
She recovered quickly, narrowing her eyes. “You should be afraid.”
“Oh, I am.” The girl’s voice wobbled, but she didn’t look away. Her pupils were blown wide, her breathing uneven. But she was still staring at Wednesday like she was some kind of fever dream. “Like, very, very afraid,” she continued.
A pause.
Then, quieter, almost dazed: “But also, wow.”
Wednesday clenched her jaw. What is wrong with this girl? Her grip on the knife tightened. “This isn’t a joke.”
The girl inhaled sharply, eyes darting to the weapon at her throat. A visible shiver ran through her. “Right. Yep. Super terrifying.” Then, quieter, under her breath: “God, even your voice is hot.”
Wednesday exhaled sharply. This was ridiculous.
She took another step forward, looming over the bed.
The girl’s breath hitched.
Good. Fear was the correct response. And yet—
She kept looking at her. Not just at the weapon. Not just at the threat.
At her.
Her fingers twitched against the blanket, knuckles pale with tension.
Then, slowly, she wet her lips, voice unsteady but still carrying that reckless edge. “So, uh… when you kill me, go straight for the heart.”
A pause.
Then, weaker, like she was almost laughing at herself—
“Though, at this point, I don’t think there’s anything straight left in me.”
Wednesday stared.
The girl flinched slightly but didn’t look away.
There was fear, but no panic. No resistance. She wasn’t pleading. She wasn’t fighting. She was accepting. Like she had already made peace with it.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care—Wednesday could see it in the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers still clutched the blanket like it could shield her. But there was something deeper than fear. Something hollow.
And that was what made Wednesday pause.
Not the flirting. Not the wild, ridiculous lack of self-preservation. It was the resignation behind it. The quiet way she had already made peace with dying.
Because no teenage girl should react like this. Not with resignation. Not with… relief.
Wednesday had seen true fear before. The kind that drove people to fight, to run, to claw desperately at life even when they knew they couldn’t win.
But this girl? She was afraid, but not shocked. Like she had been waiting for this.
Wednesday felt something cold crawl down her spine. She should just finish the job.
Instead, she opened her mouth and said—
“…What’s your name?”
The girl blinked. Thrown off. “What?”
Wednesday’s voice was steady, controlled. “I said, tell me your name.”
A beat of silence.
Then, carefully, she exhaled and said,“Enid.”
Wednesday clenched her jaw.The name landed differently.
She shouldn’t have asked. She never asked. Because names made them real. Names turned them into something that could be known.
And now, she knew Enid.
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Because for the first time in her life—
She wasn’t sure. And that changed everything.