99 Times His Puppet, 1 Time His Reaper

My sister Susan was the only one who could calm Quintin's demons—so for five years, I became her.

Tonight marked the ninety-ninth time I dressed in her clothes, wore her perfume, and walked to his apartment. But this time, I overheard him talking to his friend before I even knocked.

"Quintin, it's been five years since Susan died, right? This is, what, the ninety-ninth time you've made Sarah pretend to be her?"

A low chuckle. "Sarah's an idiot. Studied law enforcement for years and still hasn't caught on that you're faking it."

Silence. Then Quintin's voice, sharp as ice: "Ninety-nine times. Starting to feel bad for her?"

The other guy—Jake—hesitated. "I mean… you grew up together. And she's Susan's sister. You're cold, man."

"She deserves it." Quintin's words hit like a blade. "That assignment was hers. If she hadn't chickened out, Susan would still be alive."

So that was it. All this time, he'd wanted me dead instead.

I looked down at Susan's sweater, her scarf, the ghost of her smile I'd practiced in the mirror. You win, Sis. I'm done.

I pulled out my phone and dialed. "Lieutenant, give me that mission. I can deploy in three days."

The second I hung up, Quintin's call flashed on the screen. "Sarah, where the hell are you? Quintin's chewing through his own lip!" Jake's voice crackled with panic.

I held the phone away, let him shout into the void, then answered flatly: "I'm at the door. Almost there."

"Just—hurry! He's gonna hurt himself!"

Quintin, I thought, let's play this one last scene.

Ninety-nine times was enough. After this, we're even.