Juliet Isolde Hargreaves had once been a prominent exterminator, respected, capable, and a close companion of Sabrina's. The two had completed countless missions together. But that changed a few years ago, after Isolde was killed by a myutant.
All that remained of her legacy was her daughter, Juliana Isolde Hargreaves, an exterminator with absurd talent and if she ever put in the effort, she'd easily surpass Osiris.
But that was a big IF.
Sabrina knocked on the door of a small apartment tucked into the east side of the haven. Isolde wasn't poor—she'd taken on enough missions to be well-off, at least richer than half the population. Why she still lived in such a cramped, dingy building remained a mystery.
"Arghhh," a voice groaned from inside. "Who is it?"
"It's me," Sabrina replied.
"Oh, Sable," Isolde muttered as she cracked the door open. She was slightly hunched, still in her underwear despite it being mid afternoon. One strap of her bra hung loose off her shoulder. "Thought you wouldn't come. Kinda hoped you wouldn't."
"Why the hell do you still live here?" Sabrina pushed past her into the room. "Your mom would've had a heart attack if she saw this place."
"This isn't 2080," Isolde said with a stretch. "Simplicity is in. Minimalism, and all that."
She wandered in behind her and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
"What do you want?" she mumbled into the pillow.
Sabrina glanced around. It was the same apartment Isolde had lived in before joining the exterminators. No decorations. No furniture except for the bed she was currently rotting in. The floor was littered with empty instant meal packets.
"You haven't moved out of here because you're lazy, haven't you?" Sabrina asked.
Too lazy to reply, Isolde just raised a thumbs-up, letting it fall limply onto the mattress a moment later.
Sabrina rubbed the bridge of her nose.
This was exactly why Elendira got called to so many missions. Isolde was more experienced. Probably more skilled too. But she was hopelessly lethargic.
"You know, your mother was never like this," Sabrina said, arms crossed. "She was full of energy, ran marathons while pregnant for god's sake. I was sure you'd inherit some of that drive."
"Ran marathons while pregnant?" Isolde replied, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Hell, maybe that's why I'm like this. She probably burned through all my baby energy before I was even born. Left me a dry adult."
"Last I checked, adults actually leave their homes and don't wallow in filth," Sabrina said, striding to the window and pushing it open. "This place reeks of sweat and pizza."
"Ah, that reminds me..." Isolde mumbled. "I need to pick up my pizza from Payton's."
"And?"
"Could you perhaps—"
"Go get your own pizza, you bum!" Sabrina cut her off.
"Fine..." Isolde rolled over, revealing her face. Black hair tied in messy twin buns, hazelnut eyes half closed with exhaustion. A spitting image of her mother. The woman who'd once meant everything to Sabrina.
"What do you want?" Isolde asked.
"We need you," Sabrina said. "Expedition to Winterglaides."
"I'll pass. Get someone else."
"That's the problem, Juliana," Sabrina said, calling her by her first name for emphasis. "There is no one else. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel here, thinking of promoting fifth graders, for hell's sake."
"What about Asmo?"
"Asmodeus is too unstable. This mission needs a steady hand. Not one I have to constantly warn and monitor."
"So naturally," Isolde yawned, "you come to me."
"You'll be with Osiris and Elendira, but both are injured. You're the only one fit enough out of the available first grades."
"I'll do it," Isolde said, "...if."
Sabrina was already halfway to the door. "What?"
"If... you help me get my pickup."
The door slammed shut in her face.
Outside, Sabrina stepped into the streets of downtown New Haven. Reconstruction hadn't begun in earnest yet, leaving people to sleep in shelters or inside company buildings. The city still bore its wounds.
A group of boys tore past her, laughing, one screaming as his friends chased him. Just kids playing, but the noise dug into her skull like nails. She winced.
She needed rest.
Her earpiece buzzed in her ear, and though every cell in her body screamed for her to deny the call, she accepted it.
"Khusanov, I've got a strike team ready," came Terrence's voice. "Four-man unit, prepped to deploy whenever you give the word."
"Good," she murmured, her head pounding like a war drum. "I'll get back to you later."
She ended the call, pulled the earpiece free, and slipped it into her pocket.
Her body moved on instinct as she walked the streets of New Haven. Everything around her blurred, shapes, sounds, the pulse of footsteps in rhythm with her throbbing skull. Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.
But she didn't stop.
Before long, she reached her apartment complex. The door creaked open, and the tension in her head eased slightly just from being home.
The place was a mess.
Dusty windows. Dirty floors. She hadn't been here in over a month, her last few nights spent in the office.
Her eyes scanned the room, and her hand reached automatically for the broom leaning against the wall.
She hated filth. Not in her space. Not anywhere she had to live. Normally, she'd clean everything top to bottom before letting herself rest.
But not tonight.
Her fingers slipped off the broom's handle, and she turned toward the bed.
Her coat hit the floor first, followed by the short-sleeved suit beneath. She peeled off layer after layer until she was down to her underwear, now standing quietly in the dim light, staring at the bed.
She should take an aspirin. Drink water. Sleep.
But all she had energy for was the last thing on that list.
Moments later, Sabrina Khusanov collapsed into bed, her body surrendering to sleep. In the pocket of her discarded coat, the earpiece buzzed quietly.