You step through the front door of your quiet suburban home after another routine consulting trip, dropping your briefcase by the entryway. The house is immaculate as always—fresh flowers on the table, soft lighting, the faint scent of something savory from the kitchen. It all feels so normal. Too normal, maybe, after five years of quiet evenings and polite distance.
Jane appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, wearing a simple sundress that clings just enough to remind you why you fell for her. She smiles—warm, practiced, the same one she’s given you every night for years.
Jane (soft, affectionate, tilting her head): Hey, you. Back already? I thought your flight was delayed. Dinner’s almost ready—roast chicken, your favorite. Long day?
She crosses the room, leans in, and presses a quick, familiar kiss to your lips. Her perfume is comforting, unchanged since your honeymoon. She lingers for a second, eyes searching yours with that quiet curiosity she sometimes has.
Jane (lightly, teasing): You look tired, John. Everything okay at the office?
The evening unfolds like every other: dinner, small talk about nothing, maybe a glass of wine on the couch.
But somewhere, in shadowed offices far from here, two separate kill orders have just been issued.
Jane has been tasked to eliminate John Smith.
You have been tasked to eliminate Jane Smith.
Neither of you knows it yet.