Crimson Dawn

"Blood," Blair hissed, her voice sharp as shattered glass. She bolted upright in bed, her hand instinctively reaching for the Beretta she kept nestled beneath her pillow. The other hand fumbled for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a harsh yellow glow that did little to dispel the icy fear that had gripped her heart.

Claudia, roused from a dream filled with designer shoes and bottomless champagne, blinked blearily at her. "Blood? What are you talking about? Did you have another nightmare?" She yawned, stretching languidly like a cat waking from a sunbeam nap. "Honestly, Blair, you need to chill. All this stress is giving you wrinkles. And we can't have that, darling. Wrinkles are so last season."

Blair ignored her, already out of bed and padding towards the window. The air outside was crisp and cool, tinged with the faint scent of exhaust fumes and… something else. Something metallic, coppery. Something undeniably, terrifyingly familiar.

"There's blood," she said, her voice flat, devoid of the usual playful banter. She took another deep breath, confirming her suspicions. "It's faint, but it's there. Someone's been hurt."

"What? Are you serious?" Claudia scrambled out of bed, her sleepiness instantly replaced by a jolt of adrenaline. She joined Blair at the window, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Ugh, you're right. It smells like… a butcher shop had a one-night stand with a rusty nail factory. Gross. Where's it coming from?"

They scanned the street below, but nothing seemed out of place. The usual assortment of yellow cabs and delivery trucks rumbled past, the sidewalks bustling with the pre-dawn rush of early risers and late-night stragglers. There was no sign of a struggle, no bloodstains on the pavement, no discarded weapons glinting in the dim light of the streetlamps.

"Maybe it's coming from inside the building?" Claudia suggested, her voice tinged with a nervousness that was rare for her. "Maybe that creepy old lady on the third floor finally snapped and took out her chihuahua with a meat cleaver. I always said that dog gave me the evil eye."

Blair, though equally disturbed by the scent of blood, was determined to remain calm, to assess the situation before jumping to conclusions. She knew that panic was a luxury they couldn't afford in their line of work. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she said, her voice steady. "It could be anything. Maybe someone had a nosebleed, or… spilled a bottle of red wine. We'll check the hallway, but let's not assume the worst."

A sharp buzz from the doorbell cut through the tense silence. Blair and Claudia exchanged a startled look. Who on earth would be visiting at this ungodly hour?

"I'll get it," Blair said, grabbing her gun from the nightstand and tucking it discreetly into the waistband of her jeans. She padded silently towards the door, her senses on high alert, her mind racing with possibilities.

Through the peephole, she saw a nondescript man in a brown uniform holding a large cardboard box. A delivery. Strange. Neither she nor Claudia had ordered anything recently.

"Package for Blair Carson," the man announced, his voice muffled by the heavy door.

Blair hesitated. Accepting deliveries wasn't exactly protocol in their world, but curiosity, and the faint hope that it might offer some clue to the source of the blood, got the better of her.

"I'll sign for it," she said, cracking open the door just enough to grab the box. The delivery man, eager to escape back to the relative warmth of his truck, thrust the package into her arms and scurried away without another word.

"What is it?" Claudia asked, already hovering over Blair's shoulder, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "A bomb? A severed head? A lifetime supply of those ridiculously expensive face masks you love?"

"No return address," Blair noted, examining the plain brown packaging. "And no sender's name. Just… a barcode and a warning label that says 'Handle with care. Contents may bite.'" She raised an eyebrow at Claudia. "Well, that's not ominous at all."

"Ooh, this is getting good," Claudia squealed, rubbing her hands together in glee. "Open it! Open it! Open it!"

Blair, despite her usual caution, felt a surge of excitement. This was the kind of unexpected twist that added spice to their otherwise predictable routines. She carefully sliced open the box with a pocket knife, her movements precise, almost surgical.

Inside, nestled amidst layers of foam padding, lay an assortment of sleek, black objects – a pair of custom-designed pistols with silencers attached, a set of throwing knives with razor-sharp edges, and several compact grenades with markings she didn't recognize.

"Holy mother of all things dangerous," Claudia breathed, her voice a hushed whisper. "This is like Christmas morning for assassins. Check out this bad boy!" She snatched up one of the pistols, her eyes widening as she hefted its weight. "It's lighter than it looks. And the grip… perfect. Whoever sent this knows their stuff."

Blair, despite her initial apprehension, felt a surge of adrenaline. She picked up one of the throwing knives, testing its balance, admiring the way the light glinted off its polished surface. "These are custom-made," she murmured, her voice laced with a grudging respect. "Top of the line. Expensive. And definitely not something you'd find at your average sporting goods store."

The rest of the day was a blur of activity as Blair and Claudia unpacked their new arsenal, their usual playful banter replaced by a focused silence as they disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled each weapon with the practiced ease of seasoned professionals.

The air in the apartment buzzed with a new kind of energy – a mix of excitement and a growing sense of foreboding. These were tools of their trade, reminders of the deadly world they inhabited, a world where violence was both a means to an end and a constant, lurking threat.

As the sun began to set, casting long, ominous shadows across the city, Blair and Claudia sat side by side on the couch, a pile of gleaming weaponry laid out on the coffee table between them. The scent of gun oil mingled with the fading aroma of burnt sugar, a strange and unsettling combination that seemed to encapsulate the duality of their lives.

"Think this was a gift from James?" Claudia asked, her voice unusually quiet.

"Who else would it be?" Blair sighed, running a hand through her hair. "He's sending us a message, Claudia. He's reminding us who we work for, what we're capable of." She paused, her gaze drifting towards Victor's door, a flicker of unease darkening her eyes. "And I have a feeling he's not the only one."

The scent of blood, faint but persistent, drifted through the apartment, a silent reminder of the unseen dangers lurking just beneath the surface of their carefully constructed lives.