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Hunter
The Path of an Assassin
Sydney Robinson
Copyright © 2020 Sydney Robinson
All rights reserved
First Edition
Fulton Books, Inc.
Meadville, PA
Published by Fulton Books 2020
ISBN 978-1-64654-201-7 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64654-734-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-64654-202-4 (digital)
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Prologue
The flames were covering everything. The hallway was filled with light from the small fire that had burst into a blaze from the oxygen tanks. She ran down the hall hoping to get away from the room that had gone up, but she was hopelessly lost.
She looked back down the dark corridor that was slowly filling with light. She slammed her shoulder onto the door in front of her and tried in vain to break the locked door down. She fell into darkness and landed at someone’s feet.
In a panic, she tried to rise and move out of the room but found that the fire had caught up with her. She looked back at the figure and saw glowing blue eyes staring back at her. She scrambled backward away from the figure that was now partially illuminated by the flames. It was a man, and he was speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear him due to the roar of the flames. Pain registered in her mind as a warm liquid trickled down her face.
Heat consumed her, and blackness engulfed her vision.
Part One—Recruits
Recruits
This is what I know:
1 My name is Angel.
2 My age is fourteen (I think).
3 I have an X-shaped scar on my face, always have.
4 My hair color is blond, and my eyes are blue.
5 I have migraines, and they give me nightmares.
Chapter One
The light of the full moon filled the room with light as bright as the morning sun. It was the curse of living in the western dorm; the light always filled the room and woke those on the edge of sleep. But then again, it wasn’t as if the room ever really saw people awake at an hour where this would prove a problem…until recently.
For the past month, Angel had watched the moon’s path across the night sky, which she could see sitting in the bay window of the dorm room. Almost like clockwork, she had awoken to see the very edge of the moon peeking around the upper edge of her window. On trained silent feet, she would cross the full expanse of the room, passing the twelve rows of beds, to sit curled up on the windowsill until the moon dropped below the tree line.
Angel didn’t think of anything really as she sat there; her mind was as quiet as it had always been, or at least as long as she could remember. It was odd, really. She
