Shadows Past

Jaz was trained in secrecy. She knew every way to hide, every shadow to slip into. She knew how to blend in with a crowd, and she knew how to stick out.

Jaz knew what it was to be completely alone in a crowd of people.

With her shades on, Jaz looked like an average New York citizen. She knew the back-ways, the alleys, the clubs that were perfect if she needed to get out of sight. She could walk a million miles in the highest stilettos and not feel a thing. She could walked with heels and not make a sound. In short, Jaz was a pavement artist of epic proportions.

With her sunglasses on.

With her sunglasses off, however, Jaz was a different person. Her eyes scared most; those who didn't run from her gaze were either dead or used to her. When Jaz pushed her shades up on top of her head and pinned back her hair, her cold eyes pierced rooms and hearts alike.

Jaz's eyes were silver.

Not pure silver, of course. They were slightly shadowed, darker towards her irises, and sprinkled with gold flakes. The most striking thing about her eyes, however, was their age. Her eyes had seen things that no human should ever see. She had watched with cool indifference as her own firing had killed men; she had watched blood seep into the pavement. She had watched businessmen scream as they fell from stories-tall building; she had pushed them.

Jaz's dark past was cast in silver in her eyes. Only two emotions were left to her; greed and loneliness.