The woman pulled her hand back to her side. 

"My name is Paris." Her smile was frozen, but Spencer's eyes, it seemed like the corner of her mouth spread out into the abyss. Whether it was the panic in her heart or something else, she could not tell.

Paris's heels clicked as she spun to look at the cafe. A few fingers of the unconscious patrons twitched. Perhaps there were only seconds before they awoke. Spencer noticed that, but she was pretty damn sure that Elena and Paris both did.

Paris's hands, with red painted nails that were expertly manicured, reached into the cleavage of her business jacket, removing an envelope.

"For the both of you. Our organisation needs a job done. Trying is just as good as doing, as long as you do not refuse."

Spencer plucked out the envelope from Paris's hands. It was a silk envelope, and a quick change of angle to reflect the sunlight off the envelope showed no obvious fingerprints. A glance at the woman's hand showed no obvious sign of gloves. There were multiple possibilities in her head on how this worked, but perhaps Spencer just had to analyse it later.

Paris stepped onto the road and reached the centre of the two-lane road. She turned around to face the two girls and smiled. The smile was the last thing they saw of this woman as a truck drove past her, disappearing her with it.

Spencer stared at the envelope, then back at Elena. The question was obvious enough in both their minds, she could see. But she still had to say it.

"I take it we had the same job in the past," muttered Spencer. Innocuous words with darker meanings.