Time to get a move on

The morning was almost over.

“Any idea when I'm on?” Stiletto asked.

“Network says any minute now.”

“Good. Let's get this thing wrapped up by lunch. Plugging you in.” She strapped her smartphone to her arm and waited for it to sync with the collar.

“GPS, check," Morwen read off. "Vital signs, check.”

Stiletto stepped into the hall and locked the door to her room. The one she had slept in, anyway: Morwen had reserved every room on this floor of the hotel, so technically, they were all hers. Stiletto never slept in her apartment the night before a Hunt. By now the address was public knowledge, so it would be too easy to get ambushed at the door. She peeked out the window.

“Speaking of which,” Morwen sounded surprised, “someone's heart is running a mile a minute. How ya feeling?”

“Fine. Kinda pissed.” She marched past the elevator, towards the dim sound of clacking.

“I'll draft a letter to the network and see about firing that hackhammer.”

“I'm not pissed about Kurt." Stiletto stopped, listening closely, and banged on one of the doors.

It opened.

Slowly.

Morwen peered around it, brown eyes face-to-face with Stiletto's heaving chest. Inside the room, a few guys with laptops tried to peer around their boss at Stiletto's chest too.

"Guys?" Morwen said. "We need a sec." Her support team snapped back to their screens.

Stiletto dragged all five-feet-nothing of her out the door and over to the window. "I'm pissed about that. Why didn't you guys warn me about that?

That was the mass of people on the street outside the hotel. Hunters stood out in their camo vests and black gloves, while her fans sported mesh tops, styled hair, and that infamous pair of knee-high heels. The rest just wanted to capture the scene on cameras they waved overhead.

“Dammit!" Morwen bit her red lip, already made up for the suddenly evitable press conference. "Concierge must've told some shitty blogger looking for a scoop. Ciro," she called into her control room, "call security. Make sure the building's on lockdown. No one gets in before the Hunt starts.”

“What if I want to get out before the Hunt starts?” Stiletto snapped.

“Oh? Oh. Umm...”