Assassin - Hannah Blume

But eventually, as things go from the lesser of two evils to the ordinary, she’ll end up finding it ordinary. “What are you wearing?” Helen asked the man at the tree-shaded bus stop, hesitating to sit down next to him on the bench. “What” wasn't the right question. She could see what he was wearing: swim goggles, a football jersey, Crocs, a kilt, a gray hoodie that was too tight on him, knee-length rainbow-striped socks, and a leather cuff around his neck with metal spikes coming out of it. Helen knew at least one person who'd have worn each item in the outfit, but would expect any pair of them to fight to the death if they were ever stuck in a room together. The man looked down at himself, which was an effective enough way to see everything except the goggles suctioned to his forehead. He was bald, without even eyebrows, but looked too thickset and robust to have just survived cancer. Maybe he was a mental patient, picked out all his own hair... no, there was some on his arms. Surely…