The balcony doors had been closed moments ago. Now they hung open.
My breath caught. I hadn't moved them. And no wind had been strong enough to force those iron hinges apart.
I took a slow step backward, my bare feet whispering across the cold stone floor.
I didn't call out. Instinct told me not to.
Then something shifted. A flicker of movement in the corner of my eye — too quick, too quiet.
I turned.
A blade glinted in the dark.
My body reacted before my thoughts did. I twisted violently, the dagger slicing past my throat by mere inches. The edge grazed my collarbone, nicking skin. Pain bloomed sharp and instant, followed by warmth as blood trickled down my chest.
The assassin didn't speak. They were fully cloaked, face hidden behind a jagged black mask. No scent. No sound. Just deadly precision.
