Instructor Jane's black eyes caught Asher's rapier tearing toward her throat at the very last second, precisely the moment she turned. For the first time since the class training session had begun, her expression shifted, however faintly, to one of mild surprise. She should have heard Asher's footsteps the moment he took a step; she should have heard his rapier cutting through the wind the moment he initiated the attack.
But she had heard nothing, no breath, no shift in air, no hint of steel cleaving wind, as though the young man before her stood at the pinnacle of the assassination arts, a being sculpted from silence itself.
