Candlelight pooled across maps and sealed contracts, casting long shadows over Sylas's chamber. Soren stood with his back straight, hands relaxed at his sides, watching as the assassin leader's finger traced a route across a yellowed parchment.
The familiar scent of beeswax and ink hung in the air, undercut by something sharper, the metallic tang of blood from a contract recently fulfilled.
"Protection, not blood." Sylas looked up, those unsettling green eyes reflecting candlelight like a predator's in darkness. "You'll guard Lady Aveline Kareth on her return to Velrane territory."
Soren blinked, the only outward sign of his surprise. For months, his blade had served one purpose, ending lives with clinical precision. The shard against his chest remained neutral, neither warming nor cooling at this unexpected directive.
"Why me?" he asked, the words falling into the chamber's hushed atmosphere.
