The night wrapped around me like a cloak, thick with the scent of rain-soaked stone and smoke from the city's countless chimneys. The weight of Baron Devereaux's stolen gold pressed against my ribs, a constant reminder of the trouble I had stirred.
But trouble had never scared me.
I moved quickly through the winding streets, my mind turning over Rousseau's warning. Devereaux was powerful, yes—but power bred arrogance. Men like him thought they were untouchable. That mistake would be his undoing.
Still, I needed to be cautious. A man like Devereaux wouldn't just send guards to look for me. He would send someone worse.
I needed to know who.
---
The answer came sooner than expected.
I was watching the entrance of a gambling den—one of the many places where nobles lost fortunes in a single night—when I saw him.
He didn't fit in with the usual drunkards and desperate men pouring in and out of the building. He stood apart, too still, too controlled.
A long, dark coat brushed against his boots, his gloved hands resting lightly on the hilt of a sheathed rapier. His face was sharp, handsome in a cold, unfeeling way. Even from across the street, I could see his eyes—pale, calculating, the kind of eyes that saw everything and gave nothing in return.
I knew his type. A hunter.
And the way he watched the gambling den told me exactly who he was hunting.
Me.
I slipped deeper into the shadows, studying him. If Devereaux had sent him, that meant this man wasn't just any hired thug. He was skilled, dangerous, someone who didn't fail.
A real threat.
My blood hummed with the thrill of it.
A challenge.
The hunter tilted his head slightly, and for a terrible moment, I thought he had seen me. But his gaze swept past, his posture never shifting.
Still, I didn't linger. I turned and disappeared into the night.
I had learned what I needed.
The game had begun.