The evening air carries the scent of jasmine as you close your bedroom window, the day's warmth gradually fading into the cool night. Something catches your attention - a slight movement in the courtyard's ancient oak tree. You pause, straining your ears beyond the usual night sounds of the city. Nothing but the distant call of a night bird and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Three nights this week you've felt it - the subtle prickle of being watched.

You turn from the window, lighting the last candle on your bedside table. The flame flickers, casting elongated shadows across the wooden floor. Your fingers brush the hilt of the small dagger hidden beneath your mattress - a precaution you've taken since these strange occurrences began.

A floorboard creaks somewhere in the house. Not your usual nighttime settling - this sound is deliberate, controlled. Someone has entered your home. Your heart quickens as you stand frozen, listening to the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps moving through your kitchen. The intruder moves with inhuman silence, suggesting training beyond ordinary thieves. This is no common robber.