The night air in Nythrax hummed with tension as Zhan Xuan slipped through the shadows of the Obsidian Towers.

Perfect conditions. No moon, no breeze, just the heavy silence before a storm—exactly how he liked it.

His target: a maid in service to House Veyra, who'd overheard whispers of artifact smuggling. The contract was clear: eliminate her quietly, leave no traces. Simple work for someone of his caliber.

He moved like liquid darkness, black cloak billowing behind him as he scaled the manor walls with inhuman grace. The guards never saw him coming. One moment they stood vigilant; the next, shadows coiled around their throats, silencing them permanently. Pathetically easy.

Inside, the servant's quarters smelled of lemon soap and desperation. Zhan Xuan's lips curled in a predatory smirk as he followed the sound of soft humming down the corridor.

There she was. Back to him, hair falling in dark waves, the distinctive ring glinting on her finger. His shadows responded to his intent, forming a wickedly sharp dagger in his hand.

Three steps. That's all it would take.

One.

Two.

Three—

She turned.

Time fractured. Zhan Xuan froze. The shadows around him hissed in confusion as recognition slammed into him like a physical blow.

Not just any maid. Her. The girl from the slums who'd shared half her meager meals with him when they were starving children. The one who'd kissed him behind the collapsed fountain before he was taken by the Shadowborne. The memory he'd buried beneath a decade of blood and death.

Her eyes widened, lips parting in a silent gasp. The basket of linens slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor.

Zhan Xuan recovered first.

Before she could scream, he moved. One hand clamped over her mouth, the other pressing his dagger to her throat as he slammed her back against the stone wall.

"One sound," he breathed against her ear, voice low and dangerous, "and I'll paint these walls with your blood. Do you understand?"

She nodded frantically against his palm, fear scenting the air between them. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest where their bodies pressed together—too fast, too loud, betraying her terror.

Good. Fear kept people compliant.

Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth, keeping the blade pressed to her delicate skin. A single drop of blood welled where the tip pierced her flesh.

"You," he sneered, "should have stayed dead in those slums. Would have saved us both this... inconvenience."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Zhan..."

"Don't," he warned, pressing the knife harder. "Don't say my name like you have any right to it."

His free hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back until her neck was bared before him. Perfect, vulnerable, begging to be marked. He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear.

"The Shadowborne wants you dead, little mouse," he murmured, "and I'm their most efficient killer." His tongue darted out, tasting the salt of her skin. "But I find myself... conflicted."

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his emerald eyes blazing with a mixture of anger, desire, and something darker—something possessive.

"Tell me why I shouldn't finish this contract right now."