Lightbane slipped out the hideout entrance first.

  Hands on each other’s shoulders. A single, shared look.

  “Later then.”

  “Later.”

  The door shut behind him with barely a squeak.

  I looked at the assassin inside.

  He lay bound and unconscious - a trained killer slumped on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  Perfect audience for a debut performance.

  I loosened up with some stretching, then straightened the linen wrap around my tiny frame and found a cracked hand mirror in the dust.

  My reflection looked ridiculous: a four-year-old in a toga.

  Not exactly terror incarnate.

  But that was the magic of belief - the world feared what it chose to see.

  I breathed slowly.

  Then I touched the mirror and whispered the simplest bit of glamor I knew.

  “Nyx.” A darkness spell. Just a little opposite to Sol.

  Shadows clung tighter; the child vanished, leaving only a silhouette.

  When the assassin awoke, he wouldn’t see a toddler.

  He would see the thing that beat his comrades from the rooftops - silent and merciless.

  I dragged a single chair into the center of the hideout - angled so the single candle cast a sharp light on the killer’s face while keeping mine drowned in shadow.

  I watched the angel until my shadow finally made a face I could believe in: a slit for teeth, the suggestion of a mouth, and dark coal-like eyes. Showmanship matters.

  It wasn’t immediately obvious that I was human. I had a humanoid shape, sure, but with my stature, manner of speech and power, I could have been anything.

  I hadn't encountered many of the other races yet, Juliet and Elizabeth being the exception, but I was ware that they existed; elves, dwarves, beastfolk and the like. Asolar was primarily a human kingdom.

  To him, I could have been a dwarf or a goblin, or whatever I needed to be.

  I hauled the other assassins inside and propped them against one another so they sat upright, leaning on each other.

  Stage set.

  Now, the star.

  I crouched beside the assassin and tapped twice on his cheek.

  When the first rasp came from the man on the floor, I let the silence lengthen until it felt like sound itself was straining to hear. He coughed, gagged, eyes wet.

  He blinked in the dark and found the light of the candle, tried to push himself up, then froze: three bodies leaning like dead men against each other, a child-sized silhouette where no child should be, and a blade pointing like a calm accusation at his throat.

  The assassin smelled of sweat. His fingers trembled.

  “W–who are you?” he managed finally, his voice like gravel.

  A delicious question.

  I let the dark speak before I did, stepping one small inch closer and letting the cloak swallow my outline. “I am the master of mistakes,” I said, soft as a lullaby.

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  This was edgy and cringey, but it had to be done.

  He moved subtly, trying to scoot back.

  Good.

  Fear made people listen.

  I leaned just close enough that he could see the faint gleam buried in my shadowed eyes.

  Then I offered detail, because details make fiction believable.

  “You want to kill the king…” I murmured. “How childish, but it does rather fit your bunch. So shortsighted.”

  I let my fingers brush the assassins on the floor.

  “But you forget the true master. Entropy.” Some more silence, “…and I am his prophet."

  His breathing quickened - ragged.

  He must be thinking, "What the fuck." And I’m not sure that through his fear, he realized that his friends were alive. I assume that he assumed that they were dead. Like the other group of assassins had been.

  Good. Let paranoia bloom. And if he thought to fight me… I could beat him and his friends. He was alone now, so I could easily do it again.

  “If you want to live,” I whispered, “you will listen to me. Maybe do me a favor.”

  He swallowed hard. “W–what favor?”

  I lifted his chin with a soft, cold touch and held the tip of a dagger I’d stolen close to his face.

  “Tell me all you know, or take me to the one you call master.”

  A pause.

  I pressed two fingers against his forehead - not in a spell, but if one prepared to cast a spell, it made the hand warm. If a lot of power was used, it was like your hands were a hot iron, ready to brand someone. I wasn’t going to torture him, just role-play a little.

  The heat from my fingers made his skin twitch, just enough to sell the illusion.

  “I-I don’t know who hired me. Honest truth.” He choked. “We were hired. We get instructions through a broker.”

  Cowardly truth or cowardly lie - either worked for me.

  I tilted my head. “Broker,” I repeated, tasting the word for weakness.

  Oof. I may have laid it on too thick! In my old life I played rogues, assassins, and warlocks in video games often enough, and this was exactly the type of person I pretended to be.

  But that was mostly as an edgy teen, years ago.

  There was an itch on my hands. It’s only been about four years since last I played, but I really missed video games.

  He nodded vigorously, sweating now.

  “Who? Where?” I asked, slashing his cheek just the tiniest bit.

  His eyes flickered open, wild with fear, then squinted into the dark room while the rest of me lingered in the even thicker darkness.

  Shadows clung to my child-sized frame like a living shroud.

  “Stornoway is his name. Neutral ground - dead and black markets, back alleys. He pays too well to be questioned.”

  “Good,” I murmured. “You will take me to him.”

  His brow twitched. “Now?”

  “Yes. Now.”

  “I- I can’t-”

  The dagger’s edge kissed his cheek again, carving a thin line of red.

  “Name?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “What is your name, assassin?” I demanded with less patience.

  “It’s Gullyman. Gullyman Wasserung.”

  “Then, Gullyman, either you will walk,” I said softly, “or I will drag your corpse. Choose.”

  He froze. I tilted the dagger under his chin, forcing his gaze up into the dark.

  “If you lie… if you run… if you even think of betraying me…” I pressed the flat of the dagger against his throat. “…Entropy will devour what’s left of you. Slowly.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “Get. Up."

  He staggered to his feet, and I forced him to guide me.

  We moved through the hideout door, slipping away beyond the alley and farther into the city. Night swallowed us whole.

  I kept my voice cold, but inside the gears of my brain were spinning in a stupidly normal way. I’m acting like a terrifying shadow creature right now… that’s just me forcing the narrative to cooperate.

  I really didn’t feel like I was built for this type of stuff. I pretended often enough, but this was real, really real.

  If I could convince myself that this was still just play, or role-playing - at least until I haven’t hurt someone badly - maybe it would feel like pretending.

  I exhaled slowly and silently.

  I already missed Lightbane Caleb. I would feel so reassured if there were two of me to handle this. But in another way, it would be overkill.

  He had to handle his own stuff now, with the girls, the noble life and the cult.

  If he had to handle that, then I had to handle this, alone.

  At least I didn’t have to scurry away and hide all the things I’m doing all the time for that double life. Imagine having to handle a triple life alone.

  “You fight well,” I said calmly as we walked - just to say something. “But not well enough.”

  “You… What are you?” he muttered, voice trembling. “You’re but a boy. How can this be?”

  I guess that was just it. I was a boy- no, rather, I was kind of a man-child.

  “My god gives out boons above what mortals can earn,” I said, nudging the dagger into his side just enough to make him flinch. He gulped, eyes flicking to the dark that cloaked me. “Not even that armor of yours could save you from me.”

  He swallowed, jaw working. “I- I don’t know what it’s made of,” he blurted, voice thin. “They- they said it was from Stornoway’s client. A gift. Paid for. Nothing we were meant to ask about.”

  The words came out like someone reading from a list he’d been given to memorize - half-lie, half-hope.

  C’mon, Gullyman. You could have done so much better.

  “So you know nothing? You get less useful over time.”

  That stilled him.

  Then, quieter: “And I don’t know how much longer I can bear that.”

  He fell silent, eyes less alive than before.

  I leaned closer - my voice, a needle, slipped under his skin:

  “Tonight, assassin… you serve me.”

  He nodded, tight and terrified.

  We crossed other streets - Astar’s palace shrinking behind us.

  A slow, dread-filled journey into the city’s underbelly began.

  The Dark Child walked Astar.