Chapter 66: How to Rescue Someone Who’d Never Admit Needed Saving (6)
The shadow between the shelf and the wall was narrow, suffocating, damp like the hot breath of a secret that didn’t want to be found out.
My back was pressed against the cracked plaster, and every breath had to be measured, slow, controlled — as if the air itself carried my name and I was trying not to be called. The door was still ajar, but through it, I could clearly see the figure that stepped inside.
A man. Tall. His posture was far too confident to be a healer, but lacked the martial weight of a guard. He wore a dark cloak with discreet golden embroidery — fabric far too fine for this place.
His steps were soft, trained, like someone used to walking where they shouldn’t. Behind him came another figure — one I recognized.
That greasy smile. Slicked-back hair. The belly stretching his mayoral sash. It was the same politician who had tried to grope Thalia at the bar a few days ago, with that paternalistic air of someone who thinks "offering an opportunity" is just a classy way to hunt the vulnerable. And now here he was, walking up to her bed with half-closed eyes and a hushed voice, like he was about to pray... or order a hit.
"So she’s alive, then," he said, voice sweet enough to hide poison. "Still pretty, even unconscious. What a waste of talent — poking around where she shouldn’t, sticking that adorable nose into old contracts and names no one cares about anymore."
The other man didn’t reply. Just nodded with a low murmur. He seemed less invested in the drama and more focused on the task.
"Said she was a journalist," the politician went on, with that syrupy tone of someone who’s practiced the speech too many times. "I thought it was cute. Romantic, even. But the truth is, this new generation’s got more teeth than sense. She talked to at least three merchants on the hidden payroll and... well, you know what that means."
The other one turned his gaze to the bed. His hand slid into his cloak, pulling out what looked like a short, curved dagger — faintly glowing, malicious.
"Do it right," the politician said, already turning away. "And please, clean up afterward. Last thing I need is a scandal in a sacred building."
He left without hurry, pulling the door closed behind him. When the latch clicked with a sharp snap, I felt the air shift. The room was sealed now. Just me, the assassin, and Thalia. Alone.