The rooftop wind whips sharp across my face the moment we land on the roof in perfect sync. My tail lashes once, hard, vicious, before curling high and rigid behind me.

  The watcher, hood up, crossbow half raised stutters to the side. His eyes darting from Master's calm face to my exposed fangs then back again little, little ticts. His mouth opens, closes. opens again.

  "What the, where did you come from ?" His voice is unprocessed, cute as he really has no idea. The crossbow trembles in his grip "How how the hell are you even up here ?"

  Master doesn't answer right away. He simply steps forward as if this is just another causal night. He tilts his head the tiniest fraction. Voice low almost gentle like but completely neutral "This is normal."

  The words hang there. Simple. Factual.

  The watcher's breath hitches again, louder this time. "Normal ?" The word comes out rushed, "You just climbed a sheer wall in the dark" His eyes drift to me, lingering on my flattened ears, my bared fangs and the slow deliberate sway of my tail that brushes Master's leg. "Your cat just leapt up here like it was a windowsill. And you call that normal ?"

  Master doesn't look away from the man. "She's fast," he says, voice still that same flat calm. "I'm patient. We meet in the middle." Another small shrug, one shoulder lifting lazy. "Nothing complicated."

  The watcher's laugh comes out cracked "Nothing complicated. Right. Sure. You two just stroll up like you're taking a midnight constitutional and I'm the one losing my mind." His crossbow dips again, lower this time.

  He gestures wildly at us with his free hand. "You two just appear. Like that" A snap of fingers. "And now you're standing here chatting like we're old mates at the tavern."

  Master nods once, small, polite. "We could be."

  I bare my fangs wider at that, a slow hiss leaking between them. My tail lashes once and sharp.

  The man finally notices how I'm coiled, knees bent deep, shoulders forward, claws fully extended now.

  "Look," he rasps, voice dropping to something pleading. "I don't want trouble. I swear on the tides. Just a payout. Just coin. I didn't sign up for whatever this is." His gaze flicks to Master's sword hilt, then to my spear, then back to my face. "You're not normal people."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Master doesn't rush. He simply steps forward, slow and measured. No drawn blade. No raised voice. Just that everyday calm, like he's walking to the kettle for more embercrack tea instead of closing on a man who's pointing a loaded crossbow at his chest.

  The watcher hesitates. Something in Master's aura pulls him in. No threat. No menace. Just quiet certainty. The kind that makes prey freeze instead of bolt.

  Master's hand moves. Fast. Clean. No flourish. The redstone noble steel slides free of its sheath in perfect silence, doesn't sing, doesn't scrape, just appears between them like it was always meant to be there. The point presses gentle against the watchers chest, right over the heart, dimpling the leather jerkin without piercing yet.

  The man's eyes blow wide. Breath catches. Body locks rigid.

  Master's voice stays soft. Almost kind. "You're Sapphire." Not a question. The watchers mouth opens.

  Master tilts his head the tiniest fraction. "My cat can smell the guild polish. Your crossbow string is waxed with their blue resin. Your boots have the tread pattern from the Sapphire quartermaster stores." A small pause. "Because you were told to watch. Not interfere."

  My tail lashes once, sharp whilst jealousy coils hot but not for the man, but for the fact Master's attention is still on him. Even now. Even while he's about to die.

  I surge. Drop low and fluid, knees bending deep, then launch, silent, perfect, slamming my shoulder into the watcher's ribs from the side. He staggers, breath exploding out in a wheeze. My claws hook into his jerkin at the shoulders, dragging him down with me.

  He thrashes once, weak, panicked, then stills when my fangs hover an inch from his eye.

  Master steps closer. Calm. Unhurried. Sword still in hand, point now resting casual against the watcher's throat beside where my tail grips.

  "Who sent you?" Master asks. Same neutral tone. Like he's asking for directions to the nearest tea house.

  The man wheezes. "Guild... master. Said... said to watch the freelancers. Make sure the ledger stayed in play. If you took it... report back. If Crimson got it first... clean up."

  Master nods once. Small. Polite.

  "And the trap in the garret?"

  "Pressure plate under the rug. Silent bell to the lower floor. Four more waiting in the stairwell. Crossbows. Nets. Alchemical smoke. Standard containment."

  My tail tightens another fraction. The watcher's chokes. My purr turns into a low, rattling growl that vibrates straight into his chest.

  Master exhales once, soft, almost fond. "Thank you." The words are quiet. Genuine. Then the redstone steel moves again, clean, precise, no wasted motion. The blade slides in under the ribs, angled up, piercing heart in one smooth thrust. No spray. No scream. Just a soft, wet exhale as the light leaves the watcher's eyes.

  Master sheathes the sword then turns and walks to the edge where the watcher had been crouched. He settles into the exact same spot, knees bent, elbows resting on the stone, gaze dropping to the window of 17 Blackspire Lane below. Calm. Composed. Like nothing at all has changed.

  I prowl up beside him instantly, pressing my whole side against his hip, shoulder to thigh, tail curling twice around his wrist in a possessive grip that won't loosen. My cheek rubs hard against his arm, scent marking, claiming, drowning out the stink of fresh blood with my own wild musk. My ears flick forward, blue eyes narrowing on the same window he watches, nostrils flaring to catch the nervous sweat of the two men still inside.