Master finally moves. No warning. No words. Just a slow uncoil from me. His gaze flicks once to the gap between rooftops, twenty feet and then back to me. Through the bond "Now."

  My tail lashes once, sharp, delighted, whipping the air. My ears snap forward. Claws flex and retract in anticipation. I surge up beside him, pressing my shoulder to his hip, cheek rubbing hard against his arm one last possessive time before we move.

  He steps back three paces, casual, measured and then launches. No run up dramatics. Just a single powerful stride and he's airborne.

  I don't wait. I drop low, knees bent deep, hips cocked, then I explode forward. Four strides, fast and fluid building up as if it's life or death as I charge froward running like a wild thing.

  Air whistles past my ears. My tail snaps out for balance mid flight, whipping once to correct trajectory. Claws extend instinctively before they sink into the roof of 17 Blackspire Lane with a soft thunk. I land in a crouch, knees deep, tail curling high and arrogant behind me, shield still strapped lazy to my left arm, spear haft diagonal across my back. Blonde hair spills wild over my shoulders as I shake it back with an impatient flick of my head and bare my fangs in a slow, smug grin.

  Pathetic. All of it. The trap waiting below. The two idiots in the garret. The guild thinking fifty silver buys anything more than a slow death. The entire city thinking it can play games with us. With me and my Master.

  They don't realise a cat knows, it always knows, it always lands.

  I prowl to Master's side, hips swaying, tail lashing in slow triumphant arcs that brush his leg with every step. My ears swivel forward, nostrils flaring wide. The roof reeks of stink, old bird droppings everywhere. Underneath it, the sharp bite of alchemical preservatives drifting up through the cracked tiles.

  Master doesn't speak. Doesn't need to. He moves to the skylight, small, grimy, iron framed, set into the sloped roof above the garret. One knee drops to the tiles, fingers trace the latch. Rusted. Loose. Child's play. He glances at me once, calm, expectant.

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  My claws hook the frame, silent, precise and I ease the skylight open inch by inch. No squeak. No scrape. Just fog curling in like smoke from my own smug satisfaction.

  We drop.

  Master first silent, lands on the bottom of his feet beside a cluttered table, redstone sword already in hand but point down, relaxed. I follow half a heartbeat later, knees bending deep to absorb, tail curling high for balance, landing light beside him. My shield is up now, angled lazy but ready, spear tip pointed down.

  The nervous one jerks upright at the table. The guard startles awake, crossbow clattering to the floorboards, hand fumbling for the hilt at his belt.

  I bare my fangs wider, slow, lazy, utterly egotistic. Pathetic. Both of them. I can smell the fear rolling off the nervous one in humiliating bursts. The guard reeks of stale ale and sudden regret. My tail lashes once and sharp, whipping the air hard stirring the papers on the table.

  Master doesn't move. He just stands there, calm on the floorboards, sword loose in his grip, watching them .

  The nervous one finds his voice first, high, cracking. "You, you're not supposed to how did you". I cut him off with a low, rattling hiss that vibrates straight through my fangs. My tail curls high behind me, all arrogant like.

  Master speaks, soft, neutral, everyday calm. "The ledger." The guard scrambles for his crossbow. I don't even look at him. My tail lashes, once, then I surge. Four steps, fast, shield slamming into his chest with a dull thud. He staggers back, breath exploding out. My free hand hooks claws into his jerkin at the throat, lifting, pinning him to the wall. His feet kick uselessly an inch above the floorboards.

  Pathetic. The nervous one freezes, hands raised, trembling. Master steps forward, unhurried, picks up the red sharkskin ledger with one hand. Flips it open. Scans the pages. Nods once, small, satisfied.

  I don't release the guard. My tail squeezes harder, once, a warning before it then loosens just enough for him to drag in a breath.

  Master closes the ledger. Tucks it inside his cloak. Then he looks at me. One small tilt of his head, permission.

  My tail lashes once, delighted, before I drive my claws deeper. The guard gurgles, once, wet and then goes limp. I drop him and he crumbles. The nervous one makes a small, broken sound. I turn to him, slow, deliberate, tail swaying high and arrogant behind me. My shield stays angled lazy, spear tip dips forward until it's an inch from his chest. My blue eyes lock on his, pupils blown wide with night vision and pure, egotistic glee.

  Pathetic. All of it. Master steps up beside me, hand settling on the back of my neck, fingers threading into fur, thumb pressing once at the base of my collar. "Good kitten."