I woke up in a cold sweat, gripping the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring me to the rock below. The remnant of some strange dream was in the back of my mind, but it dissipated before I could grasp it. I pulled myself out of bed, wrapping a blanket around me to ease the chill. It was eerily quiet except for the dripping of a pipe and the sound of my own breathing.

The longer I stood in silence, the more convinced I became that something was wrong. My feet padded on the rock floor as I crossed the small room and pulled back the curtain to Muriel’s quarters. Everything was as she had left it: a wicker chair sitting in the corner, a glass of water by her beside, and a still-smoldering candle that smelled like apples. Yet, the grey silhouette of her straw mattress was empty.

I stood completely motionless, the curtain still clenched in my hand. I could feel my pulse thudding in my ears. She doesn’t have patrol duties tonight. Where is she?

I turned over the linens and searched the bed, too anxious to care about privacy. When nothing unusual appeared, I sat down on the bed, listening. After several minutes, I let out a deep sigh. You’re just paranoid, I told myself. She is a grown woman. Perhaps she is with a partner.

I stood up and dragged the curtain back into place, knowing that sleep would not come for the rest of the night. As I walked back to my own bed, I heard a faint scuffling noise from the back corner of the room. I whipped around, my eyes scanning the dwelling. Then, suddenly, something moved in the dark.

A figure lunged toward me, and we collided painfully. I twisted to the side at the last moment, and a sharp pain laced down my shoulder and across the left side of my chest, barely missing my heart. My attacker stumbled, thrown off balance by the strike, and I grasped their bicep and wrenched it forward. As the figure stumbled against me, I pinned their arms against their torso and wrenched my knee upwards, hitting them squarely between the legs.

The figure grunted with pain, and something metallic clattered to the floor. They doubled over, moaning in a voice that could only be male. I kicked again, aiming higher, and his head snapped to the side as he fell to his knees.

I bent and ran my hands blindly across the ground, searching for the fallen weapon. My own knife was back by my bedside, and I cursed myself for not bringing it when I had gotten up to check Muriel’s quarters. Just as my fingers gripped the hilt of a dagger, my attacker grabbed my leg from behind and yanked, making me smash bodily into the ground.

We grappled on the floor, both of us trying to gain the upper hand. From behind me, he used his leverage to force my head into the ground. White blotches filled my vision, and it took everything in my power to hold onto the knife as he tried to rip it from my grasp.

I sucked in air and flipped over, raising the dagger and stabbing once, twice, three times into his stomach and chest. He writhed, trying to escape, but I scrambled onto his torso and pinned him with my knees. Underneath us, a dark pool of blood began to spread across the rock floor. I leaned forward and ripped off his hood, revealing the unfamiliar face of the young assassin.

I felt panic boiling up into my throat. Who would try to kill me? The elders? I pushed the knife to my attacker’s neck and looked him in the eyes. “Who sent you?” I demanded. He flinched, but locked his jaw and said nothing. A feeling of dread spread in my stomach. What if it wasn’t the elders, but the king? What if he’s found me?

I pushed the knife deeper, and beads of blood formed around the blade. The assassin was fading fast, and it wouldn’t be long before I could get nothing out of him. “I’ll kill you.” I threatened, my voice like steel.

He opened his mouth, but said nothing. I pushed the blade deeper. “Your contract. Is it written?” Slowly, he nodded, his eyes wide with fear. “Where? Where is it?”

“My r-room,” he sputtered. Droplets of blood flew from his mouth, staining my nightclothes.

“Tell me more.”

“Gibnor… third story…”

“Which room?”

“R-red iron l-lantern…”

“Tell me the door number!” I pressed.

“T-the…” he coughed. Before he could finish, his whole body shuddered and twitched, spewing blood all over the room. I crawled off of his chest, panting. If I ran for help now, the medics could probably save him, I realized, but made no move. If he’s the elders’ man, I can’t risk them finding out that he failed to kill me. I need that contract.

I sat on the floor and tried to gather my bearings. The wound in my shoulder burned with pain, and I clamped a hand over it, feeling the pulse of warm blood underneath. Only a few feet away, my attacker was in the last throes of death. My mouth tasted sour, like bile and blood.

I need help—I need to find Nico. I looked at the door. Suddenly, his chambers seemed impossibly far away, and in the fog of adrenaline and pain I could not remember if he was leading patrol for the night.

I stood on shaky legs and threw a blanket over my bloodstained clothes. If he's out, I’ll have to find the papers myself. The assassin’s body will have to wait. If it’s found before I have the contract, the elders will have me arrested for murder.

I opened the door and rushed onto the stairs of the base. In my state of half-delirium, the night wind threatened to blow me over. I tapped on Nico’s door, praying for a response. When none came, I took the risk and pounded harder.

I nearly broke out into tears as the door swung open. “Anabelle?” Nico whispered, “What are you doing here?” His eyes traced my blood-stained nightclothes and the hand still clamped over my wound. “Fuck, what’s happened?”

“The elders tried to kill me. Their assassin’s dying on my floor.”

Nico’s eyes widened. “What? Are you okay? Where’s Muriel?”

“She was out,” I whispered, leaving out my suspicions. “I have a plan, but I need your help.”

“Anabelle, you’re hurt. We need to get you to the infirmary right now.”

I gripped his arm. “No, are you insane? The elders will frame me for his murder.” I shook my head. “No, don’t you see? This is our chance. The assassin claimed that there’s a contract in his room—third floor of Gibnor, with a red lantern out front. If we can prove it, we might be able to turn the tables.”

Nico’s jaw hardened as the implication dawned on him. “You’re right. Stay here, I’ll go.”

“No, I’m coming. The search will go faster with two.”

“Fine, but we have to bind your wound or you’ll bleed out.”

“Okay,” I conceded, throwing off the blanket and pulling off my shirt with a grimace. Nico’s expression grew grim as his eyes alighted on the cut. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the damage, a deep gash in between two flaps of skin and fat, a mess of flesh and dark red blood that had yet to clot.

Nico pulled his first aid kit from under his sink. Working quickly, he used fresh cotton pads to clean the wound and then bound it with gauze bandages. “It needs stitches,” he said grimly, “but this will slow the bleeding.” He handed me a fresh shirt and pants from his closet. “Change into these. Your nightclothes are covered in blood.”

I stripped and pulled on the fresh clothes, not bothering to hide my body. “Let’s go.”