Shadows climbed up the wall of the stone tower. The foundations were crumbling, and it was drafty and wet inside, the entire building too far gone for it to warrant repairs to the rundown roof. Nestled in the middle of nowhere, at the foot of a cluster of valleys, the tower was reaching towards the epitome of unlivable. Unlivable, save for the secrets it trapped inside, still alive and causing havoc after generations of slumber.

A pair of men stood next to the crumbling wooden door of the tower. Guards. One tall and the other short, they were immovable statues in the fading day. Posted to keep watch, they gazed around from under the brim of their caps, mistrustful eyes studying every flicker of movement. Their vigilance was not enough.

A humanoid shadow moved in the middle of their perimeter, veritably strolling down the alley that led to the entrance. He went by unnoticed, once, then twice, as he circled around the base of the tower, searching for something. Satisfied, he swiftly climbed up, finding handholds and footholds aplenty. No shouts came from below and he scaled uncontested, shortly ducking into a small alcove and waiting.

“This… agent of yours,” started an uncertain voice from above. Wrong level, then. Must be one up. “Will he take care of business?”

“Oh, call him for what he is, Lord Owine. It’s of no use lying to ourselves. We’re plotting the demise of the royal family. That’s enough to get us a trial, even without mention of this ‘agent’.”

“We’re not all like you, Harrow. Some of us don’t have experience with this sort of things.”

There was a chorus of laughs and glasses clinking, before the talking resumed. They spoke quieter, as if to ward off the blasphemy from the room. He only caught glimpses of what was said. Most of the louder comments were just indignations, followed by quick promises of safety.

Silently, the shadow rose, made as if to step into thin air, then swung himself upwards, body splayed as he clasped the lip of the ledge above and hung from there. His arms burned pleasant, but there was no way to tell how long the noblemen would prattle on for. He got bored quickly of the complaining from inside and entertained himself with thinking of all the different ways he could sneak by the guards unnoticed.

Busy as he was meditating through vividly detailed escapades, he was startled out of his reverie by sounds of movement. Was he spotted? He held his breath, taunt as a bowstring. A sudden silver glint piercing through the black veil around him, but it was just those inside making their way out. Carefully, he pulled himself up, and peeked in through the opening. Grated, but no glass. Doable, with plenty of space between the far-set bars.

No one noticed the number of people in the room increase by one as the men thanked the host and saw themselves out. The Magister stayed behind, sitting down on one of the divans with a groan and closing his eyes. The shadow moved around the room, studying the papers strewn on the desk – nothing incriminating, they were probably inside the drawers. He scoffed silently at the man dozing in front of him. He could make it quick. Soundless. The guards outside wouldn’t notice anything amiss, perhaps even for a few days. Their employer didn’t seem like the type of man to want to be bothered, anyways, so he could be well out of the country by the time they found a body.

With a sigh, he leaned against the top of the desk and cleared his throat. The Magister startled, knocking over a glass of alcohol on the nearby table in his scramble to get up.

“Shade?”

The shadow nodded, his face a blank mask. Inside, he had to admit, the man was one of the more composed ones. The disgust on his face was still apparent, of course, the tension between the different them quickly surfacing the longer the Magister was aware of him. But, despite that, the man had regained his composure the fastest out of everyone that suddenly came face to face with him. And this sort of entrance was a particular favourite of Shade’s, designed to put his clients on an unsure platform.

“There was no need for you to come here,” the Magister admonished as he got up, ignoring the growing puddle on the ground and standing in front of Shade. The latter made no motion to get off the desk, silent as he waited for the other’s reaction. Not rising up to the bait, the Magister walked around and sat down, tidying up his papers as he talked, looking anywhere other than at the man leaning on his desk. “I’ve sent the briefing on the task you are to complete to your order. I take it you’ve decided to accept my offer?”

“No.”

There was a brief flash of surprise on the Magister’s face. “Is it the payment? The… patrons are loath to part with their money, but I can assure you that it’s of no worry to us if your fee is higher. You are, after all, the best in the business?”

He was measured with his words, if not with the zeal that came into his eyes, and Shade didn’t deign to acknowledge the question. There are other ways to make people speak. Instead, he slowly picked up a paper from the desk – nothing interesting, he’d glanced at it before, just a missive regarding the upcoming solstice festival. He pretended to be deeply engrossed in it, letting uncomfortable silence pass between them before speaking. “How did you find out about us?” he asked, eyes focus on the sentences in his hand.

“I was looking for a particular business partner in a field of importance to both our nations. You came up as one of the most recommended.”

An answer without an answer. The Magister seemed truly clueless as to why he was asking that question. It was probably genuine, but Shade’s Trompathrs would accept nothing short of perfection.

Shade suddenly turned around and flicked his hand at the Magister, his fine blade nicking the man’s cheek. He nicked his own palm and cupped his face. The two stared at each other: one terrified, his breathing wildly out of control as it started to sink in just how much he was in over his head, the other’s eyes near-glowing and looking out of control. The assassin laughed mirthlessly, leaning his forehead to rest on the other’s, gasping as their heads touched. He shook again, muttering under his breath and holding onto the Magister as if for dear life.

They were still, frozen in time and bound by violence and blood and silence, save for the intense broken words coming out of Shade’s mouth. The intensity on both their faces transported them away from the office room in the tower, Shade’s chant fading into the rush of wind dancing between the tallest mountain tops, a river snaking through the deepest depths, a flowing rush of power. A drop of blood dripped onto the floor, breaking the spell.

“Well then,” Shade said. He broke the bond, jumping off the desk and stretching as if the savagery charging the air was nonexistent. The Magister sagged as if the hand cupping his face was all that was keeping him upright, leaning heavily onto the desk and rubbing his chest. “Busy time ahead of us. You will receive the official contract shortly,” Shade commented as he made his way out, looking energised, as if the intense rush that had surrounded the two had been trapped inside. “I look forward to working with you.” He paused in the middle of the door, adding as an afterthought, “the fee will, of course, be amended.”

The Magister opened his mouth as if to argue, but Shade touched his face, disregarding the blood streaking his cheek and smiling widely. The clergyman closed his mouth and nodded thightly, eyes widening as he watched the assassin step back against, melting with the shadows and disappearing.

“Before I forget. You might want to increase security. Dangerous business we’re in, you don’t want anything to get out and happen to the plan. And you, I suppose.”

The door slammed shut, and the Magister jumped. Through it, Shade yelled, “I’ll be in touch. Sleep well.”