The storm raged outside, wind and rain slamming against the stone walls of Caelum Manor.
Inside, the room was silent—except for the steady drip of blood.
Phileo stood over the bodies of Lord and Lady Caelum, his sword slick with crimson.
His long, dark hair clung to his face, damp from the rain that had followed him in through the shattered window. The contract was complete.
Then he heard it.
A small sound, barely louder than the storm itself.
A whimper.
His sharp gray eyes swept the chamber. In the far corner, half-hidden beneath a crib, a child was curled into herself, trembling.
A little girl.
Golden eyes—her mother's eyes—stared back at him. Tears traced paths down her pale cheeks, but she didn't scream. Fear had stolen her voice.
Phileo exhaled slowly. He had taken countless lives—nobles, criminals, traitors.
This should have been no different.
No loose ends.
He stepped forward and raised his sword.
The girl flinched, tiny fingers tightening around the crib's leg.
"Please…" she whispered.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating her face in stark white. She wasn't just afraid.
She was alone.
Phileo's grip faltered.
Footsteps thundered down the hall. Guards.
Time ran out.
With a sharp breath, he turned away and vanished into the storm, leaving blood, silence—and a living witness behind.
As he fled into the night, a single thought followed him like a curse:
She saw me.
One day… she will come looking for me.