Silver's body didn't listen.
Her vision narrowed until all she could see was the blade. Everything else dissolved into nothing—sound, color, breath. The assassin's movement slowed in her eyes, the edge of the dagger glinting with a pale, merciless light. Her heartbeat thundered so loudly it seemed to rattle inside her ribs, drowning out every other sound.
The forest was gone. The clash of steel, the grunts of soldiers, even Dasheill's voice—everything melted into a muffled hum she could no longer process. The world shrank to that blade, to its approach, to the shimmer of death that danced at its tip.
And then—there was a sound.
A sharp, wet, impossible sound.
The assassin staggered. His expression twisted—shock, pain, disbelief. For a fraction of a second, his eyes met hers, wide and glassy, as if even he couldn't understand what had just happened.
The dagger slipped from his fingers, tumbling in slow motion.
