The sharp twang of a bowstring cut through the quiet of the Academy gardens. An arrow, its tip glinting with a sickly green aura, flew straight for Elizabeth's heart.
It never reached her.
Adam, who had been leaning against a pillar looking bored, didn't even turn his head. His hand shot out, fingers closing around the shaft an inch from Elizabeth's chest. He held it there for a moment, examining the dripping poison, then let it clatter to the stone path.
From a shadowed balcony high on a distant lecture hall, a woman's voice hissed, laced with shock. "Who the hell is that?"
She nocked another arrow, her movements fluid with practiced panic. She aimed, exhaled, and let it fly. This one was faster, aimed at Elizabeth's throat.
Adam snatched it out of the air just as easily. This time, he didn't look at the arrow. He turned his head slowly and looked directly at the shadowed balcony, a good three hundred yards away.
"Will you show yourself," he called out, his voice calm and carrying, "or make me come get you? And trust me, my friend here," he jerked a thumb toward Rebecca, who had stepped in front of Elizabeth, her body humming with deadly stillness, "is one hell of an angry bird. She'll kill you before she even thinks of asking questions."
Rebecca shot him a withering glare. "Angry bird?"
Elizabeth, her face pale but her voice steady, pointed a finger directly at the assassin's perch. "The attacker is there. The third window from the left, on the fourth floor of the Astrology Hall."
Adam and Rebecca both looked at her. Elizabeth's eyes were glowing with a soft, steady gold light, intricate geometric patterns spinning slowly in her irises.
Adam raised an eyebrow at Rebecca. "What's that?"
"Part of her talent," Rebecca said flatly, not taking her eyes off the distant window. "Royal lineage thing. Enhanced perception, truth-sight, that kind of stuff."
"Huh," Adam said. "Useful." He turned back to Rebecca. "Do you want to do the honors, or should I?"
Rebecca didn't answer. She was just gone.
Not a blur. Not a dash. One moment she was standing on the garden path. The next, she wasn't.
High in the Astrology Hall, the assassin—a woman with sharp features and dark, tight-fitting leathers—was frantically packing her bow. She'd been made. She had to abort. The money wasn't worth this.
A whisper of cold air brushed her neck.
She froze, her hand flying to the dagger at her hip. She started to turn.
A hand clamped over her mouth from behind, cold and strong as iron. Another hand gripped the back of her neck. There was no pain. No violent shock.
Just a profound, instantaneous nothingness.
Every ounce of strength left her limbs. The warmth drained from her body as if her blood had turned to ice water. Her Talent, a B-rank shadow-merging ability, flickered and died inside her, snuffed out like a candle. She couldn't even twitch a finger. She was conscious, trapped in a body that no longer belonged to her, held in the grip of an absolute cold.
Rebecca leaned close to her ear, her voice a soft, dead murmur. "Try to struggle, and I will kill the part of your brain that tells your lungs to breathe. Do you understand?"
The woman managed the slightest tremor, a pathetic blink. It was all she could do.
"Good."
Rebecca slung the limp woman over her shoulder like a sack of grain. She took two steps toward the window, looked down at the dizzying drop to the garden below, and stepped out.
She didn't fall. The air around her seemed to die, losing all turbulence, becoming a static, supportive void. She descended as smoothly as if walking down an invisible staircase, her boots touching the gravel path without a sound. She dumped the assassin at Adam's feet.
The woman lay there, paralyzed, her eyes wide with terror, able only to stare up at them.
Adam crouched down, looking at her with mild curiosity. "See? Angry bird."
Rebecca ignored him, placing a foot lightly on the woman's chest. The paralyzing chill receded just enough for the assassin to suck in a ragged, desperate breath and regain control of her jaw.
"Who paid you?" Rebecca's voice offered no room for lies.
The woman spat, her defiance returning with her breath. "The Guild took the contract. I'm just the blade. I don't know the client."
"The Guild," Adam mused, standing up. "Must've been a huge sum. To attack a member of the royal family, inside the Imperium Academy itself… that's not just a contract. That's a suicide mission. That's an act of war against the Crown."
"The money… was too good to refuse," the assassin gasped out.
"Shut the fuck up," Adam said, his voice losing its casual edge, becoming soft and dangerous. "No amount of money makes that worth it. Not for a guild that wants to keep operating. Killing a princess means the entire Imperial army burns your world down. So either your guild masters have lost their minds, or…" he paused, "the client is the Crown. Or someone so close to it they might as well be."
He looked at Elizabeth, who was watching, her golden eyes now dimmed, filled with a deep, weary dread. "Elizabeth. Your family. Tell me about them."
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself. "My mother died when I was born. My father… the Emperor… is my only family in the capital. I have an uncle. My father's elder brother. But I've never met him. He's been at the Great Wall for as long as I can remember, commanding the frontier legions, keeping the barbarian kingdoms in check. My father says he's the shield of the empire."
"What's his name?" Rebecca asked, her voice tighter than before.
Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't know. My father never uses his name. He only ever calls him… 'The Lionhead.'"
The name landed in the quiet garden like a physical blow.
Adam and Rebecca went perfectly still. Their eyes met over the prone assassin, a silent, electric message passing between them. The same thought, the same old, familiar enemy, echoing across two worlds.
Lionhead.
Adam's face broke into a wide, humorless smile. It was the kind of smile that promised terrible things. "Lionhead. Of course."
He turned his attention back to the assassin, his gaze now predatory. "Your client. Was it the Emperor's brother? The one at the Wall?"
The woman's eyes darted between them, seeing the recognition, the history in their reactions. She was a professional; she knew when information was her only currency. "I don't know names! The contract came through sealed channels! But… the down payment. It wasn't imperial coin. It was raw, unmarked gold bullion. The kind… the kind mined from the northern frontier veins. Near the Wall."
Another piece clicked into place.
"He's making his move," Rebecca said quietly, more to herself than anyone. "He's always making a move."
Adam crouched again, getting right in the assassin's face. "You're going to go back to your guild. You're going to tell them the contract is compromised. You're going to tell them the princess is under the protection of something they don't understand. And you're going to send a message, through whatever channels you have, to the north. To the Lionhead."
He paused, his smile turning cruel. "You tell him a ghost says hello. Tell him the street isn't done with him yet."
He stood up and nodded to Rebecca. "Let her go."
Rebecca lifted her foot. The deathly chill fully released its hold. The assassin scrambled backward, clutching her chest, her body trembling with residual cold and terror. She stared at them for one more second, then turned and fled into the garden shadows, disappearing with a skill that spoke of her training.
Elizabeth stared at the spot where the woman vanished, then at Adam and Rebecca. "What… what was that? You know my uncle? 'The street'? What does that mean?"
Adam looked at her, his expression unreadable. "It means your family reunion is going to be a lot more complicated than you thought, Princess."
Rebecca stepped closer to Elizabeth, her usual coldness tempered by a fierce protectiveness. "It means you're not safe. Not from your own blood."