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He hired many mentors, but none of them lived too long. I made sure of that. Why would I keep anyone alive who could possibly predict my next move? The only one left is Silas, and only because he’s nearly impossible to kill. I will, at some point, be the one to end him. He knows too much. All of my weaknesses, my doubts, every single move before I make it. He’s the only thing standing between me and my freedom.

I hate him for every strike he’s ever landed on me. For never letting me smile. For breaking my humanity so completely that I’m not sure I even have a soul left. But he forged me into something unbreakable and feared.

As far as I’m concerned, my next targets are already dead. There’s no hiding. No safe place to run. The thing about me is I never miss. I never fail. I will make it hurt. Death is a promise I deliver on every time.

It has taken years of blood, obedience, and doing the unspeakable to earn the royals’ trust. Years. And Hale ripped it out from under us in the blink of an eye. Fucking traitor.

I take the stairs two at a time, rage sharpening every step. The higher I climb, the colder it is. The freezing air hits my blood-soaked clothes, the sticky feeling impossible to ignore. He always keeps it cold up here, maybe as a reminder of who holds the power. Or maybe to keep the bodies from rotting.

At the top of the tower is a narrow hallway, bare stone, no windows. Just a single dark wooden door at the end.

I knock twice. The sound echoes down the empty corridor. “Come in, Neressa,” he calls, voice deep and smooth. He always knows who’s standing on the other side of his door.

I wrap my hand around the golden handle. The chill of it bites into my skin as I turn it. Silas is exactly where I thought he’d be, seated at his desk, spine relaxed, arms draped casually over the sides of his red velvet wingback chair like a king of death on his throne. The desk in front of him is a mess of ink-stained papers, unsealed letters, and blood marks. These are the requests for our services, the ones that will condemn a life the moment they’re opened. I don’t dare ask what’s written on them or if any of them are for me.

The large room is dim, lit by the slow crackle of the fireplace just beside me. Shadows lick the tall stone walls, dancing across his face in flickers of orange and black. A tall, arched window frames him from behind, moonlight spilling across his shoulders. The stars burn above, indifferent. The moon is high in the sky. I must’ve been with Hale longer than I thought.

Silas Vale is angular and refined, his eyes icy blue and unblinking, piercing through the low light, always watching, always calculating. When he smiles, it isn’t a pleasantry, but a warning. A slow upturn of his lips, curling like smoke from a fire.

His chestnut brown hair, streaked with silver, is swept back just past his ears, too precise to be careless. Tattoos snake down both arms and curl over his knuckles, symbols of the old Slayers Academy Order, of pain and power and promises kept with blood. And he’s tall, taller than any other man I’ve ever known and coiled with strength like he is never truly relaxed. He doesn’t even need to raise his voice to command a room.

“I take it your job is complete?” he asks, voice level and unreadable. I step closer to his desk, my movements smooth and giving the appearance that I’m unrattled in his presence. He gives a small gesture toward one of the chairs in front of him. I take the seat.

“Yes,” I say, meeting his gaze. “He’s dead.”

A slow, cold smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Satisfied. “Good girl,” he murmurs. He tosses a bag of gold across the cluttered desk. It lands with a heavy thud in front of me, but I don’t flinch. I always get more than the others, more than anyone inside the Academy or under his command. I earned it.

“Did he give up any information?” Silas asks.

My gaze snaps from the bag of gold back to his icy blues. “If you consider the confession that he doesn’t regret a single thing he’s done, then yes.”

He nods, but I can tell he’s annoyed at the answer. He knew Hale longer than he’s known me. Hale Marrow was a very stubborn person. Always played by his own rules and made things more difficult than they needed to be. I’m shocked Silas let him live as long as he did. However, he was a great slayer, capable of handling even the most gruesome of jobs.

I pull the pouch toward me with one finger. “So, who’s next?” I ask as calmly as if I were ordering tea. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he stands and turns to face the large windows behind the desk, his hands folded behind his back.

“You’ve built quite a name for yourself, Neressa,” he says after a beat. I stiffen ever so slightly. He rarely keeps a conversation going with me. I watch his every movement, but my expression remains composed. “I think it’s time you moved beyond the Academy. Operate on your own terms. Become… self-employed, so to speak.”

My brow lifts, my only tell. He pauses and moves to face me fully. Just like that, I’m free?

“I’m proud of you,” he says. “You’ve come a long way.” My blood turns to ice. Proud? The word lands heavier than the bag of coin. I don’t move or breathe. What the hell is that supposed to mean? What fucking game is he playing at?

“What’s the catch?” I ask with forced calm. If I am about to lose my placement in the Academy, along with everything I've built here, I want the truth. All of it. He again turns his back to me, staring out the tall windows at the night sky. The silence stretches. My fingers itch to grab the blade at my thigh. The thought slithers in before I can stop it.

I could kill him. Right here. Right now. Stupid man to turn his back on me, of all people.

“That’s why,” he says, voice heavy like stone sinking in deep water.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You want to kill me, don’t you, darling?” The word sends a chill through me. Darling. Said like he knows everything. The air shifts, turning thick and suffocating. My breathing slows. Muscles tense.

Silas continues to face the windows. “I know your patterns, Neressa. You’ve killed every mentor Bleu or I ever hired to train you. Every man or woman who’s dared to sharpen your edge ended up bleeding for it.” He finally pivots and steps toward me, the desk the only thing between us. Silas possesses the quiet power of a man untouched by fear.

“You’re brilliant, lethal, unmatched. But don’t mistake that for invincibility.” His voice drops. “If you try to kill me, I will hurt you in ways you cannot yet imagine. Know your limits, girl.” My chest tightens at how he drags out the word, like I am some dumb wench unable to hold my own. He knows exactly how to get under my skin, how to provoke me.

I continue to watch his every move, unblinking. “I won’t lie to you,” I say coolly. “I don’t like it when anyone thinks they can predict my next move.” I lean back in the chair, letting my body relax into the confrontation. Heat pulses from the fire behind me, but I don’t flinch. “However.” I let the word hang for a spell, lips curling. “I wasn’t planning on killing you anytime soon. If that helps… you know, ease your mind.” I shrug my shoulders as a smile coasts across my face.

The words are reckless and honest. Silas’s wicked blue eyes catch both the firelight and moonlight, the flame igniting in one, the silver slicing down the other side of his face. For a moment, he looks almost inhuman.