The arrow came with a promise of death.
A silver blur, silent and precise, aimed directly at Velrosa's temple.
But Ian's hand moved faster.
With a sharp crack, his fingers closed around the shaft inches from her face. The force split the wood slightly, the head trembling.
He turned it slowly, then snapped it in half with an absent flick of his wrist.
Splinters danced to the ground like dead leaves.
Above them, a figure shifted on a rooftop—just long enough for Ian to narrow his eyes.
A breath later, the air shimmered behind the would-be assassin, and Fang materialized like a stain of shadow.
A purple mist replacing the air behind the assassin.
A snap echoed from the assassin's neck, too soft for the crowd to notice, and the corpse tumbled silently from the ledge.
Fang was gone before it hit the street.
Velrosa exhaled lightly. "Who could these be?"
"I wonder," Ian muttered, eyes cold and unfazed.
But they didn't dwell.
