The study was dark, save for the dim glow of a single candle flickering atop Leon’s desk. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he stared at the untouched glass of whiskey before him. The Whisper was coming—he could feel it.

  Celica perched on the windowsill, her dagger twirling effortlessly between her fingers. "I still think you're insane for refusing extra guards," she muttered.

  Leon chuckled. "A man like The Whisper doesn’t get caught by numbers. He thrives in chaos, in misdirection. More guards just give him more ways to slip in unnoticed."

  Aldric stood by the door, arms crossed. "Then what’s your plan?"

  Leon smirked. "I let him come to me."

  The room fell silent. Even Celica paused, raising an eyebrow.

  "You’re baiting him?" she asked, tilting her head.

  Leon swirled the whiskey glass but didn’t drink. "Exactly. He expects me to be paranoid, to hide. Instead, I’ll be right here, waiting."

  Aldric’s brow furrowed. "And if he’s as good as they say? If he gets past us?"

  Leon took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the burn. "Then I’ll have to be better."

  The night was unnaturally still. The usual rustle of leaves and distant hum of the city seemed muffled, as if the very air held its breath.

  A lone figure moved through the darkness, silent as death itself. His form blended into the night, the faint shimmer of an enchanted cloak masking his presence. The Whisper had never failed a mission, and tonight would be no different.

  His target? Leon Eryndor.

  His method? Swift and silent execution.

  Scaling the estate walls was effortless. The guards patrolling the perimeter never even sensed his presence. He slipped past them, gliding through the shadows like a ghost, his breath steady, his heartbeat controlled.

  Reaching the balcony outside Leon’s study, he paused. The faint glow of candlelight danced against the curtains. The young lord was inside, just as expected.

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  Too easy.

  The Whisper’s fingers curled around the hilt of his blade as he slid the door open without a sound.

  Leon took another slow sip of whiskey as the whisper of fabric brushing against the wind reached his ears.

  Showtime.

  In one fluid motion, he knocked over the whiskey glass. It shattered against the floorboards, and before the sound even faded, Leon was already moving.

  The Whisper struck, his blade slicing through the air toward Leon’s throat.

  But Leon wasn’t there.

  With reflexes honed from years of training, he twisted, rolling over his desk as the blade whistled past him. In the same motion, he grabbed the candle and flung it.

  The Whisper barely avoided the flame, his enchanted cloak absorbing the light before he vanished into the darkness again.

  Leon grinned. "Sloppy."

  A blur of motion—The Whisper attacked again, a series of rapid strikes designed to overwhelm. Leon dodged and parried with a speed that should have been impossible for a noble. He had spent years training in the shadows, mastering the art of combat. And now, he was enjoying himself.

  The Whisper lunged once more—this time aiming lower. A feint.

  Leon anticipated it, sidestepping at the last second and countering with a sharp elbow to the assassin’s ribs. The impact forced The Whisper to stumble—just for a fraction of a second. But it was enough.

  Celica and Aldric burst into the room, weapons drawn.

  The Whisper hissed. He had been played.

  Leon smirked, flicking the blood from his sleeve. "Took you long enough."

  The Whisper didn’t hesitate. He reached into his belt, hurling a small black sphere to the ground. Smoke exploded into the room, thick and suffocating.

  Celica cursed, covering her mouth as she rushed forward, slashing through the smoke. But the assassin was gone.

  By the time the air cleared, only a faint trace of shadow lingered where he had stood.

  Aldric exhaled sharply. "Damn it."

  Leon dusted off his coat, his grin unfazed. "That was fun."

  Celica shot him a glare. "Fun? He almost killed you!"

  Leon chuckled. "Almost. But he won’t make the same mistake twice." He flexed his fingers, already planning his next move.

  Aldric crossed his arms. "You realize this was just the beginning?"

  Leon’s smirk deepened. "I’m counting on it."

  Kain Draymore’s grip tightened on his wine glass as The Whisper knelt before him.

  "You failed."

  The assassin remained silent.

  Kain’s eyes burned with frustration. "You were supposed to be the best. And yet, Lord Eryndor still breathes."

  The Whisper finally spoke, his voice calm. "He is not an ordinary noble."

  Kain scoffed. "No. He’s a cockroach who refuses to die."

  The Whisper lifted his head slightly. "He is dangerous."

  Kain studied the assassin for a long moment before setting his glass down. "Then we escalate. No more games. I want him broken. I want his family ruined. And if he still refuses to die…"

  His lips curled into a sinister smile. "Then we burn everything he loves to the ground."

  Outside, the winds of Velkath carried a storm on the horizon.

  The real war was just beginning.

  End of Chapter Twelve.