The assassin didn't enter through the door.
He arrived in pieces. A whisper through data walls. A blink between shadows. A name on lips that forgot they'd spoken it.
His real name was erased. All that remained was the mark he carried: a jagged scar that pulsed beneath his left eye with every life he ended. They called him Killmark.
He didn't accept coin.
He accepted certainty. If a bounty could be spoken without hesitation, he found it. Executed it. Then vanished like an error debugged from memory.
And now, Sykaion's name lived on too many tongues with too much conviction.
Zeraphine felt it first.
She stood outside the shop, scanning residual pattern drift in the alley's network thread. The static wasn't random. It blinked. Not like interference.
Like footsteps.
She whispered through her traceband. "Arlyss. Something's wrong. I think we've been—"
A shimmer behind her.
She turned.
Too late.
A blade nicked her shoulder. Just enough to bleed. Not enough to kill.
She fell, rolled, drew her pulse-dagger—but Killmark was already gone.
Inside the shop, Sykaion's ledger flared.
> THREAT PROFILE DETECTED
NAME: REDACTED
INTENT: LETHAL
RANGE: WITHIN 10 METERS
He stood slowly.
No panic.
No fear.
Just resolve.
Arlyss burst through the back.
"Zeraphine's down."
"Not dead?"
"She will be. He's testing response time."
Sykaion walked to the front.
The clients had already fled. The feather above the door was black.
He stepped outside.
The alley was empty.
Except for one coin.
Balanced on its edge.
Sykaion picked it up.
It whispered.
> "One breath. One break. One memory."
He closed his hand around it.
And the world tilted.
Suddenly, he saw them.
All of them.
Every life Killmark had taken.
Every reason whispered before the final strike.
"Your debt outweighs your name."
"You traded belief for power."
"You forgave the wrong person."
Sykaion staggered.
Zeraphine stood beside him, blood on her neck, eyes wild.
"You saw him, didn't you?"
Sykaion nodded. "Not him. What he leaves behind."
Arlyss joined them, sword drawn.
"He's not here to kill you," she said.
Zeraphine blinked. "Then what?"
Arlyss's voice was low. "He's here to test if your death would matter."
They stood in silence.
Then Sykaion said, "Then let's show him it would."
The feather pulsed again.
Not gold.
Not black.
But red.