Selene exhaled, the tension in her limbs melting away. Without hesitation, she reached for a silk cloth from her discarded dress and wiped herself clean, her movements unembarrassed. Victor watched, amused, as she slid off the table and straightened her posture like she hadn't just been unraveled beneath him.
She picked up her gown, shaking it once before draping it over her shoulders. "You fight like a street thug," she remarked, fastening the clasps with sharp clicks. "But you're not without skill."
Victor leaned back against the table, crossing his arms. "So did I get the job?"
Selene smoothed her silver hair back into place, every strand finding its proper position. "The job is simple enough. I'm trapped in an arrangement, a marriage contract my father signed to secure trade routes through the eastern provinces."
Victor pulled his tunic over his head, the fabric catching briefly on his shoulders. "And you want out."
"I want him gone." Her voice carried no hesitation, no tremor of doubt. She fastened the last clasp on her dress, transforming back into the untouchable noble lady. "Permanently."
Victor's mouth curved into a thin smile. "You want your husband dead."
"Precisely." Selene retrieved a small mirror from her belongings, checking her reflection with practiced efficiency. "You're perfect for this because you're nobody. A street sellsword with no connections, no noble family name to trace. Even if someone spots you, the trail dies with you."
"Flattering." Victor buckled his belt, watching her compose herself. "But it'll cost you."
Selene reached into a hidden pocket of her dress and withdrew a leather pouch, heavy with the distinctive clink of silver. She tossed it to him without ceremony. "There's your advance. Complete the task, and I'll double it."
Victor caught the bag, testing its weight. Substantial. "And if I decide to disappear with this?"
Her grey eyes fixed on him with predatory focus. "Then I'll hunt you down myself. Don't mistake me for some pampered flower, Kaiser. I didn't survive noble politics by being weak."
Victor pocketed the silver, nodding his approval. "Fair enough. I accept. Give me the details."
Selene moved to the window, peering through at the street below. "His name is Lord Aldwin Harroway. He spends most of his time at the Merchant's Trust, a private bank he owns in the Noble Quarter. The building sits on Goldsmith's Row, three stories of white stone with bronze fixtures."
"Security?"
"Minimal inside the bank itself. A clerk or two, maybe his personal secretary. The nobles here are arrogant, they don't expect threats from common thieves." She turned back to him, her expression calculating. "The real danger is the city watch. Armored patrols sweep through the Noble Quarter every few hours, and they're not easily bribed."
Victor leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I'll need better clothes to blend in. And a proper weapon, something quiet. A good dagger."
"Already considered." Selene pulled on her gloves, smoothing each finger with care. "I'll have suitable attire and a blade delivered here within the hour. Quality steel, sharp enough to slide between ribs without catching bone."
She moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing, Kaiser. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong. Take some coin, scatter some papers. The city watch needs to believe it was a desperate thief, not an assassination."
Victor straightened, the familiar weight of planning a kill settling over him like an old coat. "When do you want it done?"
"Tomorrow evening. Aldwin works late on market days, usually alone after the clerks leave." Her hand rested on the door handle. "I'll be attending a dinner party with half the Noble Quarter, perfect alibi."
The calculating coldness in her voice reminded Victor of the bratva bosses back in Saint Petersburg. All silk and polish on the surface, steel underneath.
"Wait here for the delivery," Selene continued. "Don't leave this room until you have what you need."
Victor watched her move toward the exit, already planning the approach, the angles, the escape routes. "Pleasure doing business with you."
Selene's smile held no warmth. "Save the pleasantries for after he's dead."
Victor exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders as the door clicked shut behind Selene. The room smelled of sweat and spilled wine, cheap tavern musk. He dragged a hand across his chest, tracing the faint crimson mark over his heart.
"Open."
The blue rectangle slide into existence before him:
Lust: 32
Wrath: 50
Pride: 15
Envy: 12
His gaze lingered on the numbers. Whoever, or whatever, had dumped him here clearly had a sense of humor. A gangster reborn with a demonic ledger tallying his sins like some celestial accountant. Was this a reward? Punishment? Or just blind, indifferent chance?
After what seemed like eternity the door creaked open again.
A young man stepped inside, his posture stiff, his doublet embroidered with the D'Argent crest, a silver stag on midnight blue. He carried folded garments in his arms, deep green velvet edged in black trim. Balanced atop them lay a sheathed dagger, its leather scabbard unadorned but oiled to a dull gleam.
"Lady Selene sends her regards," the man said, his voice clipped. "You are to wear these when you conduct her business. And you will conduct it to her satisfaction, unless you wish to learn the consequences of disappointing House D'Argent."
Victor didn't move. He let the silence stretch until the assistant's fingers twitched against the fabric.
"Tell your lady," Victor said at last, "that i frankly… don't care"
He crossed the room in three strides, plucked the clothes and dagger from the noble's grip, and kicked the door shut in his face. The latch rattled.
The dagger hissed free of its sheath. The blade was narrow, double-edged, the steel darkened to avoid glinting in lamplight. A professional's tool. Victor tested the balance between his fingers before sliding it back home.
He shook out the noble's attire, breeches, a high-collared coat, soft leather boots. All of it tailored to fit. Selene had planned this well.
Victor stripped off his street-worn clothes and dressed methodically. The fabric clung without restricting movement. Good.
He buckled the dagger's harness low on his hip, hidden beneath the coat's fall.
Tomorrow, a lord would die. Tonight, he'd walk the Noble Quarter and learn its rhythms.