Arya didn't scream. She didn't draw Needle. Instead, she pushed herself backward against the stack of weapons, adopting the tense stillness of a hunted animal. Her eyes, narrowed and sharp, scanned the figure in the doorway, searching for any tell-tale sign of the illusion.
"The face is temporary," Arya said, her voice low and steady. "The man is dead. Who are you?"
The figure, wearing the face of the dead guard, stepped fully into the closet. He set the lantern on a low shelf, bathing the small armory in a warm, damning light.
"I am someone who observes the rules," the imposter said, closing the door behind him, plunging them into a claustrophobic darkness only relieved by the small circle of the lantern. "And the rules of the Order of the Jade Seal are very simple: anonymity and efficiency. You violate both, Little Wolf."
He didn't move like a Faceless Man. He moved like a disciplined soldier. Yet, the face was perfect.
"You use the method of the House of Black and White," Arya pressed, slowly reaching for the hilt of Needle. "Who taught you? The Kindly Man is dead."
"The Kindly Man was one voice. The Many-Faced God has many ears," the imposter replied, a chilling lack of emotion in the dead man's face. He raised a hand, showing his palm. "We are not assassins, little girl. We are collectors. We collect knowledge, influence, and the threads of chaos—and we sell them to those who can afford the consequences."
He gestured to the scroll Arya clutched. "You stole a ledger, not a treasure. What did the 'Wolf's Heart' tell you to risk your life for, little Stark?"
Arya tightened her grip on the scroll, deciding in that moment that no threat of death could be as bad as the secrets in this room getting out.
"It told me you are trying to destabilize my home," Arya spat. "And you used the Kingslayer to do it. Why Jaime Lannister? Why send the secrets of Westeros to be destroyed?"
The man chuckled, a deep, dry sound that didn't match the guard's face at all. "Jaime Lannister is a weapon of convenience. He is powerful, disciplined, and utterly heartbroken. He agreed to manage the transport of the 'Wolf's Heart' ledger because he believes the destruction of Westerosi politics is the only way to save its soul."
He stepped closer, and this time, Arya didn't flinch.
"You see, Little Wolf, The Order of the Jade Sealis the reason your home is safe. We remove the powerful and corrupt figures through subtle means. We are the balance. But Queen Sansa's recent edicts—her census, her grain reserves, her peace—threaten our market. We can only sell influence where there is instability."
He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, one that seemed to come from centuries of darkness.
"Your ledger, the 'Wolf's Heart,' is not a map of Winterfell's defenses, child. It is the accounting of all the gold you have hidden in the North, all the grain you have stored for the long winter, all the secrets Sansa used to secure her power. We are not selling defenses; we are selling the means to bankrupt the Queen in the North and prove she is no better than the Lions before her."
He spread his arms. "The choice is simple, Arya Stark: your family's destruction for a return to chaos, or your life for our silence. Tell me the location of your ship, and we will let the sea claim the Wolf, not the Lion."
Arya looked from the guard's impassive, borrowed face to the scroll in her hand. Her mission had shifted from stopping an invasion to stopping a financial and political assassination of her sister.
"You can have the ledger," Arya said, her voice suddenly calm, surprising even herself. She tossed the parchment onto the floor. "But you'll never touch my ship."
As the man looked down at the ledger, a flicker of triumph in his eyes, Arya acted. She didn't attack the body; she attacked the light.
With a speed that belonged to the House of Black and White, she kicked out, sending the lantern flying against the stone wall.
The armory plunged into absolute darkness.
The man roared in surprise, the sound muffled by the face he wore. In the sudden, profound blackness, the rules of the fight changed completely.
The assassin who lived in the light was now hunting the girl who had mastered the dark.
"A girl needs no face," Arya hissed, her voice a ghost in the blackness, and Needle sang its final, lethal song.