The city of Ashmaw never truly slept. Between towering buildings, narrow alleys, and neon-lit streets, people with powers walked side by side with ordinary humans. Some had simple gifts, others could level entire blocks.
In this world, lies and betrayal usually carried consequences… especially when they crossed the wrong path.
Morwén was one of those people.
At 25, she carried danger in her very presence. Long, messy strands of green mixed with black hair framed her face. Cold, calculating green eyes watched everything. Lips always painted black rarely smiled — and when they did, someone died.
Her body hid lethal gifts: venom running through her veins, superhuman strength and agility, and speed so absurd few could even see her move.
Under the fine rain that night, Morwén waited, leaning against a concrete wall.
That was when the white-haired woman approached. Fox ears twitched nervously. Her tail swayed slowly, betraying contained fury.
She stopped in front of Morwén, took a deep breath, and spoke, voice low and thick with hate:
— I saw him cheating on me. My boyfriend.
Morwén slowly lifted her gaze, studying every detail of the woman before her.
— And what do you want from me? — she asked, voice far too calm for someone so deadly.
The woman clenched her fists. Her eyes shone — not with sadness… but with decision.
— I'll give you his address. I want you to kill him.
Silence stretched heavy between them. For a second, only rain filled the space.
Then the black lips of Morwén curved into a cold smile.
— Fifty thousand.
The woman blinked, surprised.
— What?
Morwén tilted her head slightly, black lips still.
— Fifty thousand in cash. Half now. Half when he's dead. — Her tone never wavered. — Betrayal has a high price.
The woman took a deep breath, tail flicking once.
— I… can do that.
She opened her bag and pulled out a thick, heavy envelope, too heavy to be empty. The bills were neatly stacked, real, cold.
She extended it toward Morwén.
Morwén took the envelope, weighed it in her hand without fully opening it.
— Thirty now — she corrected. — The rest after.
The woman nodded without arguing.
— Now talk — Morwén continued. — Address. Schedules. Routine. Everything.
The woman swallowed hard and began:
— He lives in an old building downtown, sixth floor. Usually gets home after midnight. On Thursdays he goes out with friends… and lies while looking straight into my eyes.
Morwén listened to every word with absolute attention. A slow smile formed on her black lips.
— Perfect. — She tucked the envelope inside her coat. — I'll handle the rest.
The woman hesitated, voice almost breaking:
— Will he… suffer?
Morwén turned sideways, green-and-black hair dripping in the rain.
— Enough.
The envelope felt light in Morwén's pocket. Money was never what truly mattered. The reason was.
One day later the sky was too clear for the news it carried.
Morwén waited sitting on an almost empty park bench, in the shadow of an old tree. People walked around, talking, laughing, living — knowing nothing.
Her green-and-black hair fell loose over her shoulders, green eyes sharp, calculating everything.
The white-haired woman approached slowly. Fox ears low. Tail stiff.
She stopped in front of Morwén, unsure what to say.
Morwén raised her gaze.
— He's dead.
The sentence fell heavy, simple, final.
The woman took several seconds to react. Air seemed to leave her lungs. She pressed a hand to her chest — not in pain… but in relief mixed with shock.
— You're… sure? — she asked, voice nearly failing.
Morwén stood calmly.
— Absolutely. — Her black lips curved just a little. — You haven't felt any more lies today, have you?
The woman closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, something had changed. The hate was gone. Only silence remained.
— So it's over… — she whispered.
— It's over. — Morwén extended her hand. — The rest of the payment.
Without protest, the woman took the second envelope from her bag. Bills neat, clean. Morwén checked it quickly and stored it.
— No one will connect this to you — she added. — To the world, it was just another night that ended badly.
The woman swallowed.
— And you… — she hesitated — do this often?
Morwén tilted her head, green eyes glinting dangerously.
— Whenever someone lies or betrays. — She took one step back. — And whenever they pay.
The woman stayed silent as Morwén began to walk away.
Before disappearing, the assassin paused and said without looking back:
— Next time… choose better who you trust.
Then she melted into the crowd, blending into the living city, leaving behind one freed woman… and one more lie buried forever.