Talon sat back down, ignoring the lingering silence after her punch had dropped the drunk. The tavern slowly returned to its usual rhythm—low chatter, clinking mugs, and the thick scent of ale in the air. But one thing hadn't gone back to normal.
The man in the corner was still watching her.
Tall, cloaked, and too quiet to be casual. His eyes held the kind of stare that peeled back skin and searched bone.
Janzo noticed too.
He shuffled up beside her, pretending to wipe the counter but whispering under his breath.
"You might want to be careful with that one."
Talon didn't look at him. "Why?"
"He came in with a few guards. Not your average sellswords—these were disciplined, dressed in Dred family colors."
That name caught her attention.
"Everit Dred?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.
Janzo nodded nervously. "Yeah. The guy works for him. Said they were looking for… anomalies. People who didn't belong."
Talon turned slightly, still avoiding eye contact with the man.
"Blackbloods," Janzo added in a whisper. "He's hunting them. His master wants each one found—alive. And the way he's looking at you…"
He trailed off, his meaning clear.
Talon leaned back, letting out a dry laugh.
"Nope," she said. "Don't even know what you're talking about."
"Good," Janzo muttered. "Because if you were one, you picked the wrong place to hide."
Her eyes flicked back to the man again. He hadn't moved, hadn't blinked.
He was studying her like a puzzle piece that didn't fit the board.
And for once, Talon wasn't sure if she did.....
Talon pushed through the tavern doors into the night, the chill biting at her wound, but it wasn't the cold that made her uneasy—it was the memory of that man's eyes, still burning into her like they'd followed her out, knowing exactly what she was.
Talon moved briskly down the dimly lit street, boots crunching against gravel, her senses sharp with unease. The echo of the man's stare still clung to her like smoke. Then—without warning—a hiss of steel cut the silence. A blade pressed cold and firm against her neck.
She froze.
The man from the tavern stood inches away, eyes gleaming with cruel recognition.
Talon froze. The blade hovered at her neck, steel gleaming in the moonlight.
"You can't run forever," the man said, his voice cold and cruel.
Then—a sharp pain.
He lowered the sword just enough to slice a clean line across her upper arm.
Talon staggered back with a hiss, clutching the wound.
Black blood oozed from her skin.
The man's smirk widened. "There it is… I knew it. You're a Blackblood."
Talon's eyes burned with fury. "It's done," she whispered—not in defeat, but in warning.
She took two steps back… and drew her blade.
The man's smile vanished.
With a roar, he lunged.
Their swords collided with a vicious clang. Talon barely had time to steady her footing before the next strike came—fast, low, and meant to cripple. She leapt sideways, rolled, and came up swinging. Sparks flew as their blades clashed again.
The man was fast—but not faster than her.
He pressed her hard, each strike forcing her backward. She blocked a blow to the ribs, parried another to her face, but he was relentless. A kick hit her stomach, knocking her off balance. She crashed into the wall with a grunt, pain flaring through her side.
"You fight well," he growled, circling her. "But you're not trained like I am."
"I don't need training to kill
Talon's words hung in the air like a challenge, and the man's eyes flashed with anger. He charged forward, his sword flashing in the moonlight. Talon, still reeling from the kick, struggled to regain her footing. She raised her sword just in time to block a powerful strike, but the impact sent shockwaves through her arm.
The man didn't give her a moment's respite, pressing his attack with ruthless efficiency. Talon stumbled backward, her sword arm trembling with fatigue. But she refused to give up. With a surge of adrenaline, she launched herself into a fierce counterattack, her sword slicing through the air with deadly precision.
The man was caught off guard by Talon's sudden ferocity, and he stumbled backward. Talon seized the opportunity, striking with renewed strength. Her sword bit deep into the man's side, and he let out a pained grunt.
As the man faltered, Talon pressed her advantage, striking again and again. The man's defenses crumbled, and he fell to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp. With one final blow, Talon ended his life, her sword plunging deep into his chest.
The man collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Talon stood over him, her chest heaving with exertion, her sword still lodged in the man's body. She yanked her blade free, wiping it clean on his cloak. "I don't need training to kill," she whispered, her voice cold and detached.
As she turned to leave, Talon felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The wound on her arm throbbed, and her side ached from the kick. But she knew she'd emerged victorious, and that was all that mattered.