When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the weight of my cloak settling over my shoulders. The familiar darkness of my assassin attire clung to me like a second skin, its shadows concealing every inch of my form. I didn't need to see myself to know I was fully outfitted—the mask, the gloves, the boots, each piece meticulously designed for one purpose: to remain unseen. This attire was not something I wore often, only in the world of dreams where I needed to protect my identity. But something about this time felt off.