The assassin groaned as he staggered to his feet, clutching his dagger tightly despite the blow that had sent him sprawling moments earlier. Blood trickled down his face from the gash where Gareth's makeshift weapon had struck, yet his grip on the blade remained unyielding. The raw determination in his eyes sent a ripple of unease through Gareth, who stood at the ready, his steel rod held firmly before him like a weapon of necessity.
Gareth cursed silently, his mind berating his carelessness. He hadn't expected combat today—this was supposed to be a simple conversation with Father Wingate. And yet, as his eyes flicked to the children huddled together and Sister Maria shielding them, Gareth knew he should have been more prepared. He had noticed a suspicious carriage earlier, hadn't he? He promised himself he'd keep an eye out. How could he have forgotten?
No matter now. The immediate danger loomed before him, and Gareth had no time for regret.
