The morning air was thick with the promise of violence. Aran stood on the balcony of his estate, watching the city below stir into life. He could feel the tension rippling through the streets, as if the city itself knew that something was about to break. The Puppeteer's assassins were out there, somewhere in the tangled web of back alleys and crowded markets, waiting for their moment.
But Aran had no intention of letting them make the first move.
A soft knock on the door signaled the arrival of Lyssa. She entered quietly, her expression grim but composed. "We have eyes on three of them," she said, wasting no time. "Two have taken up positions in the merchant district, and the third... he's hiding in plain sight near the noble quarter. They're blending in, but our people are watching."
Aran turned to face her, his mind calculating. "And the other two?"
Lyssa hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "No trace of them yet. Either they're exceptionally good at covering their tracks, or they're waiting for the right moment to surface."
Aran frowned, turning back to the view of the city. His fingers tapped lightly on the balcony railing, a habit he had when his mind was processing rapidly. He knew the Puppeteer's game by now—slow, meticulous, and ruthless. But assassins? That was a departure from his usual tactics, a sign that he was feeling the pressure Aran had been applying.
"These assassins," Lyssa continued, stepping forward, "they're not like the others we've dealt with. They're disciplined, coordinated. One of our men tried to get too close to the one in the noble quarter... they found his body in an alley an hour later."
Aran's eyes darkened. He didn't flinch at the news—losses were inevitable in a war like this—but it reaffirmed that the Puppeteer had brought in professionals. They wouldn't be easy to stop.
"Good," Aran finally said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of steel. "Let them think they have the upper hand."
Lyssa tilted her head slightly, awaiting his plan.
"Do we have a way to isolate them?" he asked, his mind already forming a strategy.
Lyssa nodded. "The two in the merchant district are separated for now, but they seem to be coordinating from a distance. They don't stay in one place for long. The third one... he's sticking close to the crowds."
Aran smiled, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. "Perfect. We'll strike first. I want the one in the noble quarter taken out tonight. Make it look like an accident."
"An accident?" Lyssa asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," Aran said, turning back toward her. "If the others think he was simply unlucky, they won't change their methods. They'll stay predictable. And that's when we'll hit the rest of them."
Lyssa's lips curled into a small, approving smirk. She understood Aran's methods well by now. "Consider it done."
As she left the room, Aran moved back inside, pacing slowly through the grand hall of his estate. Every step echoed off the stone walls, the sound of a man in control of every piece on the board. But Aran knew better than anyone that the game was far from over.
The Puppeteer was desperate, yes, but that also made him dangerous. Aran had dismantled his network piece by piece, but this was a different kind of battle. Assassins didn't play by the same rules as spies and informants—they didn't need leverage or secrets, only a clean blade and an opening.
Aran had no intention of giving them either.
---
That night, the streets of the noble quarter were quiet, the usual bustle of the evening markets giving way to the stillness of midnight. Only the occasional guard or stray cat moved through the narrow alleys, unaware of the deadly game playing out just below the surface.
From a shadowed rooftop, Lyssa watched the assassin. He was good—far better than the usual mercenaries that infested the city. He moved with purpose, blending into the crowd earlier, but now keeping to the edges, watching, waiting. He was patient, almost too patient, as if he knew someone might be watching him.
But Lyssa was better.
Her men had already positioned themselves around the area, silent as the night itself. The assassin didn't notice the small, deliberate shifts in the shadows, the subtle movements of Aran's agents as they closed in. Lyssa had spent years perfecting her craft, and tonight, she would show just how deadly subtlety could be.
The assassin paused, glancing toward the mouth of an alley. His body tensed, a hunter sensing another predator nearby. For a moment, it seemed he might bolt, but then a flicker of movement in the distance caught his eye. He stepped forward, just as a loose tile from the rooftop above slipped free.
In the blink of an eye, the assassin spun, but it was too late. The tile crashed down, catching him on the side of the head. He staggered, eyes wide in shock as he tried to regain his balance. But another small push from above—this time a brick—was enough to send him toppling backward, his body falling into the alley below with a sickening thud.
Lyssa watched from her perch, satisfied. It had been quick, clean, and with just the right amount of subtlety. To anyone passing by, it would look like a simple accident—a misstep in the dark, a fall from the rooftops. The city would chalk it up to another unfortunate casualty of the night.
She waited for a moment, ensuring the body wasn't discovered prematurely, before slipping away into the shadows. The plan was in motion.
---
Back at his estate, Aran sat in his study, sipping a glass of wine as the news came in. Lyssa's signal had been received. The first assassin was dead.
Aran leaned back in his chair, his mind already moving to the next step. The remaining assassins would soon hear of their comrade's untimely demise. Would they grow cautious, or would they press on, believing themselves unstoppable?
It didn't matter. Aran would be ready either way.
As he stared into the flickering flames of the hearth, Aran knew one thing for certain: the Puppeteer had played his hand too early. And now, Aran would make him regret it.
The assassins would fall, one by one, and the Puppeteer's last defense would crumble.
This city belonged to Aran now.