Azalea stood in the dimly lit alley, her breath steady, her movements practiced. The mission was simple — eliminate the target and fade into the shadows. A typical job for someone of her caliber, but tonight, there was a new variable: Ambrose, also known as Shadow Weaver.
The name alone sent a ripple of unease through her. Shadow Weaver wasn't like other assassins. His methods were unorthodox, his movements cloaked in secrecy. He had a reputation for never being seen, his kills carried out with a precision that bordered on supernatural. No one truly knew who he was, or even what he looked like. The few who had tried to learn anything about him had disappeared, leaving only whispers in the dark.
Azalea had never worked with him before, but she'd heard enough stories to be wary. She was no stranger to cold professionalism, but there was something about Ambrose that unsettled her. Still, she pushed the thoughts aside. This job was a business transaction, nothing more.
The target was a corrupt businessman, someone who had crossed the wrong people. It wasn't Azalea's place to ask questions; it was simply her job to eliminate him. She adjusted the grip on her weapon, her focus narrowing as she waited for her contact. The plan was simple — enter the building through the back, neutralize the guards, and take out the target. In and out, with no mess.
Azalea was about to move when she heard a faint rustle in the shadows behind her. Her hand went instinctively to her dagger, eyes scanning the darkness.
"Relax, it's just me," a low voice murmured.
She turned slowly, eyes narrowing. There, standing in the shadow of the alley, was the figure she had been dreading — Ambrose, or Shadow Weaver, as he was known in the underworld. His face was obscured by a hood, but his presence was unmistakable.
"You're late," Azalea said, her voice cold.
"I work on my own time," he replied, his voice smooth and almost teasing. "Besides, I was waiting for you."
Azalea raised an eyebrow. "For me?"
"Of course. We're partners on this one, aren't we?" He stepped forward, his figure almost blending with the night. "I'm here to make sure things go smoothly."
Azalea didn't reply immediately, her eyes studying him with the same calculating precision she reserved for all her targets. He was tall, with a lean build that suggested agility more than strength. There was something unnerving about the way he moved, as though he was always in control of the situation.
"I don't need your help," Azalea said finally, her voice biting. "I work alone."
Ambrose smirked, unfazed by her words. "We'll see about that."
Without another word, he moved past her, blending seamlessly into the shadows. Azalea hesitated for a moment, then followed, irritation bubbling under her calm exterior. She didn't like relying on others, and she especially didn't like working with someone whose motives were so... unclear.
As they approached the building, Azalea felt the familiar tension settle in her shoulders. This was her domain — the shadows, the silence, the deadly dance of assassination. She had done it a thousand times before. But now, with Shadow Weaver beside her, the dynamics had shifted. She could sense his presence at every turn, his movements too quiet, too calculated. He was like a phantom, a presence she couldn't quite shake off.
Inside the building, the guards were sparse. Azalea moved quickly, dispatching them one by one, her movements precise and silent. She barely spared Ambrose a glance, but she could feel his eyes on her, his attention unwavering.
"You're good," he remarked, his voice low but edged with something like admiration. "But I already knew that."
Azalea didn't respond, her focus entirely on the task at hand. She didn't have time for compliments, and she certainly didn't have time for games. The target was close — she could feel it.
They reached the door to the target's office, and Azalea paused. There was a faint clicking sound from behind her. Ambrose had already bypassed the security system and was quietly working his way through the locks.
"I told you I'm here to help," he said, his voice almost amused. "You might be good, but you can't deny that I make things easier."
Azalea said nothing, but her jaw tightened. She hated that he was right. She didn't need him, but his skills were undeniably useful. Still, it didn't sit well with her. There was something about him — something she couldn't quite place — that made her uneasy.
The door clicked open, and they both slipped inside, moving like shadows in the darkened room. The target was seated at a desk, completely unaware of the two assassins closing in on him. Azalea took a step forward, her dagger poised, but before she could make her move, Ambrose's voice stopped her.
"Not yet," he whispered. "Let me handle this."
Azalea froze, her body tense. "What are you talking about?"
"I'll take care of it," Ambrose repeated, his tone soft but commanding. "You just stand back."
For a moment, Azalea considered arguing, but then she realized that Ambrose wasn't the type to take no for an answer. She had seen him in action before, and she knew that when he said he would handle something, he meant it.
With a fluid motion, Ambrose stepped forward, his movements so smooth they were almost otherworldly. He raised a hand, his fingers outstretched as if weaving some invisible thread through the air. Azalea watched, her heart pounding, as the shadows around them seemed to bend and shift, coiling like tendrils. It was as if the darkness itself had come to life, responding to his will.
The target never had a chance.
In one swift motion, Ambrose's hand dropped, and the target slumped forward, lifeless. Azalea stood there, stunned, as the figure of the target dissolved into nothing but a cold, empty corpse.
Ambrose turned toward her, his expression unreadable. "Told you I'd handle it."
Azalea blinked, her mind racing. "How did you—?"
"I told you," he said, his smile faint but knowing. "I'm Shadow Weaver. The shadows bend to my will."
She couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down her spine. There was something unnerving about the way he controlled the darkness, as if it was a part of him. As if he were one with it.
For a moment, there was a silence between them. Azalea's pulse raced, her thoughts tumbling over one another. This wasn't just another mission. Something had shifted. Something had changed. And it was because of him.
"Let's go," Ambrose said, his voice breaking the stillness. "The job's done."
Azalea nodded, though her mind was still reeling. She followed him out of the building, the strange feeling lingering in her chest. She couldn't shake the sense that she had just encountered something... dangerous. Not the target, but Ambrose himself. Shadow Weaver.
As they disappeared into the night, Azalea couldn't help but wonder: Was this just another job, or had something in that moment changed everything?