I had been followed before.
City guards, rival smugglers, desperate thieves—they all had their own reasons for trying to catch me. But this was different. This man wasn't stumbling after me in the dark, hoping for luck to be on his side. He was a predator. Calculated. Precise.
And now, he was hunting me.
I moved fast through the winding streets, cutting through alleyways, blending into crowds when I could. The stolen gold pressed against my ribs, but I ignored its weight. Getting careless over a few coins would get me killed.
I reached a narrow bridge over the Seine, its wooden planks slick with rain. Across the water, the streets of Paris stretched in a maze of stone and shadow. If I could lose him in the slums, I'd be safe—for now.
I took one step onto the bridge.
And then I heard it.
A footstep. Too quiet for the usual city noise, too steady to be a drunken wanderer.
He was close.
I didn't turn. Didn't run. Running would make me predictable, and I had no doubt he was fast. Instead, I did something reckless.
I stopped.
The silence stretched. A slow, cold smile pulled at my lips. "Are you going to skulk in the shadows all night, or do you plan to introduce yourself?"
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a voice—low, smooth, laced with amusement.
"You knew I was here."
A statement, not a question.
I turned slowly, finally facing him. He stood just beyond the entrance of the bridge, half-shrouded in the dim torchlight. Up close, he was taller than I had expected, his presence like a coiled serpent—still, but ready to strike.
His pale eyes studied me, unreadable. The rapier at his hip gleamed even in the low light, the hilt worn but well-maintained. This wasn't a man who carried a blade for show.
He was a killer.
I tilted my head, keeping my expression neutral. "I make it a habit to know when I'm being followed."
He took a slow step forward. "Then you also know who sent me."
I shrugged. "A wild guess? Baron Devereaux doesn't appreciate being robbed."
The man's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. "You're quick."
"I have to be."
Another step. He wasn't closing the distance too fast, wasn't lunging. He was testing me, gauging my reaction. I let him.
"I'll be direct," he said. "Return the Baron's money, and this ends here."
I laughed, low and sharp. "You and I both know that's not true."
He said nothing. He didn't have to. We both understood the way men like Devereaux worked. If I handed back the gold, it wouldn't buy me mercy. It would only make me look weak.
And weakness in Paris was a death sentence.
I took a step forward, closing the distance instead of retreating. His fingers twitched near the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw.
Interesting.
"What's your name?" I asked.
His gaze flickered, as if he hadn't expected the question.
Finally, he answered. "Cassian."
Cassian. The name didn't mean anything to me. Not yet. But it would.
I smiled. "Well, Cassian, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have places to be."
His expression didn't change. "You won't outrun me."
"I don't plan to."
And then I moved.
Not away—but forward.
Cassian reacted instantly, stepping back as I lunged into his space. But I wasn't reaching for a weapon. Instead, I unhooked the stolen purse from my belt and hurled it past him, straight into the river below.
A splash echoed in the night.
For the first time, his mask of calm cracked.
A second was all I needed.
I twisted past him, moving faster than he expected, and before he could react, I was gone—vanishing into the streets, leaving nothing behind but the memory of a girl who refused to be caught.
---
I didn't stop running until I was deep in the slums, the scent of damp earth and sweat replacing the crisp, cool air of the Seine. My pulse was steady, my breath even. I had lost him.
For now.
I leaned against the crumbling wall of an abandoned chapel, my mind turning. Cassian was skilled—more than the usual hired swords I had dealt with before. But he wasn't invincible.
And more importantly—he had hesitated.
That was something I could use.
I traced my fingers over the empty space where the stolen gold had been. Throwing it away had been a risk, but necessary. Devereaux had wanted it back. Now, no one had it.
Which meant this wasn't over.
A slow, satisfied smile curled my lips.
I didn't want it to be.
Because for the first time in years, I had found someone worth playing against.
And I never lost.