She watched from the rooftops as the light thinned and the streets darkened. Soon not even she would be able to make out more than shadows. The would-be thief she stalked didn’t discriminate from who he bumped into. Her lips curled when the fool stumbled into the crimson-cloaked man flanked by two others with matching cloaks.

“Idiot,” she mumbled when the thief slipped his hand inside the cloak.

One thing he managed to get right was the speed in which he stole. That was one of the harder aspects of stealing and was one Siobhan herself had taken nearly a year to master. A master thief in Riddlan had taken her under her wing as his apprentice. In her travels, she hadn’t met many nice folks who cared about the tall, dark hared woman from a world long forgotten in the lowlands. Siobhan would never forget him. He turned her from the frightened child foraging for food, to the woman who used every skill she had at her disposal to get what she desired.

As much as she loved the man she knew only as Master, Elisa hated him. Thievery wasn’t a practice any Aquantian would support, not even Elias with his stubborn faithfulness to her. Though she often told him where he could go if he disagreed with her choices, part of her was grateful he never listened. When a tavern fight ended Master’s life force, Siobhan still had Elias to count on.

She crept closer to the edge of the roof as the men in the cloaks realized the thief had stolen from one of them. They turned, hands grabbing the hilts of their swords, and followed the fool into a nearby alley.

“Moron. Know your escape routes!” She jogged to the side of the roof overlooking the alley. Her hand gripped the edge of the roof, wind hit against her hood, as she leaned over the edge. “Oh look at that. A dead end. Genius.”

The pathetic thief was entertainment if nothing else. She rested her chin on her hand, smiling. The curse from the man rose from the brick wall blocking his way. Behind him, the crimson-cloaks drew their swords and ensured he had no escape. The thief backed against the alley’s end. Siobhan waited for the fool to draw his weapons, it would be the highlight of her day to see him take on three crimson-cloaks. She grabbed one of her side braids and twirled it between her fingers.

“Where’s my money?” one of the cloaked men snarled, his voice carrying up the stone walls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She had to hand it to the fool, his voice didn’t crack though it was still rough with little force behind it. Confidence was easy to fake. Light reflected off the steal of the sword when one of the men pointed it toward the fool.

Keep your hood up. Siobhan thought when the fools hand went to the hood covering his face. Don’t let them see your face. As if he heard her, he lowered his hand. There was a chance, though slim, he could get out of this with his head intact. But only if he didn’t let the men see his face.

“I won’t ask again. Give me my money,” the man said.

Siobhan removed both sides of her staff from their hooks behind her back and twisted them together to form one long staff. Her boots slid against the dirt and rocks gathered on the roof before she sat on the edge. She rolled the staff against her thighs, judging the situation below her. It wasn’t that she cared if the fool lived or died, she simply wanted to regain her purse. Coin could be replaced with moderate ease; the totems she’d accrued in her travels would be significantly harder. But she had to tread carefully now that crimson-cloaks were involved.

The fun she intended to have with the thief was no longer important. She had to decide if she wanted to take on the three men ready to run her thief through. Doing so would be throwing herself to the wolves she’d taken great care to avoid. Wolves that wouldn’t think twice about chewing her up and spitting her out.

Releasing a breath, she glanced to the sun. The bells would chime any minute, thinning the hordes gathered in the market. Soon the torch light of the main street and straggling light filtering from buildings would be the only light left to guide her. It could give her an opening she needed for surprise.

Her hand tightened around the smooth center of the staff where the two parts came together seamlessly. She crouched on the edge of the roof. The sound of the chimes booming would mask her landing behind the men. They’d be too distracted by the fool before them to care to look behind them. It was a slim advantage, especially if the fool reacted and gave her away, but it was her only advantage. She kept her eye on the sun, waiting for the final bulb of orange and yellow to vanish behind the horizon. Red and pink streaked from the sun, merging with the purples of the east.

She loved the sunset. It was a mixture of anger and calm with the battling colors, the rise of a new time. Innocence ended at sun down with children crawling into their beds and the adults filling the taverns for their drink. Any other day, that spot would’ve been perfect to watch the night awaken.

She pulled her hood as far over her head as possible, hoping it would stay up with the rush of her fall. If they could identify her, she might as well slit her own wrists and save them the trouble of torturing her. At the first gong of the bell, she stepped off the roof, grabbing a nearby rain pipe. She slid fast and furious, landing in a hard crouch at the bottom of the pipe.

The landing timed perfectly with the sound of the bell fading from the world and joining with the second bell chime. The smallest of the men, standing to the right of the biggest of the three, didn’t know what hit him. Siobhan’s staff slammed against his head, crumpling him to the floor. His size made him an easy target compared to the other two brutes. When a sword swung at her head, she ducked and kicked her leg at the man. He cursed as he went down like a rock, dropping his sword.

“Pathetic,” she snapped, swinging her staff at the other man before he gathered his wits. For being crimson-cloaks, it was too easy taking two of them out with a blow to their heads. The third, clearly their superior, wouldn’t be as simple. He was back to his feet and lunging at her.