The blade grazed her throat, a lover’s whisper from death.

Seraphina twisted, flame bursting from her palm as she drove her dagger deep into the man's side, fiery magic flaring along the blade's edge and searing flesh on impact. The attacker screamed, flames licking up his tunic as he fell back.

The assassin crumpled with a wet grunt. She spun, eyes scanning for the next attacker. She didn’t know who sent them, but she had guesses. And if Alaric had meant this as a warning, he’d misjudged how ready she was to cut back.

The cold night air bit at her skin, but the heat of battle was a different kind of fire, one that burned hot and steady. The garden around her had turned into a blur, stone paths, crushed flowers, muffled screams. Her magic pulsed beneath her skin, alive and restless.

She hadn’t always had this power, just woke up one day with it burning under her skin, waiting. It didn’t scare her. It felt natural. Familiar, even. Like it had always been part of her, just waiting for permission.

There was a cost, though, she felt it now, the faint drag in her limbs, the hum of something vital being spent. But that didn’t matter. Not when it made her lethal.

Sparks danced at her fingertips, lighting her weapon with controlled fire. Every strike, every parry was instinct. She had done this too many times, and the danger no longer startled her. The silence before the attack, however, was unnerving.

Steel clanged to her right. Caelan.

They moved fast, side by side without planning it. His shoulder brushed hers more than once as they fought, but neither of them pulled away. Every time she pivoted, he was already adjusting. Close. In sync. Like it wasn’t their first time doing this.

He moved like a storm, his blade cutting through the air, every strike calculated, every breath steady. His wind-magic-infused sword hummed with the speed it carved through flesh. The air seemed to whip around him as he flowed through the attackers with unnatural fluidity.

"Behind you," he barked.

She ducked just in time, feeling the hiss of the blade whip past her cheek. Without hesitation, she drove her dagger into the attacker's thigh, twisting as the man screamed and collapsed. Her arm throbbed where the blade had grazed her, pain sharp and insistent. A shallow slice. Nothing vital. She gritted her teeth. Pain meant she was still breathing. Still dangerous.

The garden blurred into chaos, the battle unfolding like a brutal dance with no rhythm and no rest. Seraphina’s movements were automatic now, sidestep, strike, spin, twist.

Fire flared with each movement, protective and predatory, as if her magic sensed the threat before she did. She was an instrument, sharp and precise, but even instruments wear down.

Another figure lunged. One of them broke off, blade raised high, sprinting toward Caelan’s flank. He hadn’t seen.

“Caelan!” she yelled, flinging her dagger with deadly precision. It hit home, steel sank into the assassin’s neck. He dropped, lifeless. Caelan turned, eyes flashing.

Their gazes locked, no gratitude, no soft glances. Just heat. Respect, tension, and the kind of spark that lit fires in more than just their blades. It lingered a beat too long before they looked away.

Seraphina sidestepped and slammed the hilt of her spare dagger into another attacker’s temple. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious, if not dead.

By the end, three bodies littered the stone-paved garden, the others scattered into the night. If anyone found these bodies, questions would follow. But that didn’t matter.

What mattered was that someone had known where to find them. Someone wanted this meeting silenced. One gurgled near the well, then went still. Seraphina exhaled slowly, her breath shaky. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

She leaned against the moss-covered stone, her arm sore, catching her breath. Her blood, her own, mingled with the damp moss at her feet, but she barely felt it.

"You’re hurt," Caelan said, stepping close, his voice low, like the calm before a storm.

"It’s just a graze," Seraphina muttered, her voice dry. Blood traced a thin line down her arm, the kind of surface wound that stung but didn’t linger. "Besides, I wasn’t the one who nearly took steel to the spine."

He gave a single nod, then stepped in even closer, a deliberate invasion of space. "You saved me."

"Don’t get sentimental," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "I don’t do gratitude."

Caelan’s gaze sharpened, lingering on her face. "They’ll come again."

"Then next time, I hope they send more," Seraphina said, rising to her full height, fire flickering along her skin like it agreed. "Because that? That was just warm-up."

Caelan’s silence stretched, charged and unreadable. He studied her like a puzzle he hadn’t decided whether to solve or steal.

Finally, he said, "You’ve got me, for now. Just don’t make me regret it."

She stepped closer still, the radiant heat of her body brushing his chest. "Then keep up, or get out of the way."

It wasn’t surrender. It was an invitation with sharp edges. And Seraphina understood exactly how dangerous a man like Caelan could be, especially when he started betting on her.

They moved quickly through the maze, slipping past statuary and hedges, hearts still pounding. At the rear garden path, the rain had started, cold, heavy, relentless.

By the time they reached the edge of the eastern paddocks, thunder echoed in the distance.

Caelan slowed. “The stables. That’s our best chance.”

“Good,” Seraphina muttered. “Because I’m done playing tonight.”

Lightning flashed, illuminating the stretch of open ground they’d have to cross.

Caelan glanced at her, then the stables. “Ready?”

She nodded, tightening her grip on her cloak. Her arm ached. Her magic felt thin, like fire about to flicker out.

They ran.

Rain hammered down, cloaking their footsteps.

They didn’t look back.

Behind them, the garden lay burning, bodies hidden in the maze, and secrets smoldering in the dark. But the night wasn’t quiet, not truly. Every rustle of leaves, every crack of thunder, felt like a warning.

Because if six assassins had come for them tonight, who was to say there weren’t more waiting?

And not all hunters made noise when they moved.