Laz didn’t reach the sanctum until nearly dawn. The sun was still hours away from rising, but the smallest traces of its light could be seen peeking over the top of the distant mountains. Ahead, up the hillside road, the Vastra’s manor loomed. During the daytime, it looked like an ornate, luxurious and well-manicured home, but at night it seemed taller and more imposing, dim lights in the upstairs windows adding glowing eyes to its intimidating silhouette.

However, the manor wasn’t their destination. As they reached the base of the hill, Laz steered their horse down a side path, unmarked and obscured by trees and shrubs. The animal protested, but slowly made its way through the thin barrier of underbrush before finding the hidden trail on the other side. This path was thinner, overgrown, and barely visible in the dark, but Laz knew the trail by heart.

They made their way down the slope until a light came into view—a dim lantern hanging from the gate of a low, overgrown wall, with a single guard standing watch outside. His dull green Aura swirling around him made him easy to spot, even in the low light. As Laz approached, the man nodded, and turned to pull the gate open.

“Agent Laz. The Vastra is expecting you. She waits in the southern chamber.”

Laz nodded and tried to ignore the pit in their stomach as they dismounted their horse, handed the reigns to the guard, and made their way into the courtyard. If the Vastra was here at this hour, and not sleeping at the manor house, she must have been waiting for Laz and Felix to return from their mission. They quickened their pace slightly; it was best not to keep her waiting.

They approached the sanctum—a low stone house that once served as a guest home for the manor, left to the wilderness. Weeds and waist-high thistle plants had overgrown the yard, and the structure was so covered in vines and ivy it was barely distinguishable from the rest of the landscape, save for the dirty windows and roof tiles poking through the green.

Grass pricked at Laz's hands and arms as they fought through the overgrowth and pushed the house's door open, a low creak announcing their arrival. Inside, the home was empty, dusty and abandoned. Anyone who stumbled onto this place accidentally would think it nothing more than a rotted old home.

Laz knew better.

Making their way through the dilapidated building, they ran their fingers through their hair, and their body tingled numb as they returned to their assigned appearance: Human, pale, with rusty brown hair that fell just below their chin, grey eyes, and a small frame. It was designed to be unobtrusive, subtle, with no outstanding features that would draw attention. Even their gender was ambiguous. The Vastra had tailored Laz’s identity herself, and all of her assassins were styled in the same simple fashion, with enough differences that she could tell each of them apart. As powerful as the Vastra was, she couldn't see their Auras, couldn’t identify her shapechangers the way they could identify themselves. And so, when her agents appeared before her, she Commanded that they always look the same.

For the finishing touch, Laz pulled a hair tie from their pocket and pulled their hair back into a half ponytail, exposing their forehead. Their fingers brushed over the jagged scar at the edge of their hairline; a symbol of a past failure that the Vastra insisted be visible in her presence.

As the numbness of their transformation subsided, they entered one of the overgrown home’s smaller bedrooms, lifted the rug, and pulled open the trap door beneath. A steep hallway of spiral stone stairs and a wave of warm, musty air greeted them. Descending the stairs, the narrow passage eventually gave way to a yawning underground chamber, with arched ceilings held aloft by stone pillars, and stained glass windows glowing with artificial light throwing splashes of color onto the cold, grey floors.

Multiple halls forked off the main chamber leading to other parts of the sanctum. It was quiet; considering the hour, most everyone who remained was likely asleep. Laz’s body ached to go right, toward the dorms and their bed, but sleep would have to wait.

The knot of unease in their stomach tightened as they walked toward the Vastra’s chamber, occasionally passing through the light of the false windows. The glass mosaics showed the ten ancestral gods among their creations; Lord Florian seated in the green of a dense forest, Lady Aelfira bathed in sunlight, and so on. However, Lord Vitore‘s likeness was notably absent, replaced by an image of the Vastra herself: a human woman with dark eyes and long, black hair. Despite her sharp features, she looked peaceful, the stained glass version of her smiling down warmly at Laz. They instinctively bowed their head as they passed it.

Eventually, they came to the large oak doors of their master’s quarters. Taking a moment to steel themself, they took a shaky breath and held it as they knocked on the ornately carved wood, the sound echoing throughout the hall. After a moment of tense quiet, the door slowly creaked open, and Laz stepped inside.

The interior was large and circular, with wall décor alternating between tall, sturdy bookshelves and more stained glass windows bathing the room in violet light. At the center was a trio of desks arranged in a U shape, neatly-stacked piles of journals and research notes scattered across them. The Vastra was nowhere to be seen.

Holding their breath, Laz listened closely, and heard the faintest traces of sounds through the side door on the left; unintelligible speaking interspersed with the clack of heeled shoes on stone, and low, moaning sobs. Laz’s stomach churned; The Vastra must have been occupying her time waiting for Laz’s return by visiting with their former mentor. They could only guess what state he was in.

Summoning their courage, Laz swallowed their fear, and spoke.

“Lady Vastra?”

Their voice echoed into the room, followed by silence, then footsteps, and the creak of the side door opening. Laz stiffened as the Vastra entered, calm and elegant. Her long, dark hair was tied in elaborate loops with tasteful embellishments, and her embroidered lilac robes trailed behind her, hanging sleeves almost touching the floor. She locked eyes with Laz, and smiled softly.

“Ah, Laz, you've returned. Wonderful. Tell me, my dear—how did it go?”

A tingle ran up Laz’s spine, and their back straightened. “Laurel Creed is dead. Slain in her home by my hand. I’ve brought back her Dying Light—as well as her research journal. I didn’t read the full contents, but I saw mention of your name.”

As they spoke, Laz took the journal out of their satchel, and unsheathed their dagger, the blade still glowing faintly. The Vastra looked at them and smiled.

“Wonderful work. Set those on my desk, would you?”

Laz did so—sheathing their dagger, unclipping it from their belt, and placing both the knife and journal on the desk.

“Did you encounter any trouble?”

Laz swallowed. “Things went smoothly, for the most part. But... I was seen exiting Creed’s home.”

"You left witnesses?"

The Vastra narrowed her dark eyes, her gaze even sharper than the blades her assassins wielded. Laz bared down, clenching their muscles to keep from shaking.

“I, um, well…” Laz stammered. The pressure of her gaze made their words scatter like mice. "I-"

“My dear,” she Commanded, “speak clearly.”

Laz's spine tingled again, and the quavering in their voice abruptly ceased. "No, milady. I wasn't seen committing the act. Town guards saw me leaving her home, but I was able to shake them with Felix's help."

“They saw you as you are now?”

“No, I disguised myself. I used an entirely new appearance, which I abandoned well before returning here. They'll have no way to trace me."

The tension in the room was palpable, a taut bowstring ready to snap. Laz stayed silent, awaiting their master’s judgement, not daring even to breathe.

Finally, she sighed. “Very well. And what of dear Felix?”

“She stayed behind to finish her show.”

“Good, good. Well, it sounds like everything went perfectly. ...Minus you being seen, of course.”

Laz flinched. “I apologize, my lady. I was careless. I’ll make certain it doesn’t happen again.”

The Vastra smiled, serene yet calculating. “Now, now, dear. You’re so hard on yourself. That woman’s empty corpse will be of no help to anyone, and you stole away the evidence that linked her to me. You did a wonderful job.”

Laz bowed their head. “I… Thank you, my lady.”

The Vastra turned, looking toward the side chamber door, and Laz caught a whiff of her floral perfume. Another scent lingered beneath it, harsh and metallic. Blood.

“Of course, none of this would have been needed if dear Oren hadn’t gone against me,” she sighed. Her heels clacked on the stone as she walked to her desk, picking up Laz’s dagger and turning it over, unsheathing it and examining the blade. Her eyes reflected the blue-green glow of the steel. “I did so much for him, you know. Took him under my wing when no one else would. Gave him food to eat and a place to rest his head. Raised him, just as I did for you and all the others. And this is how he repays me.”

Spitting venom, she spun the knife in her hand and stabbed it into her desk with a thud. Laz flinched, but kept their eyes locked on the floor.

“He was a wonderful agent,” she said. ”He did such important work for me, with such dedication, such precision... only to fall short. And fall for the very target I sent him after, of all people! Going directly against my orders! Such… insolence. But I have no use for a tool that won’t work as Commanded.”

She paused, looking at the side door once more before pulling the dagger out of the desk, running her fingers across the glowing blade.

”I’m certain I’ll still find a use for him, though. If he won’t be serving as one of my knives, then he will continue to serve me under one.”

Laz’s stomach turned. They knew what fate became of those who betrayed the Vastra’s Commands. Oren had known as well, yet he had gone against her anyway. From behind the closed door, Laz could just barely hear him, groaning in pain. They wondered what the Vastra was putting him through, and how much longer he would last.

“My fear now is what affect this will have on the others," she said, setting the knife down and turning to Laz. "Your kind is so difficult to find, and training to serve as one of my agents takes years… losing even one of you is such a hard loss. Oren was my best infiltrator, and for this to happen so soon after you… Well.”

She didn’t need to say it. Laz could feel her dark eyes on their forehead, lingering on the jagged scar gouged into their hairline. Before their injury, Laz had worked alongside Oren and the Vastra’s other agents, disguising themself as specific people to gather information or infiltrate places of power. However, a Mirage's shapeshifting ability didn’t extend to scars. The wound above their temple was always plainly visible, no matter how much their appearance changed. No longer able to effectively disguise themself, Laz had been demoted to operating solely as an assassin. They were still highly skilled at killing, but now they were a tool with only one job.

And they had nearly failed disastrously at that job earlier that same evening.

“It’s all such a shame, truly,” the Vastra continued. “But Laz, my dear- I hope that what Oren has done won’t sway you.”

“My lady?”

“Well, Oren was the one who trained you,” she said. ”Surely you wouldn’t follow in his footsteps? Betray me as he did?"

“Of course not, lady Vastra,” Laz stammered. "I would never-"

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she said, her words laced with delicate sweetness. Yet, her smile dimmed, cold eyes sharpening. “But just to be certain… My dear, be honest with me. You have no intent to betray me, do you?”

Laz’s spine prickled, and their body moved of its own accord. They bowed their head, placed their hand on their heart, and words were pulled forth from within them.

“I live and die by your hand, my Vastra. I am your willing knife, your blade, an extension of your will. I will do whatever you wish without hesitation.”

Their master smiled, contented, and stepped forward, gently caressing Laz’s face with her long, slender fingers. Her painted nails brushed along their jaw.

“Good.”

Laz stayed perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe; a mouse in the grip of a cat’s claw. The Vastra took one more look at them with piercing dark eyes before stepping back and walking to her desk.

“Now then, go back to your room and have a rest. I’ll send someone to fetch you when I need you again. You are dismissed.”

Laz felt the tension evaporate from their body, and bowed once more. “Thank you, lady Vastra,” they said, turning and exiting the chamber as quickly as they could without breaking into a run.