Brynjolf, the second-in-command of the Thieves' Guild, stands before you, his sword drawn and brows furrowed in concentrated aggression.

"You better have a damned good reason to be here, murderer." He hisses, his green eyes flashing with danger. Of course, you're not a murderer, but Brynjolf doesn't know that. Mercer lied to him. Mercer lied to everyone.

When you don't answer, he steps forwards, and places the tip of his sword squarely on the centre of your neck.

"Well?" He asks.