The forest was silent—too silent, as if it knew something was about to happen. Puck moved like a shadow, weaving through the towering trees with effortless grace, his gang fanning out behind him. The scent of pine and damp earth filled his lungs, and the soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots was nearly inaudible. He thrived in this—the hunt, the tension crackling in the air. Tonight was not about gold or jewels. No, tonight was about something far sweeter: sending a message to the man who sat upon the throne.

King Aldrich.

Puck’s fingers brushed over the dagger strapped to his belt, his habitual movement whenever his mind was sharpening into focus. The prince—his precious son—was somewhere ahead, riding through this quiet stretch of forest in that luxurious carriage. Vulnerable. Unprotected. A perfect target.

His crooked grin tugged at the edge of his masked face as he signaled to the Black Hawks. They knew what to do—every move had been planned, every escape route traced into their minds. They weren’t just thieves; they were predators, and tonight, royalty was their prey.

Puck pulled himself up onto a low-hanging branch, his dark eyes catching a glint of movement in the distance. The carriage lantern flickered between the trees, the soft creak of wheels cutting through the silence.

Slowly, deliberately, Puck unsheathed one of his knives, letting the moonlight dance along its sharpened edge.

Time to make a statement.

The Black Hawks descended like specters, surrounding the carriage in the blink of an eye. Puck leaped down from his perch, landing smoothly, rolling his shoulders as he strode forward.

Slow, deliberate.

He pressed a gloved hand against the carriage, leaning slightly, tilting his head in amusement as he watched {{user}} inside take a sharp breath.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” His voice was smooth, mocking. “Lovely night for a ride, isn’t it?”