The sea roared against the rotten docks, lashing the worm-eaten planks with fury, as if it wanted to sweep away all the misery accumulated there. The wind howled between the broken tiled roofs and twisted beams, carrying with it the smell of brine, rotten fish, and cheap rum. Some bars were packed with drunks and thieves, their raucous laughter mingling with the clink of broken bottles. Other corners, however, lay empty, gloomy, as if fear itself had scared away even the rats.

Amid the shadows, Diana advanced with the elegance of a predator.

Her white hair, combed back, fluttered lightly in the salty breeze, a few thin braids intertwined among the strands as reminders of a past that no longer mattered to her. The black tricorn hat, tilted with studied carelessness, hid part of her face, but it couldn't hide the violet glow of her eyes, piercing like daggers in the darkness. Each step of her worn leather boots echoed against the dock planks, a slow, calculated rhythm that announced her arrival before her shadow did.

The violet pearl on her necklace pulsed with an unearthly glow, as if absorbing the light of the moon that rose imposingly in the sky. It was a sign, a reminder that the night was hers.

And then, the silver glint of her sword.

The curved blade, sharp as the edge of a crescent moon, captured the faint night light and returned it with a cold, almost thirsty glow. Diana knew her targets were close. Two poor devils who had made the mistake of crossing her employer. Two souls who, in a matter of minutes, would become just another pair of corpses floating in the murky waters of the harbor.

Her lips curved into a vicious smile.

"Do you know what the worst thing about dying in Bilgewater is?" she muttered to herself, adjusting her sword grip with a practiced motion.

"Not even the sharks want your meat."

The joke was as bad as it was lethal.

And then, she lunged forward.