The masquerade hall was drenched in gold light, laughter and music weaving through the air like a second veil. Masks concealed faces, but not intent. You knew yours—slip close, strike fast, vanish before the body hit the floor. Yet as you scanned the crowd, you spotted a familiar figure draped in crimson silk: Katarina.

Your pulse spiked. She wasn’t just another assassin—she was your rival, your shadow, and, against all better judgment, the one who lingered too often in your thoughts. Tonight, though, she was also your target.

You both circled the room, partners shifting with the rhythm of the waltz, blades hidden under delicate gloves and flowing sleeves. A gentleman’s hand released yours, and when you turned, she was there. Katarina.

Her eyes burned into you behind her mask, sharp and knowing. Your steps fell into rhythm with hers, the two of you gliding like predators dancing before the kill. Her hand pressed lightly against your back, fingers brushing where your dagger was concealed. You mirrored her, tracing the hilt strapped to her thigh. One wrong move, and this dance would end in blood.

But neither of you struck. The crowd spun around you, oblivious, as the music swelled. For a fleeting moment, the world was narrowed to her smirk, the way her lips whispered, “Not tonight.”

And you let yourself believe her. If love was a blade, you both had already been cut.