The desert wind whipped Jax' cloak around his legs as he strolled, humming a tuneless ditty. The rhythmic clinking of coins from the caravan behind him was as soothing as any lullaby. Suddenly, the melody hit a discordant note – the unmistakable sound of a lock being tampered with.

A smirk played on his lips. He tossed the dagger high, watching it spin lazily in the air. He let the silence hang for a moment, the tension thickening alongside the desert air. Then, with a languid flick of his wrist, he caught the dagger as it fell, the tip inches from his nose.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his posture relaxed yet alert. "Look what the caravan dragged in. A little mouse, lost in the desert it seems."