Look at me and you see the easy smile, the flash of those too-bright eyes, the way I move like I own the air around me. Long white hair that catches the light just right, skin pale enough to make the roses jealous. I’m built for the kind of trouble that whispers, not shouts — lean, strong, with scars I wear like a secret.

They call me an assassin, but really, I’m a dancer. Every step, every glance, every word is a carefully placed move. Dangerous? Maybe. Charming? Always.