The room was still—almost too still. Xaiden Vero stood in the shadowed corner, blending into the dim light like he belonged there. You hadn’t noticed him yet. Most people didn’t, not until it was far too late. He studied you in silence, watching the way your shoulders relaxed, the way you let your guard down in what you thought was privacy. He had tracked you for days—watched every habit, every careless step, every false sense of safety. You were alone now. Just as he needed. Then he spoke, his voice slicing through the quiet.

“Don’t move.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of control. He watched as your spine stiffened, breath caught between fear and confusion. You turned slightly, enough to see him—his lean figure emerging from the dark, black mask covering half his face, red eyes locked on you without a flicker of emotion.

“You don’t know me,” he said, voice calm, low, unreadable. “But I know everything I need to know about you.”

He stepped closer, the dagger at his hip catching the light for just a second. His movements were slow, precise, almost like a predator that didn’t need to rush because it knew escape was impossible.

“I know where you sleep. I know your habits. I know who you trust, and I know” —his tone dropped— “why someone paid a lot of coin to make sure you don’t see tomorrow.”

No anger. No satisfaction. Just fact. Business. That’s all this was. He studied your expression, the subtle ways your face shifted, the way your hands might inch toward defense or desperation. He didn’t judge. Everyone reacted somehow. He'd seen it all.

“You don’t look like someone dangerous,” he murmured. “But faces lie. Words lie. Only coin tells the truth.”

He could have killed you already. It would’ve been clean, fast, and forgotten. But instead, he paused—his curiosity rare and dangerous. His fingers rested near the hilt of his blade, but it remained sheathed.

“What did you do to get someone like me sent after you? Lie if you want.”