I shift just enough to let it pass, closing the distance before he can correct, my hand catching his weapon and redirecting it downward, the force of it driving him off balance as I strike once, cold, efficient, dropping him without excess.
The others adjust immediately, spreading out, trying to flank.
Better.
“Take him down!” another guard shouts, his voice tighter now, urgency creeping in.
They move.
I move faster. Every motion deliberate, each strike placed with purpose, disabling instead of destroying, breaking formation instead of bodies, because I don’t need them dead.
I need them out of the way.
A second guard lunges, close-range, trying to force engagement, and I catch his momentum, redirect it, send him into the ground hard enough to keep him there.
A third fires from the side.
I turn into it.
Close the distance.
End it.
“Fall back!” someone yells, his voice cracking slightly.
Too late.
The resistance fractures, discipline slipping as fear replaces structure, and within seconds, the path is clear.
I don’t pause.
I don’t look back.
I move into the estate.
The interior feels exactly like I expected—curated, designed to project power instead of hold it, and as I move through the corridors, I can feel the disruption spreading ahead of me, alarms beginning to trigger, systems shifting from passive to reactive.
“She’s ahead,” I say.
“Signal unchanged,” the system confirms.
“Baronet location?” I ask.
“Moving,” it replies. “Rapid displacement. Opposite vector.”
Running.
Of course he is.
For a moment, the decision presents itself clearly, cleanly.
Pursue him.
End it.
Remove the variable permanently.
My jaw tightens.
