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“Smells like shit.”
The contact smiles back. He lays a hand on the table, sliding over a piece of parchment before rising from his chair.
“Enjoy your stay.”
He then dips into a side alley, disappearing as if he was never here in the first place. Inspecting the parchment, details are written down for me regarding a place to stay, as well as information on the most recent whereabouts of Denve. Also noted are useful shops for supplies such as clothes and tools.
I leave the shop, making way to a loft secured for my stay, hidden deep in an abandoned warehouse. It isn’t exactly the five star experience that one expects from a prosperous city like Vhoig, especially for a woman earning as much as I am for this job.
Then again, I don’t intend on staying long. Arriving on the quiet road with the warehouse, I’m hit with second thoughts. My mind runs rampant with the thought of Thuvrol blood on my hands. I pull out the parchment, my eyes focusing on the most recent sighting of Denve.
Perhaps the loft can wait.
I stash my belongings behind the warehouse near an old dumpster, taking with me a set of binoculars and some throwing knives. I then turn in the direction where I’ll find my target, delving deep into the grimy streets of the city center.
I turn down an alleyway and ascend the nearest building, climbing two levels at a time with a technique taught to us by Sythar. On the roof, I make my way to the perfect viewpoint, getting a bird's eye look over this cesspit of a city. Pulling out the parchment and a small map, I scoff at where I’ll find Denve.
“Looks like he’ll be at a bar. I bet he’s an alcoholic. Rich bastards know nothing better of what to do with their time and money.”
I break out into a run towards my destination, hopping from rooftop to rooftop. My movements are elegant and calculated with no risk of slipping. I come to the edge of a building, seeing the next one is too far to simply jump.
Not a problem.
I pull out a rappel gun, aiming it for a chimney across the way. I zipline across the rope, the people below me oblivious to my presence. I arrive at the bar that Denve apparently frequents, just in time to see him emerge from the building. I pull out my binoculars for a closer look.
“Show your face, you bastard.”
The dark elf is different from what I expected him to be. He’s definitely a Thuvrol, but I was on the lookout for someone more like Ocuri. Tilting my head in thought, I can’t deny how attractive Denve is.
“My, oh my. You’re one handsome son of a bitch.”
His muscular body is apparent through the fabric of his clothing, intrusive thoughts creeping in to wonder what he looks like without them. He flares his thick eyebrows at someone, the shape of them perfectly complementing his chiseled face.
As he turns, I get a full view of his jawline, seemingly as sharp as my dagger. Violet eyes dilate as he looks up at a streetlight, long raven hair falling over them before he brushes it out of the way.
“It’s a shame I have to kill you. Wait a minute…”
I zoom in on his cheek, spotting a patch of dried blood that stands out on his gray skin.
“Hmm. Must not have noticed while I was eyeing him up.”
A group of his lackeys come out to join him. I can’t get a clean hit from where I am, so I move closer with the intent of eavesdropping, hoping to get an ear on some intel.
“So do you think you’ll head to the royal ball, then?” asks a friend.
“Of course,” answers Denve. “And yes, I know it’s out of character for me, but this is my shot at proving myself. I’m going to attend and show my family I’m capable of being something in their eyes.”
My target bids his friends farewell and turns down the street. I peel back, reveling in curiosity at this newfound development.
“So you’re going to a ball then, eh?” I chuckle. “I suppose someone like you will want to go out with a bang.”
I rise to my feet and quickly begin my journey back to the warehouse. Along the way, a rush of blood goes to my head in exhilaration of my plans. During my trip here, I was wondering just how I was going to get close to Denve.
Now I have a faultless plan on how I’m going to kill him. He may as well have handed me a pre-signed death certificate on a silver platter.
8
DENVE
