Chapter 18

The Desolate, Oldtown

The assassin, known as Wraith, sat on a makeshift cot in one of the many apartments she had scattered around Oldtown. This one was buried deep in the catacombs. It was a miserable place, more cave than room. It was safer than most. She had set up many bolt holes just like this one over the years.

She figured she had a day, maybe two, before she’d have to move on.

Now that she was alone, she allowed her mask to slip, revealing strikingly exotic features. Deep lavender eyes, Silver-white skin, her was hair a deep shade of ebony so dark it appeared to absorb light. She appeared to be a teen in certain lights, mid-twenties in others. In reality, she was an asrai-halfling with the talent to make herself any appear any age and any species. Unlike others of her species, she had no vanity. The uncommon beauty of her eldritch features was one more weapon to use, along with the other tools of her trade. She’d had so many names she’d lost the memory of her real one. She cared little what others called her. As far as she was concerned, naming a being was an attempt to own them. And over the years, many had been desperate to own her, from her very first caretaker, who had stolen her and her sister from a long-forgotten home to a host of others. Master had seen her potential and took her off the streets when she was twelve years old. Master had refined her into a killer without peer. Her skills were his legacy, with one exception, they were the only thing that mattered to her.