The glint of the blade was the only warning Rosalind had.
Years of training kicked in. She twisted, barely avoiding the cold steel as it sliced through the air where her throat had been a second before. The masked attacker’s movements were sharp, practiced—they knew what they were doing.
Rosalind dropped low, her heel skimming across the floor as she spun, aiming a precise kick at their knee. But the attacker was just as quick, shifting to the side with effortless agility.
Damn.
Behind her, Nicholas let out a low whistle. "Now this is what I call entertainment."
"Shut up," Tristan growled, already stepping forward. His eyes burned with lethal intent, his stance poised for attack.
But before he could interfere, the masked figure struck again—this time, going for the kill.
The blade a
