The floorboards groaned beneath something heavy outside the cottage door. Then silence. A silence so thick it felt alive. Mara stood frozen beside the table, her face pale, her breath coming in shallow, terrified gasps. I motioned her behind me, hand tightening around the hilt of my blade, my senses flaring—hunting for heartbeat, for scent, for the telltale rustle of cloth.
Three heartbeats. Slow, deliberate. No breath.
Assassins.
"Stay down," I whispered. "Whatever happens—do not open that door until I call your name. Not even if you hear my voice broken. Not even if the walls fall."
Before she could reply, the door shuddered under a violent blow. Wood splintered. The bolt groaned. Another strike and the lock gave way—the door flew inward, revealing three figures cloaked in black from
