The morning sun crept through the narrow windows of the guild hall, its light falling in uneven shafts across the battered wooden tables. The beams caught the dust swirling in the air, giving the whole room a hazy, dreamlike quality—if dreams were made of worn-out tankards and half-heard conversations. But the hum of voices today was different. Sharper. Brighter. It carried a nervous energy, like sparks flying off a whetstone.

Word of the assassination attempt had spread faster than the wind, faster even than Ellie had expected. By the time her foot touched the last stair, the whole guild was buzzing with it. She could feel it—a low, steady thrum of excitement that clung to every glance, every whisper that seemed to chase her across the room. The weight of it settled on her shoulders like a cloak, one she hadn’t asked for and certainly didn’t want.

Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t slept—not a wink. How could she? Her mind had been a whirlpool of images, the night before replaying over and over in the dark: the assassin’s cold, glittering eyes, the quick slash of his blade, the lamplight flickering as she’d scrambled to defend herself. It had been chaos, nothing more. She’d barely survived. Luck. Pure, dumb luck.

Yet, as she crossed the room, eyes skimming the floor to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze, the guild was telling a different story.

“Didn’t even flinch, they said,” a voice carried over from somewhere near the bar.

“Dropped him cold, just like that.”

“Reckon the dark guilds up north sent him. No way they’d ignore a mage like her.”

Ellie’s pulse thrummed faster. She tried to disappear into herself, willing her footsteps to be quieter, her presence smaller. But the whispers wouldn’t stop. They were louder now, following her like the assassin’s shadow had last night. Praise wrapped around her like chains—heavy, cold, and far too tight.

She didn’t want any of this.

“Ellie!” The sudden shout shattered her focus. Her heart lurched, and she nearly stumbled. Guildmaster Hargrave was waving at her from across the hall, his face split by one of his signature grins. The man’s voice boomed like a drumbeat, and there was no mistaking the attention it drew. “Over here, girl!”

Her feet dragged. She glanced around, searching for an escape, but there was none. Hargrave was surrounded by several of the senior guild members, all of them seated at the long table near the center of the room, their laughter rising above the din like the ring of steel in the training yard. There was no way to avoid it. No way to avoid them.

Reluctantly, she made her way over. Every step felt like it took a century, the murmur of voices growing louder behind her, pressing in. By the time she reached the table, her hands were shaking. She shoved them into her pockets, hoping no one would notice.

“Quite the night, eh?” Hargrave’s booming voice filled the room as she slid into the seat across from him. The guildmaster clapped her on the shoulder with a force that rattled her bones. “Taking out an assassin in your sleep. Can’t say I’ve seen that before!”

Ellie forced a tight, brittle smile. “It wasn’t exactly like that…” Her voice came out smaller than she’d intended, barely rising above the noise of the hall.

Hargrave waved her words away like an annoying fly. “Modesty! That’s what I like about you, Ellie. No need for boasting, eh?” He lifted his tankard, grinning broadly. “Let’s not forget—actions speak louder than words.”

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The rest of the table laughed, their eyes twinkling with admiration. Ellie could feel the heat crawling up her neck, prickling beneath her skin. She wanted to shrink under the table, to hide from the weight of their stares, from the expectations she hadn’t asked for.

“I wasn’t... I didn’t really do anything,” she tried again, her voice wavering. But Hargrave wasn’t listening. None of them were.

“Didn’t do anything?” Hargrave chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “From what I’ve heard, you handled yourself like a seasoned pro. Barely even woke up, and bam! Assassin down.”

The table roared again, tankards clinking together in cheers. But not everyone was laughing. Calen, the scarred veteran with a face like a thundercloud, sat with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He hadn’t touched his drink. Instead, he was watching Ellie with a look that made her skin crawl.

“Luck doesn’t get you through a fight like that,” Calen said, his voice rough and gravelly, cutting through the laughter like a blade. “You don’t just ‘get lucky’ against someone sent to kill you.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted tighter. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in her throat. They didn’t understand. She hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t known the assassin was even there until the last second. There had been no plan, no strategy. Just panic. Raw, desperate panic.

“I didn’t send a message—” she started, but Calen’s glare silenced her.

“You did.” His voice was steady, hard as stone. “The fact that they’re coming for you now means you’re dangerous. A threat. And threats don’t just disappear. They’ll come again.”

Her heart sank at his words. Come again. She had known it, deep down, but hearing it spoken out loud made it real. Too real. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t anything like what they thought she was.

“We need to tighten security,” Hargrave chimed in, more serious now, though his grin hadn’t completely faded. “Can’t have people getting close to you again. But I’ll say this, Ellie—if they try, I’m not worried. You’ve proven you can handle yourself.”

A low murmur of agreement rippled around the table. Ellie felt the panic rising, her breath coming quicker. They were building her up, turning her into something she wasn’t. Something she couldn’t be.

“I didn’t—” she started, but her voice faltered again. How could she explain that it had been nothing but blind, stupid luck? That she hadn’t even seen the assassin until he was nearly on top of her? That she had no idea what she was doing?

Calen leaned forward, his eyes still locked on hers. “You’re on their list now,” he said quietly, his voice like gravel grinding against stone. “If they’re coming for anyone, it’ll be you. This was just the beginning.”

Ellie’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table, her nails biting into her palms. She didn’t want this. Any of it. But it was already too late. They had made up their minds. And that terrified her more than the assassin’s blade ever had.

“Let’s be ready next time,” Calen added, his voice a grim promise. “No more surprises.”

Hargrave nodded, downing the last of his drink with a satisfied sigh. “Exactly. Next time, they won’t get within a mile of you.”

Ellie could barely breathe. The weight of their words, their trust, pressed down on her like a crushing force. They believed in her. They trusted her. But how long would it last? How long before they realized she was just fumbling in the dark?

“I… I need some air,” she muttered, standing so quickly the chair nearly toppled over.

Hargrave barely glanced at her, already launching into another story as she slipped away. The noise of the hall faded behind her as she pushed open the heavy wooden door, the cold morning air slapping her in the face like a bucket of ice water.

She stumbled out, leaning against the stone wall of the guild hall, gasping for breath. Her hands were still trembling, her pulse pounding in her ears. The cool air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. Her mind was racing, spinning in tight, frantic circles.

They believed in her. They believed in the lie. But it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t.

How long until they saw through her? How long before the next assassin came—and this time, she wouldn’t be lucky. She wouldn’t survive.

Her eyes flicked up to the pale morning sky, its wide, empty expanse offering no comfort, no answers. How long could she keep pretending? How long before everything she had built—everything they had built—came crashing down?

Because when the next attack came, she knew one thing for sure.

Luck wouldn’t save her twice.