Simple.

That was the word Arro would use to describe the job. The neighbourhood was simply boring, its basic houses nestled between a motley assortment of trees and bush. Perhaps the most eye-catching thing would have been the forest cemetery.

Shane was a simple young man. It was not a grand feat to make note of his daily routines. In fact, Arro felt rather insulted at how easy it was.

There were multiple opportune moments where Arro could strike. Shane spent most of his hours alone in the backroom of the arcade, fidgeting with rejected games or listening to something on his oversized blue headphones. He lived with his mother in the upstairs apartment. She worked out of town and arrived home late, which meant another hour or so for Shane to switch between endless TV channels and scroll social media.

Arro savoured his findings, these days of studying his target. It was possibly the most delicious part of the job, but the anonymity and the thrill of a blow well calculated were strong competitors. If only his clan could see him now – see the power they held, the kind of fear they could ignite in cities, and walk away from it Scot-free – they would not have banished him. They would have adopted it as a way of life.

He adjusted the hem of his dress caught on the bench he rested on, tossing a Greyleaf in response. A simple neighbourhood, he mused as he eyed the buildings shadowed by the forest. The sun was setting. The twigs in his hair bristled with slight impatience. He expected a call before long from the client. He expected to be in a bed tonight.

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His thoughts hopped about in his mind idly, his inner voice a musical of random words that occurred to it. Eyes closed, head tilted towards the sunset, he was in the middle of chanting the word “simple” in ascending octaves when his cell phone buzzed.

There was the message he waited for.

He was surprised nonetheless, to find the address of a curious ebony home with the appearance of a mansion. At first glance, he had no doubt a faery owned the place. The roof had too much character, too much flair to be the result of human architecture. A lonely post-box occupied the foreground of the picture, as if it were there solely to help the house blend in. Arro thought those efforts didn’t work.

Only place available, came the next message. Owner just put it up for rent. Booked you for three nights.

Arro sent a thumb’s up and turned his attention back to the neighbourhood. In the distance, he noted the blinking ultramarine lights of the teleports dropping off Shane’s mother. By the time she reached her home and closed the door, the sun had disappeared completely behind the trees.

Directly opposite, the House of Slyspore garnered Arro’s attention. With branches the color of ink circling around its four walls, it resembled an insect or an arachnid. He figured someone desperate must be living in it, desperate enough to delude themselves with rent.

Arro was already thinking of how he would spend this next pay-check, meaning he had already ticked this job off as complete despite his victim still being alive a few yards away from him.

This business was getting too easy.