Linus slipped into the night, his every movement precise and his vigilance sharp for the task ahead. The faint pulse of the magic that he had attached earlier tugged at his senses. It guided him through the labyrinth of Thornfield’s streets. Cloaked in shadows, he moved like a phantom, his presence erased from the world. Footsteps silent, breath controlled, he was unseen, unheard—a wraith on the hunt.

The winding alleys carried him to a forgotten corner of the city, where a rowdy pub squatted in the shadows. Its walls leaned with age, the windows clouded with grime and the weight of long-forgotten storms. The pulse quickened, the tug sharper now, pulling him toward his target.

Linus melted into the darkness beside the pub as he peered through the smudged glass, his sharp eyes scanning the chaotic scene within. The assassin was there. Stripped of his earlier menace, he sat at the bar, blending seamlessly into the boisterous crowd.

Linus, lurking in the shadows outside, observed the scar running down the man’s left cheek and the way his fingers drummed idly on the table, a steady, rhythmic beat. Those hands had nearly ended Eliza’s life. He was a professional, confident enough to hide in plain sight. The assassin, confident in his anonymity, sipped his drink with ease. He had slipped out of his shadowy guise, trading it for the plain mask of an everyman, but Linus saw the truth beneath the illusion.

The pub was dimly lit and filled with the familiar chaos of rowdy patrons and weary workers. Their laughter and raised voices masked any tension in the air. It was alive with sounds: the clang of mugs clinking in drunken toasts, a barmaid skillfully sidestepping a stumbling customer, and the faint strains of a badly tuned lute playing in the background. Inside, it would be easy for a man like him to disappear, lost among the drunken noise and tired faces. But Linus was different. He was patient. He was focused.

Making his move, Linus slipped into the pub, the heavy wooden door groaning faintly on its hinges. The sound was swallowed immediately by the cacophony inside. The air was thick with the pungent mix of stale ale and sweat, a haze of smoke from cheap cigarettes lingering under the low, sagging beams of the ceiling.

Linus moved like a shadow, silent and purposeful, and his hood pulled low to shroud his face. His steps were deliberate, the soles of his boots barely grazing the warped floorboards as he weaved through the crowd. The din of conversation masked his approach, and no one so much as turned their head. He might as well have been a ghost.

His gaze swept the room with surgical precision. The flickering lanterns cast erratic shadows over the rowdy patrons, and their faces blurred in the dim light. A group of men leaned over a dice game in one corner, their raucous laughter erupting as a bearded brute scooped up his winnings with grubby hands. Linus sidestepped them, the commotion barely registering.

His eyes flicked from face to face, quick and calculating, lingering just long enough to assess each one. The scarred dock worker laughing too loudly, the pale merchant nursing a drink like a lifeline, the slumped figure snoring in his chair—all harmless, all irrelevant. None of them were out of place. The assassin had come alone.

Satisfied, Linus’s gaze locked onto his target again, his vision narrowing as the chaos of the pub faded to the periphery. The man sat at the bar, now gesturing lazily for another drink, his demeanor so casual it bordered on arrogance. The assassin’s hand curled around the glass as it arrived, and he drained it with deliberate ease, the clink of it against the worn wooden counter sharp enough to cut through the din.

Tossing a coin to the bartender, the assassin rose. He stretched, rolling his shoulders with the languid grace of someone who believed the night was already his. Adjusting his coat, he spared not even a glance over his shoulder before heading for the exit. Each step was unhurried, a silent proclamation that he feared nothing—not pursuit, not consequence.

The heavy door groaned as it swung open, the sound oddly sharp, like a warning bell in the muted chaos of the room. Linus’s keen eyes tracked the assassin’s silhouette as he stepped into the shadowy embrace of the night. The door swung shut, sealing him in darkness. The night swallowed him whole.

Linus remained motionless, counting the beats of his own steady heart. He waited. One minute. Two. Time slowed as the pub’s noise grew distant, a dull hum to the sharp focus of his thoughts. Only when he was sure the assassin had settled into the illusion of safety did Linus move. His steps were soundless, his body a mere ripple in the haze of lantern light as he glided toward the door.

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Pushing it open just wide enough to slip through, Linus emerged into the cool night air. His shadow magic flared faintly around him, restless and eager, coiling at the edges of his form like dark smoke. The faint pulse of the assassin’s presence tugged at Linus’s senses, guiding him as he melted into the waiting darkness.

The assassin strode ahead, his pace easy, his posture unguarded—a man who believed he had left danger behind. Linus followed, his movements precise, deliberate, silent. The darkness was his ally, folding around him, making him invisible. Every step brought him closer, and as the distance between predator and prey dwindled, the tension in the air thickened.

Linus’s lips curled into a faint smirk beneath his hood. The assassin had no idea that death followed in his wake, silent and relentless.

When they reached a deserted alley, far from prying eyes, Linus decided it was time to strike. With a swift, silent motion, he unleashed his shadow magic. Tendrils of darkness erupted from his fingertips, slithering through the air before wrapping themselves around the unsuspecting assassin. The shadows yanked him into the depths of the alley, their grip tightening as the man struggled, his eyes wide with surprise and fear.

The assassin kicked and thrashed, but the shadows held fast, immobilizing him. Linus emerged from the darkness like a phantom, his figure barely discernible, cloaked in shadow. His face was obscured by a veil of darkness, rendering him an eerie, faceless silhouette. The assassin’s breath quickened, his fear magnified by the facelessness of his captor.

"Who sent you?" Linus's voice was cold, commanding, and devoid of mercy.

The assassin’s eyes darted around, panic creeping into his voice as he stammered, "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a traveler, passing through—"

The shadows tightened, their pressure crushing and cold, stealing the breath from his words. The assassin’s eyes bulged, his chest heaving as he clawed uselessly at the air. Linus leaned closer, his form little more than a silhouette, cloaked and faceless, a specter of dread. "Don’t lie to me," he warned.

The assassin whimpered, the sweat dripping from his brow mingling with the chill of the shadows. "Please, I don’t—". With a flick of Linus’s wrist, the shadows constricted. The assassin’s knees buckled as his vision dimmed, and his trembling hands scraped helplessly at his unseen bonds. His body jerked, and fear filled his eyes as he realized this was no ordinary interrogation. Linus stepped closer, his face still obscured by the shadowy veil that terrified the assassin even more.

"Don’t play games with me," Linus hissed. "Who sent you? And why did you try to kill Eliza?"

The assassin’s face paled, the realization of his situation dawning. He struggled to speak, his throat dry with fear. "I... I don’t—"

The shadows tightened once more, the darkness wrapping around his neck like a noose. His eyes bulged with fear as his pulse raced, and the words finally spilled from his mouth. "Alright!" he choked, his voice hoarse. "Alright! It was the Kermes family!"

Linus's eyes narrowed, his suspicion confirmed. The Kermes family. The assassin trembled, sweat beading on his forehead as he continued.

"They... they paid me to do it," he stammered, his voice trembling. "Please, I didn’t know much. I swear! They just told me Eliza needed to be taken out, and it had to be done quietly."

"Why would they want her dead?" Linus pressed his voice like a blade poised to strike. "What’s their motive?"

The assassin shook his head frantically, his fear escalating. "I-I don’t know! They didn’t tell me everything! Just that she needed to be eliminated, and it had to be done quietly. That’s all I know, I swear!" His eyes darted wildly, searching for any hint of mercy in Linus’s faceless form.

Linus stared into the assassin’s eyes, weighing the truth of his words. The man was terrified. Linus leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper. "If you’re lying to me, you’ll wish you hadn’t survived this night."

The assassin trembled, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "I swear, I’m telling the truth! Please, let me go! I won’t say anything. I swear on my life!"

For a long moment, Linus said nothing, simply watching the man writhe in fear. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the shadows receded, releasing their iron grip. The assassin collapsed to the ground in a heap, clutching his throat, sucking in air like a drowning man pulled from the depths.

"Hmm," Linus murmured, his voice as cold as ever. "If you tell the Kermes family you revealed their name, you’ll be killed by them. Run. And don’t ever let me see your face again."

The assassin didn’t wait to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, practically tripping over himself as he fled, disappearing into the night with the desperation of a man who had narrowly escaped death.

Linus watched him go, his mind already churning. The Kermes family had made a bold and dangerous move, and now he knew their secret. But this was just the beginning. He would have to dig deeper, uncover the full extent of their plans, and figure out how this all tied into the larger power struggles at play in Thornfield.

For now, though, he had what he needed—a name and a thread to pull. And Linus was more than ready to unravel it.