The forest was silent save for Lyerin's amused, measured steps. His boots crunched over the shattered terrain, their sound sharp and deliberate, like a metronome marking the beats of his impending words.
He strolled casually around the five assassins, each of them trembling, battered, and slumped in defeat. His ever-present smile was wider now, bordering on maniacal, his eyes gleaming with the predatory glee of someone completely in control.
His voice, calm but carrying an unsettling edge, broke the oppressive quiet.
"Do you know what makes a good assassin?" he began, his tone dripping with condescension, yet laced with an unsettling charm that demanded attention. He stopped, tilting his head and waiting, though he clearly didn't expect a reply.
The Younger Woman, Donovan, Theran, Miriam, and Mikhail flinched under his gaze, their silence the only answer they could muster.