Chapter 12: Blood on Her Hands

The night was still, thick with the promise of rain. Clouds hung low over the city of Halthor, and the distant rumble of thunder vibrated through the streets. Nyra walked silently beside Saris, her steps light, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. She knew this would be one of the last jobs she would take with Saris—one last score to close the chapter of her life as a thief. After this, she would be done with petty crime. She had the sword now. She had Braxton's training.

But tonight, she was still Nyra the thief.

"You've gone soft," Saris muttered as they slipped into an alleyway, the shadows swallowing them. "I can see it in your eyes. All this sword training's got you thinking you're better than the rest of us, huh?"

Nyra clenched her jaw, but said nothing. Saris was always needling her these days, always trying to drag her back down into the life she was so desperately trying to leave behind. But she owed Saris. For years, the old thief had raised her, fed her, kept her alive when the streets would have swallowed her whole. And this job—it was supposed to be quick. Simple.

"I haven't gone soft," Nyra said quietly, her eyes scanning the alley. "Let's just get this done."

Saris huffed but didn't press further. She led Nyra through the winding backstreets until they reached the edge of the merchant district. The target was a small, nondescript warehouse tucked between two larger buildings, barely visible in the dark. From the outside, it looked abandoned, but Nyra knew better. Saris had made it clear that the place was well-guarded—mercenaries, hired swords, men who were paid to kill on sight.

"What's inside again?" Nyra whispered, her eyes darting across the street.

"Documents," Saris replied. "Ledgers, contracts. Proof of who's running money for the Empire in this part of the city. People would pay good coin to get their hands on it."

Nyra frowned. "So, this isn't about stealing?"

Saris gave her a sidelong glance. "Stealing's one thing. But blackmail? That's real money."

Nyra's stomach churned. She hadn't realized how deep this job went. Blackmailing Imperial traders wasn't just dangerous—it was suicidal. The Empire didn't take kindly to being manipulated, and if they found out who had their ledgers…

"Are you sure about this?" Nyra asked, her voice low.

Saris shrugged. "Coin's coin, girl. Don't get cold feet now."

Nyra clenched her fists, the unease building in her gut. She wasn't sure why this job felt different. She had done countless heists before—slipping through windows, picking locks, stealing purses. But something about tonight felt wrong, like the air was too thick, the night too quiet.

Still, she had made a promise to Saris. One last job. Then she could walk away.

Nyra followed Saris around the back of the warehouse, moving silently through the shadows. They reached a narrow side door, the lock old and rusted. Saris knelt down, pulling a set of picks from her belt, and set to work. Nyra kept watch, her eyes darting across the alley, every shadow a potential threat.

The lock clicked, and Saris pushed the door open, slipping inside without a word. Nyra followed, her heart pounding in her chest.

Inside, the warehouse was dark, the only light coming from faint cracks in the boarded-up windows. Stacks of crates filled the space, and the air smelled of dust and damp wood. Somewhere in the back of the warehouse, Nyra could hear the low murmur of voices.

"There," Saris whispered, nodding toward a small office in the corner. "That's where they keep the ledgers. We grab them and get out."

Nyra nodded, her grip tightening on the dagger she had tucked into her belt. The dagger was a gift from Braxton and she had brought the dagger out of habit, but now, as they moved deeper into the warehouse, she found herself gripping it harder. Something felt wrong.

As they neared the office, the voices grew louder. Nyra could make out the sound of two men talking, their voices gruff, relaxed. Guards.

"We'll have to take them out," Saris whispered, her eyes flicking toward Nyra. "You good with that?"

Nyra hesitated. Take them out? She had expected to slip in, grab the ledgers, and leave without being seen. But now Saris was suggesting they confront the guards directly.

"Saris…" Nyra began, but the old thief cut her off.

"They won't see it coming," Saris said. "You get the one on the left, I'll take the right. Quiet and quick."

Nyra swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her ears. She hadn't expected to fight tonight, hadn't expected to confront anyone. She thought this would be another easy job—steal and disappear. But Saris was looking at her with that cold, calculating gaze, and Nyra knew there was no turning back now.

"Fine," Nyra muttered, drawing her dagger. "But no killing."

Saris gave her a sharp look. "If they don't go down easy, we do what we have to."

Nyra said nothing, her stomach twisting with unease.

They crept closer, the voices of the guards growing clearer.

"...won't be back till morning," one of the men was saying, his voice muffled. "We got the night."

The other guard laughed, the sound low and lazy. "Good. Means I can sleep."

Nyra took a deep breath, her hand steady on her dagger. She could do this. She had trained with Braxton for weeks, learning how to fight, how to move. This wasn't any different.

But as she rounded the corner and saw the two men standing by the office door, something shifted in her chest. These weren't faceless enemies. They were just men—mercenaries, yes, but human. Flesh and blood. And they had no idea she was there, no idea what was coming.

Saris moved first, slipping up behind the guard on the right and slamming her dagger into his neck. The man gurgled, his eyes wide with shock, before crumpling to the floor in a heap.

Nyra froze.

The second guard turned, his eyes widening as he saw his companion collapse, blood pooling on the floor. His hand flew to his sword, but Nyra was faster. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, and she lunged forward, her dagger slicing through the air.

But the man was quick, too quick. He blocked her strike, his sword clanging against her dagger with a force that rattled her bones. Nyra stumbled back, her heart pounding in her throat.

"Thief!" the man roared, swinging his sword in a wide arc.

Nyra ducked, barely avoiding the blade. Her mind was racing, her body moving on instinct. This wasn't like the controlled sparring with Braxton. This was chaos—raw, violent chaos. And if she didn't move fast, she would die.

The man swung again, his sword aimed at her head, but Nyra darted to the side, slashing at his arm with her dagger. She felt the blade connect, felt the sickening give of flesh as her dagger bit into his skin.

The man howled in pain, stumbling back. Blood poured from the gash in his arm, his sword faltering in his grip. Nyra pressed forward, her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn't stop now. If she didn't end this, he would kill her.

"Do it!" Saris hissed from behind her, her voice sharp. "Finish him!"

Nyra hesitated. The guard was stumbling, his sword slipping from his grasp. He wasn't a threat anymore. She didn't have to kill him. She could walk away.

But then the man's eyes locked on hers, wild with pain and rage, and Nyra knew—if she didn't kill him, he would never stop. He would come after her, after Saris. He would kill them both.

Her hand tightened on the dagger.

In one swift motion, she plunged the blade into his chest.

The man's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent gasp. Nyra felt the sickening warmth of blood on her hands, felt the man's body shudder beneath her grip. For a moment, everything was silent. The warehouse, the city, the whole world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, slowly, the man crumpled to the floor.

Nyra stared down at him, her chest heaving, her mind numb. Blood pooled around his body, dark and sticky, the metallic scent filling her lungs. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight—from the life that had just been snuffed out by her own hand.

She had killed him.

Her first kill.