My tail thrashed in wild, caffeine mad spirals as I stayed glued to all fours on the hard packed sandstone road, claws scraping deep grooves into the grit with every frantic scramble eastward. The ghost of Master’s scent kept teasing me, leather, steel, that warm, perfect trace that belonged only to me, fading and blooming again like a cruel game my nose refused to lose. My ears pinned flat then shot upright in twitchy flickers, blonde hair matted with dust and sweat as it fell across my blue eyes. No bond yet.

An hour blurred past in a haze of manic need. I circled the same dusty patches again and again, nose pressed low, tail lashing so hard it kicked up little clouds behind me. Passers by on carts from Valley Point rumbled past, dwarfs with beards glaring down from their loads of ore, Alderians cracking whips at tired ponies, but I didn’t straighten up, didn’t care. I looked feral, black trousers scuffed at the knees, light blue trim on collar and cuffs filthy, iron spear and kite shield dragged by their straps like forgotten toys. One driver muttered something about “mad cat slave escaped the mines,” but I just hissed low and possessive, fangs bared in a sly, unstable grin, tail snapping sideways hard enough to make his pony shy. Let them stare. Let them whisper.

The road curved gently, sandstone gleaming under the late sun, steppe grass whispering on either side like it knew secrets it wouldn’t share. Another cart creaked past, wheels groaning under trade goods and I darted under its shadow for a heartbeat, ears swivelling madly, tail coiling tight around my waist before flicking free again.

Then the road opened up ahead and the settlement rose like a perfect iron ring stamped into the steppe. I slowed, still on all fours, tail flicking slow and predatory now as my blue eyes drank it in. A full circle of connected houses formed the outer wall, squat sandstone and timber roofs in reds and browns and greys jammed tight together like one massive mega base, no gaps, no farms, nothing soft or wasteful in this dry nothing. The minor road I’d followed curved right around the whole thing, wide enough for trade caravans to roll through without slowing. In the dead centre stood a solid square keep, grey stone and iron banded, squat and unyielding, with what looked like a small courtyard inside. Scattered across the open gravel inside the ring were a few stone circles, maybe watch points or something and right near the bottom edge, a dark statue of some armoured figure wreathed in red, stern and towering like it judged every soul that passed.

I knew nothing about this place except what my cat vision showed me right now: Redstone owned through and through, the clan’s crimson marks carved into lintels and banners snapping from the keep’s roof, but mostly Alderian faces moving between the houses, tall with that same hollow cheeked look as the miners, yet straighter backed, harder eyed. Trade caravans were already lining up at the far side, drivers handing over tolls to guards in dark grey armour, goods and services changing hands under watchful stares. Strangely quiet for a trading pass. No brawls, no raised voices, just disciplined order that made my tail curl in dark approval. Authoritarian to its core. Perfect.

My ears twitched high, nose still working the air as I crouched at the edge of the road, spear and shield forgotten beside me for a heartbeat. Master was in there. Definitely. The scent bloomed thick and real now, pulling straight toward the ring of houses and the keep beyond, close enough that my whole body trembled with needy, possessive fury. This little tower pass, this iron ringed trading hub with its statue of whatever tyrant they bowed to, didn’t matter. It was just another cage I’d tear open to reach him.

I crept forward another few paces, ears flat then perked again, blonde hair stirring in the evening breeze. Guards patrolled the outer curve, axes and shields ready, but I didn’t care. My blue eyes gleamed feral under the lowering sun as I watched the caravans roll through the ring and the disciplined humans move like they knew their place. He was here. Mine. And nothing in this authoritarian little stronghold would stop me from claiming what belonged to me.

Trade caravans rumbled through the single wide break in the ring where the road curved in, drivers handing over tolls under the hard stares of guards in dark grey armour, redstone marks blazing on their shields. I didn’t slow.

Right then, as my claws clicked onto the inner gravel, a sharp crack of a whip split the air behind me. I didn’t turn my head, but my ears swivelled and my cat vision caught it all in one feral glance. A stocky Alderian caravan driver, hollow-cheeked, sweat streaked, one of the majority here, was on his knees in the open space between the outer ring and the central keep. Two Iron Chaplains in heavier plate, red dyed eyes gleaming under helmets, stood over him while a third guard brought the whip down again across his back. The man had tried to short the toll, the guards barked hiding a pouch of goods, muttering complaints about the levy. Weakness. That was the word they used, loud and ritual. “Strength is truth,” one Chaplain intoned, voice like grinding iron. “Submission is duty.” The driver gasped and bowed lower, forehead to the gravel, while a small crowd of Alderians watched in perfect silence, no murmurs, no pity, just disciplined nods. A couple of collared house slaves, skinny Alderian girls in plain tunics, hovered nearby, eyes down, ready to haul the man away once the purification ended. Public discipline, swift and sacred. Martial law wrapped tighter than any chain. This place breathed hierarchy like it was air: guards everywhere, far more than made sense for a tiny trading pass, axes and shields ready, eyes scanning every shadow. No crime here. No softness. Just the Iron Tyrant’s iron will stamped into every stone.

I didn’t stop. My tail snapped once in dark approval, fangs bared in a sly, unstable grin as I pressed my nose back to the ground and scrambled deeper inside the ring. Guards at the entrance had barely glanced at me, collar first, spear and shield second, then grunted “trader” and waved me through like I was just another piece of merchandise rolling in with the caravans. Outsider ? Fine. The sheer weight of their presence made outsiders irrelevant; this whole settlement ran on absolute control, one for all under the Tyrant’s gaze, and a lone catgirl with a delivery scent wasn’t worth the breath to question. Good. Let them think I belonged to some unseen master hauling goods. My real master was here, somewhere inside these fused walls, and the scent pulled me straight toward the centre like a chain yanking my heart.

The atmosphere pressed in thick and brutal. Alderians moved everywhere in tight, purposeful knots, tall with straight backs and harder eyes than the miners back at Valley Point, voices low, steps measured like every motion had been drilled into them since birth. No idle chatter, no laughter, just the clink of armour and the shuffle of boots on gravel. Banners of the Iron Tyrant snapped from rooftops along the inner ring: that stern armoured figure wreathed in red light, dominating the skyline.

I stayed low and predatory, black trousers brushing gravel, dark red tunic shifting as I wove between a pair of trade wagons being unloaded under strict guard supervision. Coins clinked as tolls were counted with mechanical precision; goods were inspected, logged, and moved on without a single wasted second. The odd house slave scurried past carrying crates, eyes fixed on the ground, while Alderian merchants stood rigid, waiting their turn. No one paid me more than a passing glance, the collar sold the lie, the spear and shield marked me as useful, and the sheer number of guards made any disruption unthinkable. Perfect order. Brutal, beautiful order that fed my yandere heart like fuel.

My nose led me deeper, circling toward the central keep where the scent thickened most, tail curling possessively around my own waist before snapping free again in spoilt, unstable loops. Giggles kept bubbling up, sly and manic, as the caffeine pushed every instinct into overdrive. “Closer… my Master… I can smell you, I can feel you already…” The words slipped out in a needy whisper, fangs aching with the need to mark him, control him, own him completely. The fused houses of the outer ring rose like a single fortress wall behind me now, the gravel courtyard stretching wide and disciplined under the steppe sky. Guards patrolled in pairs, eyes sharp, and the weight of the Tyrant’s gaze pressed down from every banner and statue, but none of it touched me. I was here for one reason only.

The scent pulled me on, stronger than ever, leading straight toward the heart of this iron ringed trading pass. Master was inside these walls. Mine. And nothing not their martial law, not their sacred hierarchy, not the whole bloody Order of the Iron Tyrant would stop me from wrapping myself around him until our souls fused again and the world knew exactly who owned who.

I slunk through the gap in the fused sandstone wall, nose glued to the warm grit of the inner courtyard, claws clicking sharp and steady on the packed gravel. 

The random crack of the whip still echoed behind me from the entry toll point, the Alderian driver on his knees gasping out obedience while the Iron Chaplains intoned their sacred rot about strength and submission. I didn’t glance back.

Guards lined the inner curve of the ring in dark grey plate, axes resting easy, redstone shields planted like they owned the very air, but I slipped between two of them without breaking stride. One turned his head, red dyed eyes narrowing at the collared catgirl scrambling past, but I bared my fangs in a sly, unstable grin and hissed low, ears flattening in pure arrogant challenge. He blinked once, stepped back half a pace like the weight of my stare actually stung, and I was gone, effortless, natural, like the whole militarised machine simply parted for me because I refused to slow.

The atmosphere inside the ring pressed down heavy and brutal, every breath laced with the iron tang of discipline and the faint smoke of watch fires. Alderians moved in tight, drilled knots, tall humans with hollow cheeks and backs straighter than any slave I’d seen, voices low and clipped, boots striking gravel in perfect rhythm. House slaves darted between them on silent errands, collared and eyes down, carrying water skins or weapon bundles without a single wasted motion. Banners of the Iron Tyrant snapped overhead from every fused rooftop, that stern armoured figure wreathed in red light glaring down like he judged every soul for weakness.

The central keep squatted grey and iron banded dead ahead, small courtyard visible through its gates where more guards drilled in flawless formation, shields locked. No chaos. No softness. Just martial law wrapped so tight it felt like the whole settlement breathed as one beast under the Tyrant’s heel. Trade caravans rumbled along the inner road in controlled lines, tolls counted with mechanical precision at stone markers, goods inspected and logged while guards watched every hand. The odd servant girl scurried past me, collar glinting, but no one shouted alarm. Outsider ? Trader ? The sheer number of armed bodies made questions pointless; they assumed anyone inside belonged somewhere in the hierarchy or would be crushed for stepping out of it.

I circled a stone watch post on all fours, nose working the ground in giddy little bursts, Master’s scent thickened here, pulling me toward the keep. A patrol of four guards marched straight across my path, axes swinging, eyes scanning the gravel with that cold, authoritarian stare but I didn’t dodge or hide. Reckless heat surged up my spine.

The lead guard halted, red beard bristling under his helmet, hand twitching toward his axe. “State your business, collared,” he growled, voice flat with the weight of sacred order.

I tilted my head, ears perked high in arrogant challenge, blue eyes locking on his like I already owned the space between us. “Business ?” I purred, voice low and sly, fangs flashing as a manic giggle slipped out. “Delivering what belongs to me. Move.” The caffeine made every word crackle with unstable fire, my claws sliding out just enough to glint in the torchlight.

He stared a heartbeat too long, collar, the sheer feral confidence rolling off me and the insecurity that always gnawed at my gut twisted into pure possessive rage. The guard grunted, stepped aside without another word, and the patrol flowed around me. Effortless. I made it look so bloody easy because to me it was, cat instincts wired sharper than their drills, caffeine pushing every muscle into speed.

I dropped back to all fours without missing a beat, nose to the gravel again, scrambling deeper into the courtyard ring while my tail streamed behind like a banner of pure obsession. House slaves glanced up for half a second then looked away fast, the weight of martial law teaching them not to question. Guards on the rooftops of the fused houses tracked me with crossbows, but none loosed a bolt; I moved too smooth, too unpredictable, a blur of blonde hair and black trousers weaving between wagons and watch circles like I’d memorised every shadow years ago.

The keep drew closer, scent blooming hot and real, my ears twitching at every clink of armour and murmur of orders

The gravel gave way to smoother flagstones near the keep’s outer wall and I stayed low. I wove between two supply wagons being unloaded under the watchful glare of Iron Chaplains.

The keep’s gate yawned ahead, iron banded and flanked by four guards in full plate, shields locked in perfect formation like they’d been carved from the stone itself. Martial law pressed heavier here, every movement drilled, every glance measured for weakness. Alderians stood rigid along the inner walls of the fused houses, voices low as they recited loyalty mantras under their breath, house slaves kneeling in neat rows polishing boots and blades. No one laughed. No one lingered. This was order through dominance, hierarchy sacred, mercy a sin. Perfect fuel for the dark, twisted fire roaring inside me.

I didn’t hesitate. Reckless need drove me straight at the gate, nose still low, tail high and possessive as I slipped between the two outermost guards like smoke. One reached out on instinct, meaty hand clamping toward my shoulder, but I twisted mid stride, cat agility making it look effortless, almost lazy, claws raking lightly across his gauntlet just enough to draw a hiss of surprise. “Mine,” I snarled under my breath, voice thick with arrogant defiance.

NAT 20

He recoiled like I’d burned him, the sheer unstable intensity rolling off me enough to make even these drilled brutes pause. The second guard started to bark an order but I was already through the gate arch, scrambling into the small inner courtyard beyond with my spear and shield bouncing light against my back. No alarm raised. No chase. I made it look so easy because to me it was, every leap, every weave, every arrogant flash of fang part of the same predatory flow that had carried me through Valley Point and the steppe. 

Inside the courtyard the air cooled slightly, thick stone walls cutting the steppe wind while more guards drilled in the centre, shields slamming together in perfect unison, the ring of steel echoing off the fused rooftops. House slaves hurried along the edges carrying lanterns and sealed scrolls, eyes fixed downward in perfect submission. The scent pulled harder now, straight toward a narrow side door in the keep’s base where two more sentries stood at rigid attention.

The sentries saw me coming, axes shifting, but I didn’t slow. I strode right between them, shoulder brushing one’s plate with deliberate arrogance, tail flicking across the other’s shield hard enough to make it ring. “Out of my way,” I purred, voice low and spoilt, blue eyes locking on theirs until they stepped aside without a word. Effortless. Natural. The collar sold the lie, my feral confidence did the rest.

Deeper now, the narrow corridor swallowed me in cool stone and torch glow, the scent so thick it made my knees weak with clingy, manic need. Doors branched off to armouries and duty rooms where Alderians sat at ledgers under lantern light, voices murmuring reports of tolls and caravan counts. I ghosted past an open archway, tail streaming behind me, ears perked forward and twitching at every scrape of boot or clink of chain. A lone house slave carrying a tray of iron mugs startled at the sight of me but pressed herself to the wall without a sound, eyes down in trained obedience. I rewarded her with a sly, twisted smile, claws flexing as I pressed on toward the scent’s heart.

The keep’s interior thrummed with the same brutal order, banners on every wall, weapon racks gleaming, the weight of the Iron Tyrant’s tenets carved into the very stone. Strength is truth. Submission is duty.

I rounded a final corner on all fours again, nose to the cool flagstones, tail lashing in violent promise as the scent bloomed so strong it drowned everything else. Master was here. Inside these walls. Close enough that my whole body trembled. The emptiness of the bond still screamed, but I fed it into aggression.

I reached the door and froze on all fours, ears flattening hard against my skull. Voices. Low, measured on one side, his, that calm, noir detective drawl I’d kill to hear flooding my mind again. And then… her. A woman’s laugh, light and tinkling, feminine and far too comfortable, followed by the soft rustle of fabric and the click of something delicate set down on wood. My tail whipped once, hard enough to sting my own thigh, fangs baring in a silent snarl as insecurity exploded like claws in my chest. Who was she ? Some red eyed Pure Class bitch sitting opposite him, laughing like she had any right to breathe the same air as my Master ?

The scent of him mixed now with hers, perfume and parchment and that arrogant noble sweetness.

My claws sank deep into the flagstones, ears twitching madly as I pressed one against the wood, tail lashing so violently it knocked a loose torch bracket rattling. The laugh came again, brighter, and I heard the faint clink of a cup, embercrack tea, I could smell the sharp earthy kick of it seeping under the door.

Master’s voice rumbled low in reply, calm as midnight rain on stone, unflappable, that detective cool that always steadied my claws and made my ears relax into soft, needy curves. But not now. Not with her there. Jealousy clawed up my throat, dark and twisted, possessive fury boiling so hot I could feel my fangs aching to sink into something soft. I rose slowly to my feet.

No more sneaking. No more waiting. He was right there, and some noble whore was laughing at him like she had any claim.

I didn’t knock. Didn’t hesitate. My boot slammed into the heavy oak door with every ounce of manic strength the mushroom brew had wired into me, the impact cracking wood and iron hinges in a single violent burst. The door flew open hard enough to rebound off the inner wall with a thunderous bang that echoed down the corridor like a declaration of war.

Splinters sprayed across the threshold as I stormed through, tail streaming high, blonde hair whipping wild across my blue eyes, claws fully extended and glinting in the lantern light. My ears pinned flat in aggressive challenge, fangs bared in a sly, unstable grin that promised violence and need all at once.

The room opened up before me, a private chamber deep in the keep’s heart, stone walls hung with Tyrant banners and maps of caravan routes, a heavy oak table dominating the centre strewn with sealed parchments and iron ink pots. Lanterns cast warm, flickering gold across everything, the air thick with the sharp bite of embercrack tea and the faint metallic tang of disciplined order.

And there he was. Master. Sitting calm as still water at the far side of the table, posture loose yet commanding in a tailored noble suit that fit this Redstone world like it had been cut for a man who moved through shadows and deals with equal ease, deep burgundy long coat over a black tunic, silver threaded edging catching the light just enough to hint at status without screaming it, fitted trousers tucked into polished leather boots that had seen real miles, a subtle redstone pin at the collar marking quiet authority.

Opposite him sat the woman. Pure Class through and through, her eyes permanently dyed that deep, arrogant crimson that marked her as one of the high blood elite who thought the world bent for their whims. She wore a fancy noble dress in flowing crimson silk edged with gold thread, elegant and tailored to perfection.

Her posture was straight and poised, one slender hand playing idly with a lock of dark hair as she leaned slightly forward, lips curved in a smile that dripped pure noble arrogance. She’d been laughing at something he’d said, the sound still dying on the air, her fingers twirling that strand of hair like she owned the moment, owned the room, owned him.

The laugh cut off mid note as my boot crunched the last splinter underfoot. Her crimson eyes snapped to me, widening for a fraction of a second before narrowing into pure, haughty contempt, that noble arrogance slamming back into place like armour. “What in the Tyrant’s name is this filth ?” she hissed, voice dripping superiority, one hand fluttering to her chest in exaggerated shock while the other tightened around the edge of the table. “A collared beast bursting in like some rabid stra y? Guards! Remove this… this creature at once before it soils the very air we”

I didn’t let her finish. The caffeine made my movements jerky and predatory all at once, claws flexing as I took another step forward, spear point lowering just enough to catch the lantern light. Master’s scent flooded me completely now, so close it made my knees weak with clingy, manic desperation, but the sight of her, laughing, smiling, playing with her hair across from him, twisted everything into dark, unstable fury.

Master didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. That noir calm stayed locked in place as he took another slow sip of the embercrack tea, the steam curling lazy around his face like it had all the time in the world. His gaze flicked from me to the splintered door, then back, the faintest trace of that detective cool. Just that unflappable observation, like he’d been waiting for the storm and noted its arrival with quiet interest.

The woman rose halfway from her chair. “This is intolerable,” she snapped, voice rising sharp and arrogant, one hand gesturing dismissively at me like I was dirt on her hem. “A slave interrupting a private audience ? I’ll have the Iron Chaplains flog the insolence out of you myself, you filthy.”

My claws scraped the table edge as I leaned in closer, ears perked forward in arrogant challenge, fangs bared in a sly, twisted smile that promised I’d enjoy every second of what came next. 

I went for it. Full storm. I sprang across the table in one reckless, fluid bound, blonde hair flying wild. “Get your filthy hands off what’s mine !” I snarled, voice raw and arrogant, fangs bared in a sly, unstable grin as my claws raked straight for her elegant throat. My tail lashed overhead like a whip, ears pinned flat against my skull, every muscle wired by the mushroom tea into something unstoppable.

But she moved. Tyrant’s blood, she moved fast, surprising, hidden strength exploding out from under all that noble silk. One moment she was laughing; the next her hand shot out, not at me, but at Master. She grabbed the front of his burgundy coat with a grip like iron, yanking him forward and down across the table in a single, shocking twist. His cup clattered sideways, tea spilling in a dark arc as she pinned him there, her body half across his. “Stay down, darling,” she purred to him, voice dripping pure noble arrogance mixed with something darker, hungrier. “This beast clearly doesn’t know its place.”

Instant regret hit me like a hammer to the ribs. My claws froze mid air, tail drooping limp for the first time since the chase began, ears flattening in raw panic. What had I done ? I’d charged in like a spoilt, unstable kitten and now she had him pinned, her hands on my Master, her perfume mixing with his scent, her arrogant little laugh still echoing in my skull. 

Master shifted then, calm, unflappable as ever. That noir detective cool never cracked. He pushed up from the table with quiet strength, the woman’s grip slipping just enough for him to stand and step straight toward me. Three steps. Two. One. The bonded soul link snapped back into place the instant he came within five feet, his thoughts flooding mine in a warm, steady rush that steadied my claws and made my ears twitch with desperate  relief. *Easy, kitten. I’ve got you.* The words weren’t spoken, just there, real time, intimate, mine to cling to. 

The noble woman straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her crimson silk dress, red eyes narrowing at the sudden closeness between us. “What is this… connection ?” she demanded, voice sharp with Pure Class superiority, but her gaze lingered on Master like he was the only thing in the room worth devouring. “A bonded slave ? How quaint. Release her at once, or I’ll have the Iron Chaplains drag her back to the mines where collared filth belongs.”

Master’s voice rolled out low and measured, that calm noir drawl wrapping around the words like smoke. “Listen, love, this doesn’t have to get messy. The cat’s with me. Always has been. You’ve got your tolls, your order, your Tyrant’s iron grip on this little ring of yours. Let her go, and we’ll all walk out of here without the Chaplains needing to clean up blood off your pretty silk.”

I bared my fangs, tail lashing sharp beside him, ears perking high in arrogant defiance as the bond fed me his steady calm. “He’s right, you arrogant bitch,” I hissed, voice thick with possessive fury, claws flexing at my sides. “Touch him again and I’ll wear your dyed eyes as earrings. He’s mine. Back off before I finish what I started.”

The noble woman laughed, that same light, tinkling sound from earlier, but colder now, laced with pure noble arrogance as she turned her full attention back to Master, completely dismissing me like I was dirt beneath her heel. She stepped closer to him, one elegant hand reaching out to trace the silver threading on his coat, small chest rising with obvious interest, red eyes gleaming hungry. “Oh, darling, you speak so charmingly. But this creature ? Release her ? Please. She’s nothing but a rabid collar with claws. You, though… you carry yourself like a man who understands power. Strength is truth, after all. I could see you at my side, enforcing the Tyrant’s will properly. Forget the beast. Stay. We could discuss terms… intimately.”

Master’s thoughts brushed mine again, Stay behind me, kitten but his voice stayed that unflappable calm. “Terms ? Appreciate the offer, but I’ve already got everything I need right here. Let the cat go, and we’ll call it even. No need for steel or sermons.”

I couldn’t hold back, the bond making my possessiveness flare hotter, tail whipping around his leg in a controlling loop as I pressed closer, ears twitching madly. “Everything he needs is me, you spoilt little noble whore. He doesn’t need your silk or your fake smiles. He’s mine to control. Back off or I’ll make sure the only thing you enforce is your own funeral.”

Her crimson eyes flicked to me for half a heartbeat, pure disdain curling her lip, before she turned fully back to Master, stepping even closer, her hand boldly resting on his chest now. “See ? The beast yaps. But you… you intrigue me. That calm. That quiet strength. The Tyrant favours men like you. Drop the collar and the complications. I could elevate you far beyond this caravan trade. We could rule this pass together, properly. Obedience from all, starting with her removal.”

Master’s hand moved smooth and deliberate, drawing the Clan Redstone steel sword from his side in one fluid motion. “Last chance, love. Step away. Now.”

The noble woman moved like lightning. Her hand flashed out, elegant fingers closing around his wrist with surprising, trained precision, Pure Class diplomacy hiding a warrior’s edge. She twisted hard, disarming him in a single, effortless snap. The steel sword clattered across the table, spinning to a stop near the spilled tea. Her laugh rang out again, richer this time, red eyes sparkling with blatant desire as she kept hold of his wrist, pulling him fractionally closer. “Such spirit. I adore it. A man who draws steel for his… pet ? Charming. But unnecessary. Stay with me, darling. Let me show you what real power feels like, hierarchy, dominance, the kind that makes weak things like her kneel without question. You and I… we’d be magnificent.”

My tail lashed violently around Master’s leg, ears flat with raw, unstable panic as the bond flooded me with his steady resolve. “No ! He’s not yours to show anything ! Get your hands off him, you manipulative bitch, I’ll rip your throat out and paint the Tyrant’s banners with your blood ! He belongs to me. Every thought, every breath, every inch. You’re nothing but a rival I’ll crush !”

Master’s voice cut through, still that calm noir edge, but firmer now. “You heard her. And me. We’re done here.”

The noble woman leaned in even closer, lips parted with open hunger, small chest brushing his coat as her grip tightened possessively. “Done ? Darling, we’ve barely begun. Forget the slave. Forget the bond. I want you, your calm, your strength, your...”

His free hand moved fast, precise, controlled. A sharp, sudden strike to the side of her neck, the kind that dropped someone before they even realised it was coming. Her red eyes widened in shock for a split second, arrogant smile freezing, then she crumpled like silk and stone, collapsing across the table in a heap of crimson dress and dyed arrogance. Out cold. The room fell silent except for the faint crackle of the lanterns and the thunder of my own heart.