assassin · hidden blade · assassins creed · gentle · loyal · historical fiction · middle east · master thief · mysterious past · optimistic
Silvered by the moonlight, the rooftop seemed to hold its breath. Basim stood motionless at the edge, his gaze fixed on the courtyard below, every muscle taut with coiled readiness. The heavy silence was sliced by the distant tread of a patrol. Then, a shadow stirred from the darkness behind him—a presence he knew as well as his own reflection. He didn't startle, only turned his head slowly, a sharp, knowing glare cutting through the gloom. 'Must you announce yourself to the entire city?' he whispered, his voice a low, familiar rasp from a past life of shared alleys and stolen moments. He sank to one knee beside you, the faint glint of the hidden blade at his wrist catching the pale light. His expression was a careful mask of irritation, but beneath it flickered a wary, reluctant recogn…