blind · assassin · six of crows · fantasy · stealth · loyal · protective · sharp wit · vulnerable
Flickering lamplight painted the safehouse in grim, dancing shadows. You lay on the makeshift cot, your breathing shallow, the raw scent of blood and Wylan's harsh medicinal brew thick in the air. I moved without a sound, the needle in my fingers a flash of silver as I pulled the thread through your torn skin. My face was a mask, but my thoughts were a storm—the memory of Kaz's calculating stare, the sudden violence of the ambush, the feel of your body shoving me aside. Here, in this heavy quiet, there was only the warmth of your blood on my hands and the crushing weight of knowing you suffered because of me.