The card had been burning a hole in Ishan's jacket pocket all day.
He'd kept his promise — didn't open it, didn't so much as run his thumb over the wax seal. But the weight of it followed him like a shadow.
By the time the city clock struck midnight, the streets were hushed and silvered under the moon. Ishan approached the address Amina had sent earlier: an old cliffside pavilion that had been abandoned for years. The place looked half-eaten by time — columns chipped, the once-proud roof now fractured, sea wind howling through its bones.
But there was light inside.
A single lantern swayed gently in the breeze, hanging from a hook by the pavilion's center. And there, leaning casually against the stone balustrade, was Amina Royce. The emerald from last night was gone; tonight, she wore black — not the ceremonial kind, but the sort that made her blend into shadows.
"You came," she murmured, pushing away from the railing.
"You didn't give me much of a choice," Ishan said, stepping closer. "What's this about?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she held out her hand. "The card."
He passed it to her, and she broke the seal with a swift motion, letting the paper unfold in the wind. On it, in sharp ink strokes, was a single phrase:
*Trust is proven in the dark.*
Before he could ask, she moved — swift as a strike — and the world around them went black. The lantern was extinguished with a flick of her wrist.
Moonlight alone painted the edges of her silhouette. "You don't know me, Ishan. Not really," she said, voice low. "And I don't know you. So tonight… we change that."
"How?"
Her reply came with the sound of something metallic sliding across the stone — two thin, curved blades she'd placed between them. "We fight. No holding back. No questions until one of us yields."
His pulse quickened. "That's your idea of trust?"
"That's my idea of truth."
They circled each other, the wind snapping at their clothes, the sea roaring far below. She was faster than he'd expected — a fluid, darting shadow. The first clash of steel rang sharp, echoing into the night.
But as they traded blows, something else stirred — not just adrenaline, but heat. The closeness of her, the flash of her eyes when their faces came inches apart, the faint curl of her breath against his cheek.
Minutes blurred into something electric. Amina's final strike sent his blade spinning from his hand, clattering across the floor. She pressed the edge of hers lightly against his throat — but her smile wasn't triumphant. It was… unreadable.
"Now," she whispered, lowering the blade, "I know."
He didn't ask what she'd learned. Because in the way she was looking at him — like a locked door that had just found its key — he realized she'd just learned more than he was ready to admit.