[Sera's POV]
The knife was aimed at my throat before I even opened my eyes.
I rolled left, felt the blade kiss the air where my neck had been, and swept my leg out in one smooth motion. My attacker hit the stone floor hard. I was on top of him in seconds, my own blade pressed against his windpipe.
"Dead," I whispered.
The twelve-year-old boy beneath me nodded, eyes wide with fear. I let him up and watched him scramble away. Just another morning drill at Shadowveil Guild. Just another lesson that sleeping meant dying.
Happy eighteenth birthday to me.
I stood and stretched, ignoring the ache in my muscles. The other orphans in the sleeping hall were already awake, watching me with the same look they always had—half fear, half hate. I was Guild Master Mordain's favorite. That made me dangerous. That made me alone.
"Sera Nightshade." A cold voice echoed through the hall.
Everyone froze.
I turned to see Marcus, Mordain's assistant, standing in the doorway. His face was unreadable, but his presence here meant only one thing: I was being summoned.
My stomach twisted. Mordain never called anyone to his office unless they'd failed a mission—or unless he had a new one.
"The Guild Master wants you. Now."
The walk to Mordain's office felt longer than usual. Every torch on the wall seemed dimmer. Every shadow seemed darker. I'd been training for this moment my entire life—my first major mission. But now that it was here, something felt wrong in my chest. Something that felt like fear.
I crushed it down. Fear was weakness. Weapons didn't feel fear.
Marcus pushed open the heavy door, and I stepped inside.
Mordain's office was pitch black except for a single candle on his desk. He sat behind it like a ghost, his silver-streaked hair gleaming in the dim light. His eyes—dead and black as empty wells—fixed on me.
"Sit."
I sat in the chair across from him, keeping my spine straight and my face blank. He'd taught me that. Show nothing. Feel nothing.
"Eighteen years," Mordain said softly. His voice was like silk over broken glass. "I found you as an infant, screaming in the rain. Do you remember what I told you that first night?"
"You said I was nothing," I recited. "You said I was no one. You said I existed only to serve."
"And you believed me." A thin smile crossed his lips. "Good girl. That belief made you strong. Made you perfect. Made you my greatest creation."
Something about the way he said "creation" made my skin crawl.
Mordain opened a drawer and pulled out a rolled canvas. He spread it on the desk, and I leaned forward to see.
It was a painting of a young man—maybe nineteen or twenty. He had sharp features and confident eyes. His platinum hair was pulled back, and he wore rich clothes that screamed royalty. Even in paint, he looked powerful.
"Prince Kael Luminaris," Mordain said. "Founder of the Principality of Luminara. Revolutionary. Idealist. Fool." His finger traced the painted face. "He's building something dangerous, Sera. A nation where magic doesn't determine worth. Where orphans aren't slaves. Where the old order dies."
I studied the painting. The prince looked young. Almost kind.
"The Continental Council hired us to eliminate him," Mordain continued. "They want war between Luminara and the old kingdoms. War means chaos. Chaos means profit." He looked at me with those empty eyes. "This is your first major mission. Your test. Your proof that eighteen years of training weren't wasted."
My heart was pounding, but I kept my face calm. "When?"
"Three days. During his Name Day celebration. The palace will be crowded. Guards will be distracted. You'll slip into his chambers and end him in his sleep." Mordain's smile widened. "Quick. Quiet. Perfect. Just like I taught you."
I stared at the painted face. Something about it tugged at my memory—like a dream I couldn't quite remember. But that was stupid. I'd never seen this man before.
"Do you accept?"
There was only one answer. There had always been only one answer.
"Yes, Guild Master."
"Good." Mordain rolled up the canvas. "There's a carriage waiting to take you to Luminara tomorrow. Study the maps tonight. Memorize the guard rotations. Don't disappoint me, Sera. You know what happens to those who disappoint me."
I did know. I'd cleaned up their bodies.
I stood to leave, but Mordain's voice stopped me at the door.
"One more thing."
I turned back.
He was holding something small in his palm—a silver locket. He tossed it to me, and I caught it instinctively. It was old and tarnished, with a broken chain.
"I found this with you the night I took you in," Mordain said. "Eighteen years I've kept it. I think you've earned the right to see what's inside."
My fingers trembled as I opened the locket.
Inside was a tiny painting—two infants sleeping side by side. They were wrapped in white blankets, and their faces were identical. Both had platinum hair and the same small birthmark on their tiny shoulders.
A crescent moon.
I touched the birthmark on my own shoulder—the one I'd always had, the one I'd never questioned.
"Why are you showing me this?" My voice came out wrong. Shaky.
Mordain's smile turned sharp. Predatory.
"Because, my dear Sera," he said slowly, "I want you to understand exactly what you're killing. That painting shows you and your twin brother on the day you were born. The day your mother died. The day I separated you." He leaned forward, candlelight dancing in his black eyes. "Prince Kael Luminaris isn't just your target."
The locket slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.
"He's your family. And in three days, you're going to murder him."