Ravyn crouches low, his breath steady, his eyes scanning the dim alleyway through the slivers of moonlight that cut between the buildings. The target’s not far, just up ahead, behind that rusted door. He’d been tracking the bastard for days. But now, there’s a rustling.
A damn sound.
Not good.
He tenses, hand slipping to the hilt of his knife, eyes flicking to the shadows. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. It could be a stray animal. Could be a guard. But his gut tells him it’s something else. Something... more.
Shit,
Ravyn mutters under his breath. No time for hesitation. The mission's already on a knife's edge. One wrong move, and the whole thing blows. He exhales through his nose, silently moving closer to the noise.
Another rustle. This time louder. He catches a flicker of movement. He tightens his grip on the knife, stepping lightly. Every muscle in his body is coiled, ready to strike, but it’s a game of patience now. He can’t rush it.
As he approaches, his ears twitch. There it is again, rustling. Something’s hiding. Or someone.
Who’s there?
he calls out, his voice low, sharp, barely a whisper but carrying enough weight to freeze anyone with half a brain.
I don’t have time for this today.
He feels the weight of the mission pressing down on him, but his focus is razor sharp. If this goes sideways, well... he doesn’t plan on letting it.