The soft rush of water was clear above the quiet of the night. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and nobody would suspect that a man had been killed. It was a secret known only to the two silhouettes that stood discreetly amid the silvery glitter of moonbeams.
A woman's voice broke through the dead silence. "So who was he?"
"That is highly confidential," came the complacent reply. "You are in no position to ask. Just do what you're told, and leave everything else to me."
"I don't see how this can make a difference," she remarked. "Dead is dead, no matter how you twist it around."
A deep chuckle resonated in the clearing. "It's really no wonder, how I've become fond of you. You always had more brains than most of my men."
"I thought all ties within the Guild are supposed to be strictly professional," she pointed out.
A grin tilted up the corners of his lips. "I'm the boss, am I not? I can play favorites. Besides, I've known you since you were a child. It's impossible for me not to be attached."
"Aren't you afraid that I would stab you in the back one day?"
"That won't happen, my dear," he responded smugly. "With Eddie by my side, you'd be incapacitated from fifty feet away."
A lock of blond hair coiled around her waist. "Your ego will be the death of you," she informed him, her tone ice-cold.
"Perhaps." He didn't sound bothered in the least. "So tell me, Rage, have you ever been infatuated b y any of your co-assassins?"
If she was taken aback by his strange question, she didn't let on. "Infatuation only gets in the way of my line of work, sir."
"I'll take that as a no?"
She nodded, her delicate features as smooth and impassive as ever. Her attention seemed to be focused on the river before her, and the unfortunate man who had drowned in it.
A firm hand cupped her cheek, and she found herself looking at the black blindfold that was wrapped over his eyes. "You've really grown into a beautiful woman," her superior commented.
She was unfazed by his words. She didn't feel beautiful at all, with the lingering stigma of death and blood on her. "If you say so," was all she said.
There was a rustle of cloth as he leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. With a gloved hand, she pushed him away, him and the strange shadow that watched curiously behind him.
He smirked at her. "My, my. Not quite the romantic, are you?"
"Romance is for people who have the luxury to dream," she retorted, her footsteps betraying no sound as she walked past him. "I only have nightmares."
"Can't a man love you, then?" He followed her, just as stealthily, barely visible in the shadows.
She didn't give him an answer. It occured to her that he hadn't answered her first question either.