Jessica Raso was woken some hours later to the icy sensation of a blade pressed against her throat. This was what awoke her, but it was not, strangely enough, her most immediate concern. It seemed that as she had fallen asleep, the puddle at her feet had deepened and spread and had soaked quite thoroughly into her soft leather shoes and her feet were now completely wet, cold and no doubt pruned. Being dry and having unintentional wet feet was the worst sensation she had ever experienced until the moment the knife was pressed more firmly against the thin membrane of her exposed throat, and a single bead of hot blood could be felt rolling lazily down the chilled skin, across her collarbone and soaking into the dark material of her dress.

In an instant, her entire body had tensed to the point of pain and she had forced her every muscle to press against the wall and as far back from the weapon being held to her most vulnerable place as was humanly possible, without merging into the wall itself. Her lips, dry with the cold, parted in fear as her eyes sought out the pale face of her attacker in the low evening light.

A man, some years older than her, with dark hair beneath a low cap and dark grey eyes above a hooked nose and a twisted mouth loomed over her. She could smell the stale sweat on his filthy clothes, and could taste the stench of his breath as it fanned across her face. "Hello there, sweetheart. What is a precious thing like yourself doing out here in the dark, hm?" Terror ran down her spine like ice as her fingers tightened around the edge of the stone bench. Her bones ached from the cold and from the upright position she had slept in. Her eyes followed the length of his arm to where she could just see the curve of his wrist and the metallic handle of the dagger which now threatened her life.

"You have something for me?"

Her tongue was like sandpaper in her mouth as her scattered thoughts formed coherent sentences. He was a thief. She was being mugged. He had a knife. She was in trouble.

Remembering she had left Leonardo's workshop with nothing on her, she silently cursed. She had left the dagger Leonardo had given her in the drawer beside her bed, next to the small green bag of florins. Seeing the dangerous glint in the thief's eyes she highly doubted that he would be too happy at hearing she had nothing to give him, yet she was entirely defenceless.

"No," she croaked. "I have nothing."

Those grey eyes narrowed and he snarled, leaning closer to her face and pressing the blade more firmly against her tender, bleeding throat. "I don't believe you."

"I've got nothing on me, I swear."

The night was deathly silent. Her eyes were fixed upon his, trying to see within them just what his intentions were. She prayed that someone would come around the corner. Be it the guards, or a group of women or even the White Hood. Anyone who could save her from being mugged and god knows what else. However, the streets were silent. The markets had closed long ago and there were not many decent folk who liked to walk the streets on a cold evening. She hadn't told Leonardo where she was going before she stormed out, and she knew better than to count on a murderer like the White Hood to come and save her. He was not a hero and he was not her friend and he most likely didn't even know she was missing. She was alone, just as she had always been.

It wasn't long before grey eyes fell to leer at the smooth skin of her exposed chest.

"The thing is, bella, I still don't believe you. Maybe I should check that you're not hiding anything under that pretty dress of yours."

The cool metal of the dagger left her neck and she felt the sharp tip travel across the plain of her chest to the rise of her breast and to the edge of the material which held them. Jessica only watched as he pulled away from her and began to tug at the belt on his pants, grinning to himself and panting like a dog. He was still the one armed, but at the appearance of his clear intent to rape her, she felt a shift within her and as she gazed upon the wretched form of this male who was almost drooling at the thought of violating her, she no longer felt afraid.

She was on her own and she was defenceless, yes, but that did not mean that she would just lie down and let him have his way with her. She would not fall on her knees and wait for death. She had no family, no home, no identity and no function in this life other than to survive.

So, she thought. She would survive.

The cold ache in her bones melted away as her lungs drew in the cool evening air and her heart beat with composure unlike any she had hoped to expect in a situation such as this. Her lips pressed into a tight line as she leaned forward from the wall, her fingers leaving the edge of the bench and curling into warm fists.

Her body burned, thrumming with a white hot fury which exploded in her mind like the birth of a star, spilling into her chest like the swirling expanse of a galaxy and streaming into the marking on her left palm which burned with the fire of eternity.

Jessica stood and the man growled at her, raising his dagger threateningly. She could see his member, hanging from his pants like a shrivelled pickle, exposed and pathetic. The river Arno stilled as if snap-frozen, the curl of the waves beautiful in the dark golden light of the setting sun. The sounds of the world faded to silence, from the slapping of the water against the gondolas on the pier, to the rustling of the leaves of the tree standing high above the buildings nearby. A glint of gold caught her eye and she observed as a droplet of water falling from the roof to join the puddle at her feet was held suspended, motionless in mid fall.

She stared for several long moments at the world around her in its inert state, feeling as if, in that instance, she was more than what she was.

Then the droplet fell, and the noise returned and the thief lunged for her. She ducked beneath the hand which clawed the air where her hair had just been, then stepped away from him. He turned to her, chortling. He spun the knife in his hand and shrugged his member back into his pants.

"So it's going to be like that huh? You could make it so much easier for yourself." He licked his lips, "I promise you'll like it."

Beyond comprehension of such lesser feelings of revulsion, the fury burned within her chest as her eyes took in her opponent with a crystalline clarity. She retained a stony silence as he looked up and down, clearly wondering whether she had what it took to take him on. He evidently decided she did not, and he grinned.

"Come on sweetheart, I don't want to hurt you. But I will if I must."

He lunged for her again. She simply smacked his hand out of the air. He retracted the appendage with a wince and glared at her. He pointed the knife toward her.

"This is your last chance, girl."

She blinked at him. "I better not waste it then."

Jessica knew that it was not she who so confidently confronted her intended rapist then. She knew it was not she who dodged his fists and the fast, gleaming blade with a tranquillity that unnerved him. She could only watch as her hands took a hold of the wrist which held the dagger, as her nimble feet danced to stand at his back, her strong arms wrenching his own behind his back and twisting the wrist with a strength she knew very well she did not possess. The thief roared in pain as the crack echoed across the inky river and rebounded through the shadowed streets, and he pulled away, stumbling to lean against the same bench he had found her sleeping upon. He cradled his wrist against his chest, heaving with the agony.

She waited until he flung himself at her once again, now injured and enraged, and she once again smacked the approaching fist out of the air. She spun out of the way, so she stood behind him as the momentum behind his missed blow carried him on unsteady feet in the direction of the river. She watched as he reached the edge and his wide, grey eyes peered fearfully into the depths of the dark, icy waters. He waved his arms and tried to regain his balance. And for a moment it seemed he had. Until her hand placed itself on his back and gave him a firm push.

He fell beneath the waves as the last of the golden light sank below the horizon. She did not know whether or not he could swim, but found it to be unlikely. Either way, she didn't wait to see if his head broke the surface. She stepped away from the river and found herself immensely heavy with a sudden weariness as the Voice relinquished control of her body. Leaning over to rest her hands on her knees, Jessica panted as the ache returned to her limbs and the cool night air settled upon her skin.

When her breaths had calmed and she felt composed once again, she gazed around to find the direction of Leonardo's workshop, knowing that he would be beside himself with concern.

Wait. Look there.

Truly taken aback by the Voice's continuous input, she nevertheless looked about and saw on the ground nearby, a small roll of parchment bound with string. Realising it must have fallen from the thief's belt during their fight; she picked it up from the wet ground and unrolled the damp parchment.

Adolfo,

The target's name is Marietta Sanfilippo.

You must follow her closely and take a report of her every move. Do not let her see you.

Do not let any harm come to her.

Do not fail me.

La Volpe.

Blinking in shock, she re-read the letter several times over, hardly believing it to be real. Someone had had her followed? Jessica frowned and looked around her anxiously, wondering if anyone else was in the shadows observing her without her knowledge. She had thought to return to Leo's right away but how could she know if it would be safe to do so? There could be others like the thief Adolfo, who had been ordered to trail her and not allow any harm to come to her, only to attempt to harm her himself.

But why was she being followed, and who was this La Volpe who ordered it? As much as she longed to run back to her room and hide under the warm covers of her bed, she knew that she could not until she had figured this out. What she didn't know, however, was where to start.

There is a place in the depths of this city where the depraved and the wicked go to play. I will show you the way if you wish.

"You reckon I'd find La Volpe there?"

I do not know. It is a good place to start.

A deep breath, a short doubt as to how much she trusted the Voice which had taken permanent residence within her mind, and then she nodded, flexing the fingers of her left hand to stretch the aching muscle of her thumb.

"Alright, lead the way."