She had been following him for forty minutes.
The residential lanes were quiet at this hour. Families had gone inside. The market noise was far behind.
Only the occasional drip of water from rooftops broke the silence.
Earlier rain had left the cobblestones slick and shining under the sparse lamps. Orange light stretched across the wet stone in long, uneven smears.
The man walked at a steady, unhurried pace. Hood up. Dark cloak. Nothing flashy.
The walk of someone who knew exactly where he was going and saw no reason to rush.
Kiara stayed thirty paces behind him, pressed close to the shadowed side of the buildings.
Her tall frame moved with practiced quiet. The fitted dark clothes she wore for night work clung to her body from the residual damp in the air.
The fabric followed the full curve of her bust and the long line of her waist and hips.
Her straight black hair was tied back, but a few strands had come loose and stuck to the side of her neck.
