The hills were still black when I left them behind.
The city was sleeping, but my mind wasn't.
Silent Reed's face stayed with me — not because of the scars, not because of the eyes, but because of the deliberate way he let me walk away.
That wasn't mercy.
That was a fisherman loosening the line so the fish wouldn't thrash too soon.
I replayed every detail of the camp. The lotus tokens. The way his men didn't look at him when they passed — like they'd been taught that eye contact was dangerous. The quiet order in that chaos.
I'd seen command before, in sect leaders and clan elders. This wasn't that. This was… colder.
A spider at the center of a web doesn't bark orders. It waits.
Reed was waiting for me.
* * * * * * * * *
By dawn, I'd made my decision.
If he wanted me close, I'd get closer than he could imagine.
Closer than his breath.
Close enough to put a knife between his ribs when the time was right.
But not yet.
In my first life, I'd been too proud to kneel when I should have. Too honest with my ambitions. Too unwilling to let my enemies believe they'd tamed me.
It had gotten me killed more than once.
This time, I would let the leash sit on my neck. I would smile when it pulled. I would walk the path he thought was his.
And when his guard dropped—
I'd own the leash.
* * * * * * * * *
The invitation came sooner than I expected.
No letter. No messenger. Just a shadow falling across my breakfast stall table.
"You followed well," Reed said.
No greeting. No smile.
The black-fletched quiver slung casually over one shoulder was more dangerous than any blade I'd seen all week.
I set my chopsticks down and looked up.
"I wasn't aware I was invited."
His lips moved — something between a smirk and a flinch.
"You're aware now. Walk."
He didn't look back to see if I obeyed. That told me two things:
One — he was certain I'd follow.
Two — there was at least one more bow trained on my spine from somewhere in the street.
* * * * * * * * *
We left the main road and wound into the older districts — the kind where the walls leaned too close, the alleys smelled like ten years of bad water, and the only light came from the cracks between roofs.
When he finally stopped, it was inside a courtyard I didn't recognize.
The walls were high, the doors bolted, and there was a smell in the air I knew well — old blood, faint but not forgotten.
Four people were already inside.
A wiry man with fingers stained black from handling poison.
A woman in travel leathers, her hand never leaving the hilt of her blade.
Two others who looked like merchants but stood like killers.
Reed didn't introduce them. He didn't need to.
"You want power," he said, stopping in the center. "You want to climb, survive, own something worth killing for. I can give you that. But I don't train the unwilling."
I studied his eyes. They didn't search mine for loyalty or sincerity. They searched for hesitation.
"What do you want in return?" I asked.
His smirk came again.
"Not much. Work. Silence. And the understanding that if you betray me, you won't have time to regret it."
* * * * * * * * *
There was a silence after that. Long enough for the others to weigh me.
The poisoner was unimpressed.
The swordswoman's eyes were sharper than her blade.
The "merchants" had the stillness of men who knew they could kill me in three steps.
In my first life, I would have bristled. I would have refused. I would have walked out with my spine straight and my head high — and I would have been dead by nightfall.
So I did what I never would have done before.
I nodded.
"I'll work," I said. "And I'll keep silent."
* * * * * * * * *
The smirk turned into something else — not a smile, but an acceptance.
"Good. We'll see if your word holds."
He didn't test me with a blade. He tested me with stillness.
The meeting went on for another hour — names not given, tasks half-spoken.
Listening was more valuable than speaking.
From their conversations, I learned three things:
1. Reed had contracts with more than one sect, often playing them against each other.
2. His crew was fluid — members came and went, some never returning.
3. The lotus sigil wasn't his. It belonged to someone above him.
That last one was important.
Because it meant Reed wasn't the spider after all.
He was just another strand of the web.
* * * * * * * * *
When we finally left, he walked me to the gate.
"Tomorrow night," he said. "You'll come with us."
"To do what?"
He looked at me like the question was a child's.
"To bleed someone else's pocket dry. And maybe take their lives with it."
* * * * * * * * *
As I stepped back into the city's light, I felt the leash settle around my neck.
It was soft, almost comfortable.
That was the danger.
Inside, I was already thinking ten steps ahead — where the leash connected, who held the other end, and how I'd cut it without losing my head.
This wasn't trust.
This wasn't allegiance.
This was war in slow motion, and for now… I'd play the obedient soldier.
Night has a taste.
It's iron and damp stone, the slow breath of streets that wish they were sleeping.
We moved like shadows, five of us in total — Reed, the poisoner, the swordswoman, one of the "merchants," and me.
The other "merchant" stayed behind. I guessed he was watching the safehouse.
Reed gave no speech. No battle plan. Just a single line before we left:
"Follow, keep quiet, kill if I nod."
* * * * * * * * *
We took the west route, avoiding the main road. I counted turns, memorized the slope of the ground, the way each wall broke the wind. If I needed to escape, I'd know my path in the dark.
The target was an apothecary's storage house on the edge of the Scholar's District — a strange choice for thieves until you realized who owned it: Elder Hwan, a merchant lord with half the local sect in his debt.
Robbing him wasn't just for profit. It was a message.
And messages were rarely one-way.
* * * * * * * * *
We reached the rear wall just before the moon climbed high enough to betray us.
Reed's hand rose, and we stopped.
The poisoner slipped forward, crouched, and scattered a powder from his palm against the wall's base. The faint hiss told me it was corrosive. Within moments, the mortar softened enough to push a section of brick inward.
I filed that away — not the method, but the timing. If I ever needed to get into Reed's safehouse, the same trick could work.
* * * * * * * * *
Inside, the air smelled of dried herbs and coin.
Shelves loomed high, heavy with jars, powders, and rolled scrolls.
The swordswoman moved with casual precision, checking corners while the "merchant" began filling a sack with the choicest goods.
I stayed close to Reed, because that's what he wanted — and because it gave me the chance to watch.
He didn't touch anything. He just stood in the center of the room, scanning, like a hunter waiting for prey to show itself.
It made me wonder if the apothecary was really the goal tonight.
* * * * * * * * *
Halfway through, the sound came.
Soft, deliberate — a boot scraping stone outside the front door.
The swordswoman's head turned slightly. Reed didn't move.
Instead, his eyes flicked to me.
A test.
I moved toward the door, silent as breath, and eased it open just enough to see.
Two guards in Elder Hwan's colors, spears in hand, scanning the street.
I could have killed them — fast, clean.
Instead, I stepped back and whispered to Reed, "Two. Not looking this way yet."
He studied me for a heartbeat, then nodded to the poisoner.
The man sprinkled a pinch of dust into the air near the doorframe, and when the faintest breeze carried it outside, we waited.
Within moments, both guards swayed, then collapsed like cut strings.
The poisoner grinned at me — the kind of grin that wanted to see how I'd react.
I gave him nothing.
* * * * * * * * *
We worked fast after that.
Reed took one scroll from the top shelf — just one — and pocketed it.
The others kept filling their sacks.
I, meanwhile, moved toward the far wall, where a stack of jars labeled Red Crane stood untouched.
Highly valuable, highly addictive.
I knocked one over, letting it crack open on the floor.
The smell would be unmistakable to any guard or investigator — and when Hwan's people found it missing from the inventory but spilled in the storehouse, they'd suspect their own workers of skimming.
Sabotage without a blade.
Reed's crew would think nothing of it, but the ripple would reach Hwan in days. And Hwan, in turn, would lash out blindly — maybe even at Reed himself if the trail bent right.
* * * * * * * * *
We left the way we came, the poisoner sealing the wall behind us with a dust that hardened to stone.
No words until we were back in the slums.
That's when Reed stopped, turned, and studied me in the moonlight.
"You didn't kill them," he said. Not a question.
"They didn't see us," I replied. "Dead men are louder than sleeping ones."
He stared for a long time.
Then — a smirk.
"I prefer quiet men."
* * * * * * * * *
Back at the safehouse, the loot was divided in silence.
I got nothing — which was fine. It was never about the loot.
When the others drifted away, Reed lingered.
"You're not here for coin," he said finally. "What do you want?"
I met his gaze, kept my voice level.
"Freedom. Strength. Enough to keep both."
His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to decide if that was the truth.
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't.
"Then keep walking my path," he said, "and you'll have more than you can carry."
* * * * * * * * *
I lay awake that night in my rented room, listening to the city's distant noise.
Reed had accepted me — for now.
But I'd seen the truth: he was watching me as closely as I watched him.
The leash was still on.
The trick would be to slip it without him noticing.
Because sooner or later, only one of us would still be breathing.