The figure crouched in the shadow of the ridge, barely moving as the torches below flickered in the evening breeze. Every detail of the estate was etched into his mind--the walls, the guards, the patterns of light through the windows. He had a plan, precise and unyielding, and tonight nothing would stand in his way. And yet… a single movement from the windows made him pause, curiosity threading through the steel of his resolve.
The movement was slight- a shadow shifting behind a curtain, the faint glint of something delicate catching the torchlight. His heart did not quicken, or so he told himself, yet an unfamiliar pull drew his gaze again. He had faced armies, outwitted generals, and crossed deserts under the sun's relentless glare. And still, something as simple as a flicker of motion unsettled him.
He crouched lower, the rough stone biting into his palms, and adjusted his grip on the strap across his shoulder. Everything depended on precision tonight. Every sound, every step, every decision. Failure was not an option.
A soft laugh floated on the breeze- light, careless, and entirely out of place in this world of duty and vigilance. He froze, listening, trying to locate its source. It was faint, fleeting, yet it stirred something inside him he could not name. He had not expected to notice her, not in this way. A pawn, nothing more. That had been the plan. And yet, for the first time in years, he found himself hesitating.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the gardens below. He inhaled sharply, as if the air itself had betrayed him. A plan was only as strong as the mind that executed it. He could not afford distraction- not now, not ever.
Slowly, he began to move, each step deliberate, silent. The patrols below were careful, but they moved in patterns he had memorized. He slipped past shadows, hugging the cold stone walls, until he reached the edge of the garden. From here, the window above offered him a clear view.
And there she was.
She did not notice him. Not fully. Her hands fluttered as she arranged papers on a desk, and she hummed softly- a sound so ordinary, yet so entirely unlike the world he knew. His chest tightened, though he hated himself for it. Focus. He reminded himself. She was a target. Nothing more.
Yet he could not tear his eyes away. She paused, glanced toward the window, and he ducked instinctively behind the hedge. She turned back to her task, oblivious. The smallest part of him- a part he refused to acknowledge- was disappointed.
He straightened, hiding the small hesitation behind a mask of resolve. Tonight, everything would change. She would not leave this estate the same way she had arrived. And yet… even as he thought the words, a part of him recoiled. How could someone so ordinary, so fragile, make him feel so unsettled?
He shook off the thought. Plans could not wait for sentiment. He would act, precise and unyielding.
But for the first time in his life, he felt the weight of uncertainty. Not about the plan. Not about the stakes. About her.
A shadow of a smile passed over her lips as she hummed again. And in that instant, he realized something dangerous: he was no longer just watching a target. He was watching her.
And perhaps… he had already lost control.