Roarke didn't know what kind of god he had offended.
Or flattered.
This wasn't a rhetorical statement. He was genuinely uncertain whether the universe was punishing him or rewarding him.
In his hand was a ring. A simple thing to look at and quite unassuming… yet held an unbelievable power. The kind of power that assassins dreamed of, that spies would kill for, that entire intelligence networks would dismantle themselves to possess.
It concealed presence.
Not merely sight, but presence. As long as no voice escaped, no touch connected, and no scent betrayed. As long as you didn't speak, touch, or emit scent, you didn't exist.
Presence Concealing Ring, the Divine Dragon had called it.
Yes. That was another thing.
Apparently, he was serving a Divine Dragon.
Roarke had spent the better part of his life cultivating a reputation as the continent's most reliable, most untraceable assassin. He had killed lords and chiefs and people whose names appeared in history books.
