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The door makes the softest of clicks as I shut it behind me before treading down the carpet-clad floor. I round the hallway and take the main staircase, stepping toward the outside of the steps, where they’re less likely to creak. Three levels down and I reach the main floor. Thinking to leave the same way I entered, I pass through the kitchens.

“Hello?” a voice calls out, and I drop into a crouch.

Everyone is supposed to be asleep, but someone must have grown hungry in the night.

I might not be done killing. The thought sends a delightful shot of warmth to my sword arm, my fingers itching to reach for a weapon. As I crawl behind the nearest table, my heart races again. It’s a wild percussion that I’ve grown used to, even crave at times. The thrill of the hunt.

“Did you hear something?” the same voice says.

“No, but it was probably Miss Nyles coming by the kitchens. Probably turned tail the second she spotted us.”

The first man grunts. “We gave her a good beating last night, didn’t we?”

“Not so good as the tupping we gave her the night before that.”

Their laughter fills the corners of the room like a disease infecting a body. I peer over the edge of the table to get a look at them. Two brutes, mostly dark silhouettes next to the meager candle they have on the table between them. They’re spearing cold meats with a knife before filling their gobs and passing a flask back and forth.

I could creep past them silently, leave the mansion with no one the wiser.

But I’m not about to do that after the conversation I just overheard.

It’s a risk to attack with two of them fully alert, but it’s one I’m willing to take.

I move under the table and push between two chairs. I am no more than a shadow as I waltz behind the pair and draw my sword. I strike the bigger one first, smacking him on the back of the head with the pommel of my rapier. The second turns and manages the first note of a yell as I slam his head down onto the counter. Both don’t rise again after slumping to the floor, unconscious.

Footsteps pound above my head, roused by the short-lived sound, and I have a choice to make. I can still slip away, lose them in the winding city streets.

Or …

I stare at the duo on the floor.

Or I can see vengeance done.

It isn’t really a choice.

I slip back into the dark entryway once I ascertain no one has reached this level yet. A banister lines the stairs, with rails connecting it to each step. I reach out to see if my hands will fit into the spaces between each rail.

They do.

As the men race down the winding stairs, lanterns held aloft, I climb them from the side with my arms, hauling myself up rail after rail. Reach, grip, pull. Repeat.

My legs are too high off the ground by the time the men hit the main floor for them to notice me. Four individuals cross underneath me to reach the kitchens. I let myself drop when the last one is in just the right position. He collapses to the ground under my weight, and I snap his neck before he can rise.

The first two men are already in the kitchens, but the third turns at the sound of his crewman falling. I slice his throat with the tip of my sword before he can make sense of the scene in front of him. I flick the blood from my rapier as I race for the doorway, placing my back against the wall just beside it. I sheathe my sword and draw my dagger.

“Two knocked out cold in here,” one of the men says. “Sound the alarm.”

The one following orders dashes out of the kitchens. I grip his arm, throw him against the wall, and rake the blade across his throat.

“Hello?” the remaining man calls out, likely having seen his crewman pulled out from his line of sight before the doors closed.

Why do people call out a greeting when something highly suspicious happens? Do they expect us monsters to announce ourselves?

He follows up with “Who’s there?”

I adjust the grip on my dagger as I wait to see what he’ll do.

He shouts for help, cluing me in to his approximate location in the kitchens.