The Assassin’s Emblem

"Well, aren't you sharp."

No response. Of course. They weren't here to chat.

The assassin pressed forward, their blade flashing in rapid, controlled thrusts—each one meant to force him into a disadvantageous position. He met them with equal speed, weaving through their strikes like water slipping through cracks. His knives flicked, redirecting their force just enough to keep the fight even.

Then he saw it.

A flicker in the dim light—a sigil on their shoulder.

Not just Technomancer insignia.

Something else. Something unfamiliar.

Mikhailis's smirk didn't falter, but inwardly, his mind spun. This wasn't a standard enforcer. Whoever sent this assassin wasn't just reacting to his meddling with the Technomancers. This was bigger.

The dance of steel continued, but now, Mikhailis wasn't just fighting—he was analyzing.