The cold had always embraced Fenrir.

In fact, in many ways, it had become her ally. This was especially apparent when night fell, and winds swept through city streets, leaving the sting of ice in everyone’s bones. Many people found it difficult to not fidget in those conditions, needing to move around and seek warmth whenever possible. 

But Fenrir could stand stock still, no matter how hard the wind blew or how fast the temperature plummeted. Instead of panicking, she would slow down her breaths, timing each one so that it was the only thing she thought about. Even now, as she crouched at the edge of the building, she resumed the pattern she had discovered so long ago. 

In, she thought, imagining her heart slowing and her body fading from view. She was a statue, a shadow, a slip in someone’s imagination. She was nothing. And out.

In the darkness below, a security guard had just emerged from a doorway below, muttering under his breath. He was a stout man with burly arms and a thick torso, but the cold — like always — had set him off his game. Instead of locking the gates like he should’ve been, his gaze was fixed on the movement of his hands as he rubbed them against each other, seeking an echo of heat.

“Bloody snow,” he cursed, blowing a huff of breath against his skin. “Why can’t I live in Palos? Winter never dares cross the sea.” 

Fenrir smiled at the truth of it. Unlike the mainland, the Queendom of Palos was sheltered from true freezing temperatures by the ocean winds that funneled around it year after year. None of the citizens would have survived the bone-deep chill that walked the streets here in Bost.

Not even the other assassins are perfectly accustomed to it, Fenrir thought between breaths, letting another gale whistle by. Only mainlanders know the wrath of true winter. 

And indeed, winter had come upon the city of Bost. It had dumped snow down every lane and alleyway, piled it atop every spire and rooftop, and quenched all the heat that might be left in every hearth and pair of hands. It had come silently and without mercy, just like the other visitor that lingered at the precipice of the building she was perched on, ready to strike with a set of horrors that would haunt the town long into spring.

And I’ll take joy in it, she mused, fingers already itching for the blades she kept tucked away. Once the bell—

Right on cue, a loud peal pierced the sky as Bost’s central clock tower struck midnight. The chorus of sound announced the time with a quick pattern before it started to toll twelve long, drawn-out beats.

Excitement burned in Fenrir’s chest as she watched the guard down beneath pause, his movement finally abating. He was late — the doors should have been locked ten minutes ago, but the cold had kept him inside longer than it should’ve. Still, Fenrir was glad that she could at last do the work that needed to be done.

“Pigeon, pigeon, on a wall,” she hummed the tune to the song they sang in the Guild. “Hawk looked down and saw it all.”

With practiced motions, the guard finally reached inside his uniform

“Pigeon, pigeon, wailed and cried,” Fenrir unsheathed the twin knives from her boots, rocking onto the balls of her feet as she did so. “Hawk took the chance and swiftly dived.”

The man unhooked the keys from the cache within his pocket and reached up to lock the gates. He fit the instrument into the padlock and fiddled with it for a second before it clicked gently.

As the man turned to go, Fenrir finally emerged from the shadows. She leaned forward, and tipped over the edge of the building, letting the wind scoop her up in its arms as she fell. One second, she was completely weightless in the air — drifting above like a spirit of death — and the next she was plummeting down towards the ground.

The cobblestone alleyway rose before Fenrir quickly, but she was ready for it. Bending her knees to reduce impact, she landed gracefully, just steps behind her mark’s path.

“Pigeon, pigeon, keep your head,” Fenrir sang, and the man finally wheeled around. “Watch the Hawk or soon be dead.”

Before the guard could even open his mouth, she used the hilt of her knife to strike him across the temple in such a way that he instantly fell to his knees. Fenrir caught the hem of his jacket before he could collapse completely, and she dragged him over to the shadowed alcove behind a pile of rotting plywood. Laying his body aside, she returned to the alley and gates before her.

During the scuffle, the keys had fallen from the guard’s cold hands and Fenrir pulled the edge of her sleeve over her fingers in order to grab them. Prior to the mission she had been warned that this institution coated their keys, belts, and weapons with an invisible powder that gave them a way to trace whoever possessed their objects. Fenrir was not stupid enough to give them the gift of her identity or her whereabouts.

“Pigeon, pigeon, broken wing,” she finished, finally lifting her prize to the locked gates. “Never learns a single thing.”

The lock gave way with a satisfying click, and Fenrir slipped through the bars into the hall beyond. She made no sound as she slunk through the darkened corridor, the map of the building falling into place in her mind. She had memorized the layout of the institution with ease, and her body itched to move along the path that materialized before her.

“You’ll have ten minutes after the bells ring,” she heard the Commandant in her head, describing the mission in that calculated way of theirs. “You get in, procure the target, and get out. This is a shadow’s work, Fenrir. They cannot think they have been stolen from.”

“I’ll have to knock out the guard to get the keys,” she’d commented then. “Security in this place is deathly tight.”

“Then clean up your mess.”

“And if I have to kill—”

“You kill nobody,” the Commandant had thundered, slamming down a fist on the table, their gray eyes flashing. “Did you not hear me, girl? No body, no blood, no trace. The Queen will not stand for anything less.”

Fenrir had straightened. “Yes, Commandant. Understood.”

Even now, as she turned a corner in the hallway and ascended the first flight of stairs, the orders were burned into her brain: no body, no blood, no trace. The Commandant was always steely cold, but they rarely invoked the name of the Queen. Whatever this mission was for, the prize hidden within the walls of this institution must have been invaluable to the nation.

And I will not fail, Fenrir concluded decidedly. Not now and not ever.

She cut to the right and ran up the next flight of steps, her muscles attuned to the physicality of the climb. The office was on the fourth floor, so she was almost halfway there. Once she reached the level, she’d immediately go left and find the filing room that was tucked behind the janitor’s closet. It sounded easy, but Fenrir knew a heist in which she was a shadow was never as simple as that. There was always some detail that she overlooked, some variable she didn’t account for, and usually it cost her …

Don’t think about it, Fenrir, she berated herself, knowing that if she focused too hard on what could go wrong, something inevitably would. Don’t let this be like Evanen.

Finally, she reached the top of the fourth flight and entered into the dim hallway. Night had scared all the workers back home, and they had locked their doors up tightly in order to dissuade the darkness from creeping in while they were gone. However, none of them were prepared for the Hawk that swooped down from nowhere and would return just as she came.

Fenrir cut left and passed several doors, including the janitor’s quarters. Immediately after, she dropped to one knee in front of the room — the office — to get a better view of the locking mechanism. 

The door handle was silver, making it malleable and easy to powder and trace. However, the keyhole just below was as simple as they came: it had a three-pronged groove and a fourth indentation that was easy to replicate. It took Fenrir only a swift glance down at the ring of keys in her hand in order to pick out the one that should fit.

Lifting it to the door, her fingers still wrapped in her sleeve, the assassin turned the lock and the handle. It gave way easily beneath her touch, and a smile tugged at the edges of Fenrir’s lips as she disappeared inside the room. 

The door clicked shut behind her, and she turned quickly to take in the office. There was an armchair to her left and beyond that a bookcase full of volumes. A small table had been set down next to the recliner, and a steaming cup of half-filled coffee sat atop it.

Immediately, Fenrir stiffened. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone left — all the workers went home before dusk — or at least, that’s what the Commandant had implied. Besides, she knew Bost: no one stayed out at night if they could help it. And yet, the steam rose high into the air, twisting like a snake as it taunted her.

Fenrir, you fool, she shook herself and looked away. Stop wondering why, and start getting the file before it's too late. 

 To her right was a hardwood desk and beyond that a set of filing cabinets. Without delay, Fenrir vaulted over the work surface and skittered her fingers over the labels stamped onto the black boxes. 

A through G, H through M, the alphabet played through her head until she found the right drawer. There! N through S. Carefully, she slid it out and scoured through the dozens of folders that were found inside. 

“The tabs on the right file will be red and blue,” The Commandant had informed her. “You’ll have to make a copy of whatever is inside so they don’t find it missing in the morning.”

No body, no blood, no trace, Fenrir repeated as her eyes caught on the double set of colored tabs that had been described to her.

She yanked the document from its container and opened it, turning the contents out on the desk. Thankfully, there was only one page to copy, and Fenrir nearly cried with relief. Instead, however, she pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment from the bag at her waist and a sprayable container of liquid. Turning the file to its front side, Fenrir overlaid her own roll of paper on top with considerable care. Pinning the edges, she fingered the bottle of liquid and sprayed a puff at every corner and several extras in the middle where most of the writing would be.

For a moment, nothing happened and panic rushed through Fenrir’s veins. What if she’d used too much of the spray and had drowned the page? What if she'd measured the ratio wrong just that afternoon and the consistency of the liquid was off? 

But as soon as the assassin’s heart jumped, the ink began to copy, words and lines appearing as if by magic. They spiderwebbed over the page, building up the secret that Fenrir had been ordered to retrieve. As soon as she was sure the process was done, she rolled the paper back up into a scroll — careful so that it wouldn’t smudge — and shoved it and the glass vial of spray back into her satchel.

“Once you have the file, you’ll have to get out and fix your mess with the guard,” the Commandant had pressed their lips into a thin line. “But make it believable enough that when he babbles no one believes a word he says.”

Oh, don’t worry about him, Fenrir thought now as she slipped out of the office and back into the hallway, locking the door behind her. I doubt he’ll keep his job after I’m through.

With practiced stealth, Fenrir ducked back into the stairwell and mounted the handrail. But as soon as she was prepared to slide all the way to freedom, she heard the echo of chatter growing closer as two voices ascended the third set of steps.

“—speaking now? I thought she could hardly be counted as human?”

“Well, that’s just it: keep it away from her and she’s more demon than girl, but give her it at regular intervals and she’s as brilliant as a scholar. I just don’t understand—”

 Fenrir lept over the banister before she could hear more. She hooked her legs around the beam that gave the stairs support and twisted in the air as she hung from her knees. For a moment, she scrambled for purchase, but eventually, her fingers latched onto a second bar and she disappeared beneath the stairwell, clinging beneath like a spider. And it was just as well because as soon as she was out of sight, the two voices turned the corner and mounted the last set of steps.

“—sure she’s stable? It could be part of the insanity — some trick she’s playing with you.”

“You haven’t seen her, Gib. She’s so composed after a dose — so understandable and approachable. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before …”

The conversation became undecipherable once again when the two passed out the door and into the hallway, leaving Fenrir alone. Carefully, she let out a slow breath of relief, before dropping from where she hung and landing gracefully on the open platform of the third floor. 

The delay had taken at least a minute off her clock, and Fenrir could feel the tension in her chest building as she climbed onto the banister and slid down the rest of the way. 

Faster, Fenrir, she launched herself forward as she reached the bottom, sprinting through the corridor and towards the exit. You cannot risk them finding the guard as he is.

She crashed towards the locked gate, and quickly turned the knob, letting it swing wide open with an ear-splitting shriek. Oh, how the Commandant would have berated her for that slip of focus. But instead of thinking of her commander, Fenrir turned her attention to the pair of feet that still stuck out from behind a pile of plywood. 

As she approached the guard once again, she hauled him out from the alcove and sat him in an upright position. Carefully, she pulled out another vial from her drawstring bag and dumped half its contents along the front of his uniform. Immediately, the sharp scent of whiskey hit her nose, making Fenrir’s eyes water. She opened his mouth with the edge of her sleeve and poured the rest of the alcohol into his mouth so that his breath would reek of it.

Only after the deed was done did she step back and admire her work. Fenrir searched around, her gaze darting for something to complete the picture she was painting. After a moment, the glint of a discarded wine bottle caught her attention and she placed it in the man’s lap, draping his finger’s over the neck like he’d been holding it the entire time.

“Drinking on the job?” Fenrir asked aloud, shaking her head as if disappointed. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, boy. You’ll have to be punished for that.”

She tossed the keys back to his side, letting them fall where they would be seen by whoever found the pigeon she’d cheated first. Like always, the Hawk came out on top and unscathed. If the world had any justice, then one day Fenrir wouldn’t make it to this moment. She’d be too slow or too hesitant, and someone would finally find a way to clip her wings before she could fly away from her actions.

Today, however, was not that day.

As if summoned, another pair of voices caught Fenrir’s attention as the flicker of a lantern brightened the night before her. A double set of footsteps crunched through the snow, the jingle of keys announcing the progress of two more security guards.

“He should have been back by now,” one said, and Fenrir knew that they were the men coming to take over their friend’s post. “Din is never late.”

Perfect timing, she smiled with twisted amusement as the thrill of victory rushed through her veins. No body, no blood, no trace. 

 Not waiting to be found, Fenrir slunk away without hesitation, disappearing into the backstreets of the alley from whence she had come. 

“Pigeon, pigeon, on a wall,” she whispered as she faded into the dark, leaving only chaos behind her. “In my claws, all will fall.”