Elegance. Beauty. Grace.

Three words to describe him.

Standing on that stage, with that white skirt fanning out around him, he reminded me of an angel.

Truly a pity I'd have to stain that crisp outfit with crimson before the night was over.

I checked my knives once more and pushed off the railing.

As a child, I had always dreamed of seeing a performance like this one. I had always had an appreciation for storytelling, even without words. Which was probably why I had this taut thread in my chest, making it hard to breathe, or move without tears coming to my eyes.

That voice like paradise hit my ears again, singing about a field of daises and a woman waiting for her lover.

I turned away and tucked my knife back into my suit. Then I pulled my mask over my face.

The rafters would give me a great view.

Backstage was also a good option.

I decided on rafters. It would be easier to make an escape.

I scaled the wall and made it to the rafter farthest from the stage. I needed to aim for the middle.

Zephyr held a long high note, piercing my eardrums. I hopped to the next rafter. One more and I'd be in the perfect position.

Zephyr spun, skirt flailing again.

I jumped again. I pulled my knife out and raised my arm.

One more job.

The knife trembled between my fingers, the polished steel catching the theatre lights like a sliver of moonlight.

Below me, Zephyr danced like the music had crawled inside his bones and hollowed him out until he became nothing but movement and sound. The audience sat utterly still beneath him, enchanted. Even the nobles in their velvet boxes had forgotten to whisper, and even I found myself breathless. His voice swept through the opera house again, softer now. His song had changed, mournful, slow, the haunting lament of a lover who had never returned home. The thread in my chest tightened painfully.

Do it.

The order echoed in my skull with my employer’s voice attached to it as I came to amidst Zephyr's song. One throw, one clean arc, one simple action, a strike to the throat to fell him centre stage. By the time the audience understood what happened, I’d already be gone. Easy.

So why wouldn’t my hand move?

Zephyr spun again, slower this time, white skirts blooming around him like flower petals drenched in silver light. His eyes lifted toward the ceiling, and for one impossible second, I thought he saw me hidden in the rafters. But his gaze drifted past, dreamy and distant, and the music swelled toward its finale.

I lowered the knife. “…Damn it.” The curse barely left my lips.

I sheathed the blade and stepped back into shadow just as the audience erupted into applause. The thunder of clapping shook dust loose from the rafters just before the curtains fell.

Intermission.

I exhaled slowly through the mask. Backstage would be easier now anyway, less dramatic, less risky. Less chance of seeing him like that again.

I moved silently across the rafters toward the backstage ladder. Below, workers scrambled across the stage preparing the next set, weaving between exhausted dancers and musicians who wiped sweat from their brows. I caught sight of Zephyr in his white skirts and jewelled bodice dip beneath the curtains to his room.

I descended into darkness behind him.

The backstage corridors smelled of powder paint, candle smoke, and roses. Performers hurried past me without noticing, too distracted by costume changes and cues. I slipped behind hanging costumes and into a narrow passage beside the dressing rooms.

Voices echoed nearby.

“…five minutes before second act--”

“…His Grace wants to meet Zephyr personally--”

“…did you hear about the threats?”

Threats? I stilled.

Then came another sound, soft, metallic, barely noticeable, like the click of a pen. I turned sharply toward Zephyr’s dressing room door. Attached to the handle...was a wire, delicate as silver spider silk, leading into the floorborards where I could see through the cracks, a black object, red light atop it blinking rapidly.

A bomb. Not my method. Not my employer’s style either. Someone else was here.

Then, the dressing room door opened from the inside. Zephyr stepped out laughing softly to himself, still glowing from the stage lights, entirely unaware as his hand remained on the handle.

The wire pulled taut.

I moved before thinking, lunging from the shadows and slammed him backward into the wall just as the explosive detonated, and the corridor behind us vanished in fire.