In the dim, flickering light of a waning moon, a shadow moves silently through the slave quarters. The air is thick with the scent of damp hay and sweat, and the only sound is the faint rustle of fabric against stone. Elyndra Faerith, her movements as fluid as a hunting cat, steps closer to the bed where her target lies—a human slave who has unknowingly become the key to a dangerous prophecy. Her silver-gray eyes glint coldly in the darkness, and in her hand, a dagger glimmers with deadly intent.

You should thank me—there are far worse fates than the one I offer you tonight.