I should have known better than to threaten a man like Emerson Holmes directly. My rage had clouded my judgment, making me reckless. As I made my way through the shadowy streets of Veridia City that night, I had no idea that my confrontation had yed perfectly into his hands.


    Emerson wasted no time after my departure. By dawn, he had already summoned his contacts at the Veridia City Martial Guild.


    "He was here, just as I predicted," Emerson told the stone-faced Guild representative who''d arrived at his mansion. "Liam Knight is bing increasingly desperate. He''ll make his move against the Academy soon."


    The representative, a thin man with calcting eyes, nodded. "President Bat anticipated this. The trap will be set immediately."


    Three dayster, Emerson stood at the remote entrance of the Veridia City Martial Arts Academy, surveying the empty grounds with satisfaction. The Academy wouldn''t officially open for another week, making it the perfect location for an ambush.


    Eight ck and gold robed figures materialized from various hiding spots around the courtyard. These weren''t ordinary Guild members but specialized operatives trained specifically for high-risk eliminations.


    "Is everything prepared?" Emerson asked the leader, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his left cheek.


    "Yes. We''ve set containment formations at every exit point." The man gestured to small jade talismans ced strategically around the perimeter. "If he enters this area, he won''t be leaving."


    "Good." Emerson nodded approvingly. "Remember President Bat''s orders—Knight is to be eliminated on sight. No attempts to capture, no negotiations."


    "We understand our mission," the leader replied coldly. "Though I question whether he''ll actually appear. The Academy isn''t even operational yet."


    Emerson smiled thinly. "He wille. I''ve made sure information about Isabelle Ashworth''s ''special treatment sessions'' being conducted here has circted through channels he monitors. His emotional attachment to the girl makes him predictable."


    "If you''re certain..." The operative didn''t sound convinced.


    "I am. Maintain your positions and stay alert. I''ll return in three days to check your progress." With that final instruction, Emerson departed, leaving the Guild''s deadly specialists to their vigil.


    The first day passed uneventfully. The operatives maintained their positions with professional discipline, hidden from casual observation but positioned for optimal coverage of all approach angles.


    By the second day, restlessness began to set in. The Academy grounds remained deserted except for asional maintenance staff who had been warned to stay away from certain areas.


    "Nothing," muttered the second-inmand, a lean woman whose twin daggers were rumored to be coated with seventeen different poisons. "Are we certain our target even knows about this location?"


    "Emerson Holmes assured us he does," replied the leader, though doubt had started to creep into his voice as well.


    On the third day, when Emerson returned as promised, the operatives'' patience was wearing thin.


    "No sign of him," reported the leader. "We''ve maintained constant surveince for seventy-two hours."


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    Emerson frowned, pacing the empty courtyard. "He''s being more cautious than I anticipated. Perhaps we need to create additional incentive..."


    "What do you suggest?" asked the leader.


    "We could leak information about the girl being moved here temporarily," Emerson mused. "That would certainly draw him out."


    The woman with the twin daggers shook her head. "Too obvious. If he''s already suspicious, that would only confirm his doubts."


    "Then we wait," Emerson decided. "He can''t stay away forever, not with what''s at stake. Maintain your positions for another three days."


    The operatives exchanged nces but nodded in agreement. Orders were orders, even if they came from an outsider like Emerson Holmes.


    After Emerson departed again, the days dragged on with excruciating slowness. The Guild operatives, though highly trained, weren''t ustomed to extended periods of inaction. They rotated shifts, maintaining constant vignce while allowing each other brief periods of rest.


    By the sixth day of the stakeout, their professionalposure had begun to crack.


    "This is pointless," hissed one of the younger operatives, a man whose specialty was long-range elimination. "Holmes is using Guild resources for a personal vendetta."


    "Be quiet," the leader reprimanded, though his own frustration was evident. "President Bat himself authorized this operation."


    "Because Holmes has his ear," countered the woman with the daggers. "I''m beginning to think our target was nevering in the first ce."


    The leader''s response was cut short by the arrival of a messenger bearing the Guild''s insignia. After a brief conversation, he returned to his team.


    "New orders," he announced grimly. "If there''s no sign of the target by tomorrow morning, we''re to abandon the operation and return to headquarters."


    This news was met with poorly concealed relief. The anticipation of action followed by days of nothing had worn on everyone''s nerves.


    That evening, as the sun began to set on what would be their final night of surveince, tension hung in the air like a physical presence. The operatives had positioned themselves for onest night of vignce, though few expected anything toe of it.


    "What a waste," muttered the dagger woman, adjusting her position behind a stone column. "Seven days of my life I''ll never get back."


    The leader didn''t respond, his attention fixed on the main entrance gate. Something in the distance had caught his eye—a shadow moving against shadows, approaching with cautious deliberation.


    "Silence," hemanded softly. "We may havepany."


    Instantly, allints ceased. The eight operatives shifted into full alert, hands moving to weapons, bodies tensing for action.


    The figure in the distance continued its steady approach, still too far away for clear identification. But there was something in its gait, a purposeful determination, that raised the hairs on the back of the leader''s neck.


    "Is it him?" whispered the young operative, arrow already nocked in his bow.


    "Wait for confirmation," the leader replied, though his own hand had moved to the hilt of his sword.


    Minutes passed as the figure drew closer. The dying light of the sun revealed more details—a tall man in dark clothing, moving with the fluid grace of a trained martial artist. His face remained obscured, but the leader felt a growing certainty.


    "Prepare yourselves," he ordered quietly. "I believe our patience is about to be rewarded."


    Throughout the Academy grounds, the eight assassins readied themselves for the kill, checking weapons and reinforcing their positions. The formation talismans glowed faintly, ready to activate the moment their target crossed the threshold.


    As darkness settled fully over Veridia City, I approached the Academy entrance with measured steps. Something felt wrong about this ce—too quiet, too still. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, my instincts screaming warnings I couldn''t ignore.


    For days, I''d deliberately stayed away, watching from a distance, gathering information. While my heart burned to charge in and search for Isabelle immediately after my confrontation with Emerson, caution had prevailed. I''d observed patterns, noted guard rotations, and most importantly, sensed the deadly stillness that suggested a trap.


    Now, as I finally closed the distance to the Academy entrance, I knew my suspicions had been correct. The air itself felt charged with murderous intent, barely concealed and growing more potent with each step I took.


    Inside the Academy grounds, the leader of the Guild operatives watched my approach with growing anticipation. Six days of waiting had built to this moment. His hand tightened around his sword hilt, a predatory smile spreading across his scarred face.


    "Liam Knight," he whispered to himself. "Your luck has finally run out."


    I paused at the threshold of the Academy gates, every sense alert to the danger that awaited me beyond. Behind mey retreat and temporary safety. Aheady a carefullyid trap—and perhaps, somewhere within, answers about Isabelle.


    Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward into the gathering darkness.