The long dart stuck out from the back of my leg, quivering as the muscle spasmed. Already the leg was numb where it had struck; soon enough the toxin would spread to the rest of my body. How long did I have before it reached my lungs and I stopped breathing?
At least the dart was old, leaving the toxin too dry—otherwise I would be nearly dead already.
“Who sent you?” The boy practically screamed at me, his voice raw and ragged. Flint gray eyes were wide with cold fury as he held my pouch of darts.
Pulling the dart from my thigh, I rolled it between my fingers and stepped fully into the room. As usual, the motion soothed my nerves and calmed the throbbing in my head where he had hit me. My head still hurt from where he had hit me, dazing me just long enough to grab my pouch.
I took a steadying breath and stood, turning to face him. My dark cloak spun with the movement. A shame it had been useless against his throw; usually the cloak provided better protection.
Lucky, that. Few managed the skill needed to throw these darts. That was part of what made them so useful to me. None had ever taken my pouch from me.
The rented room around us was small and dark and smelled of sweat and fear. I scanned it quickly, my Sight—my gift from the Great Watcher—allowing me to See through the darkness, hoping to learn more about this man I’d been hired to kill.
