Ex-thief, 9/3/17

As he crouched on the terraced rooftop, Ciro held out a single razor sharp blade, lazily twisting its hilt between gloved fingertips. The metal glinted in the moonlight, which was dancing across the dark canal below.

It had been a long night, and he was aching to return to his small, yet fairly comfortable room at the Drunken Blacksmith.

There was just one, tiny thing he had left to do.

Returning the thin blade to its sheath, he crept back across the rooftops, away from the docks toward the centre of the city. He passed by many balconies, avoiding the temptation that the dark windows brought, their occupants having retired for the evening. It would be so easy to slip in and pocket any discarded fineries he could spot within the villa. The owners would hardly miss one or two items, and they would fetch a hefty price, if Ciro could find the right buyer.

He shook himself out of his stupor and continued on. His thieving days were far behind him. Besides, he had one balcony in particular he was heading for, and a mission far greater than simply robbing the wealthy nobles of their plentiful jewels.

Ciro had to make someone disappear. For good.


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