Then a blade sprouted from his throat.

No sound. No warning. Just the soft, wet thunk of steel finding its target. The male slid down the wall, a red smear trailing after him, and went still.

Y/n stood over the body. Her own blade was still sheathed. Her fingers had been a breath away from drawing it.

Slowly, she looked up.

A figure stood on the rooftop above. Tall. Broad. Fae. He was silhouetted against the bruised violet of the evening sky, dark hair shifting in a breeze she couldn't feel from down here. He stepped forward, out of the shadow, and the last of the daylight caught the sharp planes of his face. He looked at her like he'd known exactly where she'd be.

He glanced at the body between them, unhurried, like a man checking the time. Then he looked at her again. And smiled. Barely. Just a faint tilt at the corner of his mouth.