It was a cold day in Karvata, a bustling market district in the mountainous region of Jasrabad. People of all provinces congregated here to find rare goods and services. Riya stood at one of the merchant stalls, eyeing a row of kebabs. Her long, wavy hair fell past her shoulders, and her hoop earrings swayed as she talked excitedly about her day.

By all appearances, she was a seasoned traveler, passing through on her way back home. She wore a black coat, with marigolds embroidered on the back, over a saffron-red shirt. Her fitted cashmere trousers were tucked into her leather boots. But, hidden underneath her coat—two flintlock pistols with stocks of finely carved ivory, barrels of brushed steel, and flourishes of gold. Her honey-brown eyes glanced around the market from time to time as she spoke, because she wasn’t here on a whim. She was looking for someone in particular.

“Right, so...” she trailed off, returning her gaze to the vendor, an old man with pockmarked skin and kind eyes. “I’ll take one chicken kebab. Sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

“Of course, of course! You can come talk anytime, young miss. Where did you say you were headed, again?” The merchant took one of the kebabs and handed it over.

“I’m on my way to Rishipur—a small farming town. A sage was born there once so that’s where the name comes from.”

“Ah, yes.” The merchant beamed. “Safe travels, dear.”

She reached for her coin pouch, but the merchant shook his head.

“For your wonderful conversation...no charge.”

Riya scoffed, nodding her head appreciatively, then placed the whole coin pouch in his hands. “Retire somewhere nice.”

With that, she walked away, taking a bite of her kebab as she observed another man walking into a small building, an antiques shop named Basim’s Wares.

She walked into the establishment, her eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly. The man wasn’t there anymore, probably in a back room. The shop was filled with dusty artifacts and handicrafts, most of which looked untouched for years. Items ranging from small carved statues to ornate vases lined the shelves.

There was a door behind the wooden counter. She walked up to it, her footsteps silent against the tile. Not hearing any movement, she propped open the door with one foot, and peeked inside.

No sign of the man.

She closed the door slowly, then started poking around the room. A bit of light filtered through a rectangular window, illuminating the particles of floating dust. After some digging, she found some scrolls marked with wax seals.

No evidence of any sales, as suspected. Terrible excuse for a front.

She unfurled one of the scrolls, but then the door to the back exit swung open.

“Thief!” the man yelled, pointing outside as if someone would come to help. When that failed, he ran at her.

With a swift blow to the side of his jaw, she sent the man crumpling to the ground.

“Relax, Basim. I’m not a thief, nor a con-artist. I’m a mercenary. Get it right, or get your tongue ripped out of your mouth.” She smiled, then kicked the man aside. “Who have you been working with? I assume some well-connected individuals?”

Riya returned to the desk, noticing a set of drawers, only one having a lock on it. She slipped her hand under the desk and brought out an enameled key adorned with a lion’s design. “This wouldn’t be important, would it?”

As she reached for the drawer, she heard the distinct click of a hammer being pulled back.

“Get away from there,” a man said from behind her. “Turn around, slowly.”

Riya nodded, turning, keeping her hands up. “Who might you be?”

“Hans Ervine.” He grinned. “Now, toss over your flintlocks. No sudden moves.”

“The Hans? I can’t believe I’m in the presence of Erid’s biggest crime boss. I was expecting someone more local.” She raised a brow. “Say, where’re your bodyguards?”

“Don’t need them. No one tries to steal from me and lives.”

“You sure we can’t work something out?” She removed one of the flintlocks from its holster, let it drop to the floor, and kicked it across to him.

“Hm, you’re pretty enough to fuck,” he said nonchalantly.

She laughed slightly. “So are you.”

Hans smiled confidently, his firearm still trained on her.

Her hand reached for her last flintlock, and before he could blink, he thudded to the ground, a hole between his eyes. Smoke drifted from the barrel of her gun.

Riya sighed, twirling the gun idly in her hand as she walked over to pick up her other flintlock.

After placing her weapons back on her belt, she brought up her left wrist and tapped the quartz dial with her finger.

“Target—Hans Ervine,” she said as the dial sparked to life in a flash of blue. “Contract closed.”