The next minute was all a blur. Evan was congratulated by Captain Zonya, reassured quietly by Elameere, and the family and the dead man's corpse were all dragged out of the room. But Evan was numb. Cold. Was this what it felt like to kill? To take a precious life? Evan knew the answer was yes, but somehow it was different than he expected. He wasn't aware how.

Captain Zonya drifted down, angel feathers swaying gently, and bowed to him. "Welcome to our order, young one," she announced, handing Evan a golden badge as she rose.

Evan looked closely at it. It was engraved by a vulture grasping a rose atop the letter M. The bottom was engraved with a language he did not know and he did not care enough to ask what it meant. He stuck the coin in his pocket.

"Morti congratulates you on your victory, young assassin Evan Engle." The guards saluted and Captain Zonya's scarred lips tugged into a smile. "You are free to go, live your life out as a mercenary. You will report back to me when you put your next target to rest."

Elameere nodded and put a protective arm around Evan. "Time to go."

Evan trudged back to the car, still cold and numb. Even as he looked back, he saw the ferocious white marble gleaming brighter than the fire he set earlier.

The boy's voice came back to him. Monster. Is that what Evan was becoming? A buzzing noise consumed his brain. He couldn't focus, and Elameere didn't dare snap him out of it.

It was ten minutes before they even spoke a word, but it felt like a decade.

"Your target's name is on the back of the coin. It'll change every time you kill. The Guild will assign you fitting targets for your skill range."

Elameere didn't look at Evan when he said this. Evan didn't respond, either. He pulled the coin from his pocket and flipped it over. It read "Zianu Ori" in small letters at the bottom and what seemed to be coordinates that constantly adjusted themselves suiting their target's location. The vulture and rose were again in the center of the coin.

"Look, Evan," Elameere started, adjusting his sunglasses, "I'm sorry for what that stupid woman made you do. But that was a valuable lesson, evil or not. Death is holy for assassins. Nothing to celebrate yet nothing to fear. We just... speed up the natural process." Evan looked away from Elameere and his heart sank further to the floor. Elameere didn't understand. "You had to take a life eventually. You can't let it hurt you like this. The first time I killed, it was—"

Evan cut him off with a piercing look in the rearview mirror. He did not want to talk about taking lives right now. Elameere closed his mouth and continued driving, clenching the weathered steering wheel with white knuckles.

It was a relatively short drive and the assassins arrived after what seemed like another decade of silence. The bright red car shuddered to a stop.

Home.

The house was shabby, made with ill-assorted pieces of wood and metal. The off-white paint was chipped in more places than not, and the floors creaked and bent under even Evan's slim form. But it was home. Or as much of a home as it could be.

Evan grew up on the streets. This was much better than the dangerous streets of Morti. Elameere gave him a life out here. He made sure Evan stayed out of the gutters. In fact, Elameere was probably the only thing that was keeping him alive at this point. In Morti, you were either a criminal or a royal; there was very little in-between. It was inescapable, unavoidable. Elameere taught him everything he knew about assassination: keeping his feet light, his breath slow, steady, and quiet, having no hesitation when it comes to delivering the final blow. Sooner rather than later, he became the world's greatest teenage assassin. Or at least, in his mind. Up until now, he had so much confidence in his skills as a mercenary he boasted about it on trips to the bar Elameere frequented. But now after experiencing the crushing guilt that came with taking a life, he wasn't sure.

Elameere interrupted his stream of self-questioning thoughts by clearing his throat. "You know, tomorrow we can take a break from training. I can see you're not taking your first time well."

Evan huffed, "No kidding."

Elameere sighed awkwardly. He opened his door to the car and stepped out with caution, glancing back at Evan before he made his way to the door.

Elameere was like a father to him. He raised Evan like his own son. But he would never understand what Evan felt. Sometimes Evan often wondered if Elameere even had a heart. He killed without mercy, without regret. Elameere didn't even know this person, Zianu Ori, and he was already prepared to take their life. Evan heaved a deep sigh of frustration but opened his car door, stepped out, and slammed the gleaming red door behind him. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and threw on the hood to his jacket.

Elameere was long gone by the time Evan walked in, shut up in his room like usual. Probably planning a strategy to find this next victim. Evan was sure he should be doing the same, but he was too tired after the long trek to care. He would research after he slept.

Evan walked up the rickety staircase to his room. He opened the chipped-paint door and quietly shut it behind him. He didn't want to disturb Elameere.

His room was small, but sufficient enough for his needs. His swords and assorted daggers were hung up in an orderly fashion on his dulling white walls. An old computer sat on his mahogany desk, collecting dust. Flowers in a small vase withered away from the corner, neglected and severely underwatered. Evan made a mental reminder to throw them out later.

Evan had lived here for almost a decade, but it still didn't feel like home. There wasn't anything here that grounded him to reality.

That was how life was supposed to be for an assassin.

And he hated it.

He had no material possessions, as the Guild often suggested. He didn't even really want any, since he left "home" so often. Sometimes, after all of this, he wished he was normal. He wasn't going to complain about his life, because at least he wasn't living as a gutter rat somewhere in the rough city or Morti, but he did have a rather traumatic job to do.

Maybe one day he would get used to the constant death.

Evan sighed, sitting on his small cot. You would think he would get used to this after years of training, emotionally and physically. Maybe he was just a little more empathetic than everyone else around him. Maybe he wasn't cut out for being an assassin.

But he knew deep inside him that this is the only thing worth doing. It was what paid the bills, it was the only thing keeping both him and Elameere off of the streets. This is what he had trained for over these past few grueling years. It would be pointless to stop now and find a more respectable occupation.

And so after a while of wallowing in self-pity and sorrow, Evan stood up and dusted himself off. Research, he thought to himself. Wiping off the dusty screen of the old computer, he searched up the name on his coin.

Zianu Ori, he thought.

Prepare to die.

***

Elameere frowned. "Evan, you don't look so good. Did you get any sleep at all?"

Evan scowled. "I'm fine. I look awesome."

Elameere dropped the subject, slipping on a fake smile. "Alrighty then."

Evan looked, dejected, at the coin in his hands. The coordinates hadn't changed. Neither had the name. And neither had the mission.

"You got any information on this guy? Or gal, for that matter?" Elammere asked over his bowl of porridge.

"They're neither, and yeah, I guess I do."

Elammere raised an eyebrow but didn't elaborate. Wise of him.

Evan pulled the manila file out from his pack. "Zianu Ori. Nickname: Z. 17 years old. No recorded family history. Lives in a small shack in the East corner of Lumenaria. Arrested about a year ago for stealing food and water from local shops, assault, arson and murder." Evan shuddered and looked up at Elameere. It wasn't like he was a stranger to murder after all, but hearing that his next victim could put up a fight was terrifying. "They've got a real criminal record. I'm surprised a rookie like me would get assigned to someone like this."

Elammere shook his head. "Most of our targets have a similar rap sheet to them. This job isn't for the fickle hearted. Our targets aren't merely litterbugs, obviously. We're tasked with ridding this world of real threats to society. It's a hassle to get in if you don't have someone already in the Guild. Luckily, you have me, I had my dad, he had his dad, and so forth." Elameere took a sip of his coffee and adjusted his newspaper. "You have to be skilled, ruthless, and void of emotion. Luckily, you are all of those."

Evan scoffed, burying his head in his hands. "Yeah, okay."

Elameere glared at Evan. "You underestimate yourself. I just saw you ki-"

Evan stood up abruptly, knocking a full mug of coffee off of the table. "I'm sorry, can we get going already? This is pretty agonizing." Evan shook his head, shaking out the cobwebs in his mind.

Elameere made a small, offended noise. "I'm not doing anything, you bossy little sh-"

Evan stalked away, grabbing a pair of silver keys off of a coat rack and smirked as he opened the door to the chilly yet sunny outside, then closed the door behind him.

Morti had a way of killing off all of your happy thoughts before you even thought them. The nipping, biting wind ruffled Evan's hair and left him stumbling, trying to catch his footing again. He uttered a few choice words as he held on tightly to the rickety metal railing of the stairs. The sun beamed down at him, teasingly bright. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, yet Evan was chilled to the bone.

The door opened behind him with a loud squeak. "Damn it, Evan, I told you to stay inside."

Evan groaned, his hands raking through his disheveled hair. Elameere's voice was as cold as the air around him.

"Help me up, you idiot," Evan snarled as the wind almost knocked him over a second time."

"Call me that again, see what happens."

"Oh, I can call you much worse."

They continued bickering until Elameere eventually acquiesced and lent Evan a hand. "I'll help you to the car as well," Elameere grumbled. "Might as well leave now. I don't see why you had to be so rough about it."

Evan leered at the older man. "I don't particularly love being constantly reminded that I'm a monster."

Elameere's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Evan laughed mirthlessly. "I'm a monster. I killed that old man in front of his family. The kid... he asked me if I was a monster. I-I think I am." His voice cracked painfully. He hated Elameere's pitying gaze. He didn't want pity, he wanted understanding. "I don't want to kill, I wish I didn't have to. But I guess it's what comes easy. And I already have my license. I'm not exactly cut out for anything else; I dropped out of high school. I don't have a future besides a mercenary." Evan could only look at the floor. Elameere was silent.

They sat in silence for a while. Elameere sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I guess I didn't think about that. I've never really..." Elameere trailed off and took a deep breath. "Death comes naturally to me. It's what I do best. I excel at it and I've never had a problem with it. But it must be different for you."

Evan nodded. Elameere was finally getting it.

"I'm sorry," Elameere whispered under his breath. "I'm sorry you ever had to do this."

Evan averted his gaze and willed away the tears threatening to escape the prison behind his eyes. "Alright," he mumbled. "Let's get going already. It's a long way to Luminaria."