Part 2: The Emerald Hawk

Lorna's hand hovered inches from her face. The washcloth she held dangled, dripping, as she stared at the mirror. It wasn't the grimy face looking back at her that captured her attention. No, it was the mirror itself. The left side hung lower than the right by perhaps half a finger.

She reached toward it, then stopped herself halfway.

"No."

With measured breaths, she dipped a cloth into the basin and wiped at her jawline. The rag dragged across soot and dried blood. She frowned faintly, then scrubbed harder until pale skin emerged beneath the grime.

It was the small things. Always the small things. As much as she hated the constant swirling of details and anxiety over them, they mattered. Sometimes not enough, but sometimes more than anyone could realize until they were dead.

Yet another lesson from her mother.

"I miss you," Lorna whispered as she finished drying her hair with a towel. It was a deep emerald with a golden hawk embroidered in the corner. Elegant for an inn, but this wasn't just any inn.

With a curl of her lips, she lifted her mother's hairpins from the counter and twisted them in her hands. The sight of them settled something inside her. Smooth edges. Polished steel and brass. She'd already cleaned them, of course. It was the first thing she'd done. Not a speck of dirt or blood. They were perfect.

With practiced ease, she pinned her hair in place, leaving strands partially concealing her face.

"There. Fit as a whistle," she said.

Outside the room, muffled boots thudded through the inn below. Voices drifted through the floorboards in clipped bursts. Orders. Movement. The Eternal Order had swallowed half the district overnight.

Lorna pushed the thought away and looked into the mirror. The woman staring back scarcely resembled the spice merchant from yesterday. Black-and-red armor framed her shoulders, the Mark of the Six gleaming faintly upon the breastplate. The high collar hid the bruising along her throat while powder masked the exhaustion beneath her eyes.

"You can rest later," she told herself. Despite everything, her contact had been clear; the target had been taken to the Emerald Hawk. Now, she just had to find it.

Lorna entered the main suite, her boots sinking into a thick green carpet. Despite the overturned furniture, the room still carried the faded elegance of old Metharadan wealth. Dark oak beams crossed the ceiling overhead, carved with weathered hawks in flight, while heavy emerald curtains framed the tall windows beyond.

It was wonderful in a way that touched Lorna's sense of heritage and pride. She let out a satisfying breath, smiled faintly, then turned toward the corpse on the floor.