Hidden Stinger, the assassin concealed in the mist, raced through his options.
The blood on the ground and the mangled crow carcasses proved one thing: his attack had landed. But they also confirmed something else.
Night Owl could somehow evade a killing blow.
His loose tongue and arrogance should have cost him his life. Instead, he had paid with the lives of a few crows.
And now he expected Hidden Stinger to answer for their deaths?
Absurd.
They were both in the same line of work. What was there to answer for?
Hidden Stinger gave his arms a slight shake, spinning the crescent-shaped blades halfway around in his hands.
He changed his grip and began planning his next attack. Across from him, the ever-composed Night Owl suddenly moved.
Night Owl stroked the feathers of the crow perched on his fingertips, then bent his arm slightly.
When he straightened it again, the crow turned into a black-feathered arrow and shot into the mist.
Night Owl could not see Shadow Stinger's exact position through the haze. But the black mist was noticeably thicker around him, so he had to be somewhere within its darkest patch.
The black arrow plunged straight into that dense cloud.
Years spent living on a knife's edge had given Shadow Stinger extraordinary perception. He knew the projectile was no real arrow, but a transformed crow. Yet its piercing whistle told him it might be deadlier than any ordinary arrow.
Even the frailest thing could strike with unmatched force if it moved fast enough.
Fortunately, the arrow was not aimed squarely at a vital spot. Shadow Stinger spread his arms, and it passed beneath his armpit.
Clang!
Shadow Stinger glanced back at the crisp impact and saw, to his astonishment, that the crow's black beak had sunk completely into