First suspicion, then certainty. There was no other candidate.
Who else would have stayed at the scene after his death, going through the wreckage, picking up anything valuable?
Only the D-Brotherhood's people.
Only someone who had been there and watched him go down.
The coincidence felt absurd. Then a thought moved through his mind.
The fate mark. The Prophet's enhancement, the one that had sunk into his palm like a seal pressed into wax.
The man had described it as a probability adjustment.
Encounters that would have had a fifty percent chance of happening became near-certainties instead.
He'd been talking about witches, but witches had only been the example.
The actual scope almost certainly covered anyone whose fate had already intersected with his, enemies included.
If there was a one-in-ten-thousand chance of running into an old adversary in this city, the mark turned it into a near-guarantee.
