The young man with an old man's soul smiled in a way that did not belong to youth, the curve of his lips stretched too wide, too confident, too certain, as if the world itself had already been placed under his feet.
His eyes burned with a knowing that did not match the body he wore, and when he raised his hand, the air trembled as though it feared what would come next.
"Impressive," he said, his voice layered, deep and aged beneath the young tone. "Your movements are sharp, your instincts are keen, and your ability to hide within shadows is nothing short of extraordinary. For someone of your age, this is beyond talent. This is something cultivated through blood and death. I will admit it. You are a genius among assassins."
His fingers curled slightly, and the fire that had been raging in the air did not simply burn. It grew. It expanded. It thickened, as if the flames had weight, as if they carried intent and hunger.
