The smell of burning wood is strong in the air. The crackling sound of the dying flames echoes everywhere. There is a strange metallic tang in the air, something I had never felt and it burns the taste into my tongue. I take a step forward. There is nothing to be seen ahead of me, except pockets of fire in places, seething like jealousy in its rawest form. The atmosphere is silent—like death. 

"Petunia?"

No answer.

I take a step forward.

"Gerbera?"

No answer.

Something crunches under my feet. In the flickering light, it appears white and brittle, almost like—a human bone. I scream in fright and start running, not away from the distant flames, but towards it. Why are there no people? Why aren't people screaming? Where is everyone?

Through my foggy vision, the surroundings become even more distinct. Charred bodies are lying around like rotten fruit waste from the daily market—unrecognizable, skin melting into each other, stuck together, hugging, crashing, burning, screaming silently—frozen in the last attempt to escape before the fire annihilated every single one of them.

"Rosemary—Lily—Anyone? Hello?" I scream in vain, tears streaming down my soot-covered cheeks, but I keep running, running away from the cluster, towards that one solitary cottage, hoping against hope that they might have missed something. And a blaze lights up just in front of my eyes. I sprint faster. A shadow clad in black emerged from somewhere. Our eyes met. There is only one expression in those merciless eyes—hatred—disgust. The man doesn't stop. I scream at him disappearing into the woods. But my scream is drowned by another cry–a cry so guttural that nature seems to freeze for a second.

"Mamaaaaa!" I wail, leaping over the last few stones on the path. There's a hand on the glass of the window and our house is burning like the bonfire of the spring dance, except the only thing dancing were the flames and death—hand in hand.

"Mamaaaa" 

My fingers fly in the air like strumming the strings of some invisible guitar. Purple flames blaze from the centre of my palm. My veins are throbbing with anger and the flames form a coil of lavender that wraps around my arms and my body, exuding an unearthly purple glow. I hurl the magic at our cottage, putting every last bit of my energy into the spell.

I wake up covered in my own sweat. My shirt is stuck to my back like a cling wrap on food and the folds of my skin around my neck are dripping wet. I get up quickly and grab a towel, wiping my face and then trudging to the wash basin where I sprinkle water on my face and neck. The cool water feels soothing on my skin which is as hot as if I was in flames.

"It was a dream, Lark. You are fine." I say to my reflection in the mirror. The hollow expression of the girl in the mirror stares back at me—the face of a killer—the face of a victim. 

I come back into the room, wipe my face and power on my phone.

3.10 am.

I know sleep will not come again that night, so I slip on a pair of flip-flops and slowly open the door. It's the witching hour and the hallways are empty like ghost cottages. I pad slowly through the verandah, making sure my feet make no sound. The perk of being an assassin is that you know how to move like a cat. You have to reach places without being detected. When one miss-step can kill you, caution comes automatically. I float through the hallways, crossing the length of the girl's hostel, past the snoring guard and out into the moonlit lawn. The cratered gibbous moon is bright against the night sky.

I flop onto the dew-clad grass and keep staring up at the sky. There's a kind of serenity at the moment which almost feels like forgiveness. The breeze is blowing slowly, weaving through my hair, running over the sticky sweat still clinging to my scalp. I take a sharp whiff. The air smells soft and floral, but it's difficult to pick out one scent. Crickets chirp in the distance, interrupted by the screech of lone owls far away. The shrill cry of a cicada, the howling of wolves miles away on the mountain and the steady sound of the soft breeze make it a soothing musical concert of nature. All these sounds won't be heard by everyone. My ears are sharper than most ordinary fae, no idea why, but they do help me stay on high alert always. Assassins have enemies too. I had already had two attempts on my life. One of the reasons Hemlock sticks to me like a shadow.

"Unable to sleep?" The voice startles me for the very obvious reason that it isn't supposed to be there. No one is supposed to be awake at this hour. I crane my neck to try and see the intruder in my solitude but he comes right beside me and flops down. It's Mr Exotic from earlier. Ergun is dressed in a grey sweatshirt and checkered pyjamas with a light charcoal shawl thrown over his shoulders. He sets down a silver flask in between us.

"Yes?" 

"Huh?"

"I asked if you're unable to sleep too, just like me."

"Kinda." 

I don't say anything else. Somehow the serenity of the night is better off without our bickering. But I should have known that with him around, peace is going to elude me.

He unscrewed the lid of the flask and poured tea into it noisily and offered the lid to me. I shook my head. 

"Come on. Tea is good anytime."

"With friends. I don't even know you." I say slowly.

"Then you can get to know me." He grinned. How can one person be so cheerful day and night?

"I'm not interested." I turn away.

"In tea or in having a companion?"

"Both," I reply coolly, turning away slightly more.

"Don't stress too much about college." He says out of the blue.

I snort without meaning to. 

He looks startled.

"Sorry"—I laugh again—"I mean, that's the least of my worries, trust me."

"So may I hear what your worries are, milady?" he gives me a fake bow. 

"There's a long list."

"Let's start from the most recent."

"Not being able to enjoy my solitude because you are encroaching on it." I give a sugary smile.

"Too much solitude often bites back Miss—" he pauses.

"You can call me Lark." I pick up the offered cup, more out of courtesy than anything. The aroma of cardamoms is making my stomach growl.

"Lark as in like the bird?" He imitates a bird with his fingers in the air.

"Lark as in like Larkspur, the flower," I mumble. Nobody had ever tried to dissect my name. I had always been an insignificant no-one as a kid and an unnamed assassin as an adult.

"Larkspur is a very pretty flower. In some ancient texts, it signifies a beautiful spirit or positivity." He smiles again, showing a neat row of slightly crooked teeth.

"Larkspur can also incapacitate animals that go a bit too near." I drain the rest of the tea in one gulp and offer him the cup. His fingers are trembling slightly as he grips the cup. The steadiness of my own fingers is a stark contrast to his fear. Maybe that will make him stay away. He looks like a nice guy and I'd rather he doesn't become collateral damage on my mission.

"Whoa! You definitely are something. I'm Ergun." He scratches his neck nervously.

"You're not the first guy to say that and yes I know your name." I gather my shawl and lift my butt off the ground. He gets up too. "I'll see you at class then?"

"Don't try to be friendly." I narrow my eyes at him.

"Okay fine." He holds up his palms as a gesture of surrender.

"After you, please." I glare at him, so he can't stay back and try to small-talk with me as an excuse to keep me longer. He shrugs and starts leading the way to the wooden steps leading the hallways. I follow slowly, quite pleased with myself. I kind of enjoyed the night, not that I will ever admit to him. A few birds are waking up, chirping in the distance, but the sky is still inky black.

I sense a subtle shift in my environment right before my survival instincts kick in. And before I can blink, I hear a sharp whizz like a shrill whistle. It doesn't take me even a second to know the familiar sound. It's an arrow coming straight at us from behind. My magic erupts from the ground, silent as a serpent and launches a shielding screen behind me, guarding us both. The arrow zings as it hits my magic barrier and falls on the grass with a soft plop. I whip around in the same breath, but the bushes and trees around the perimeter are dark. I fist my fingers and punch the air in annoyance.

"Hello." Ergun is waving from the steps. 

"Coming." I turn my head and sprint the last of the steps to keep him in the circumference of my shield. At the first step, I take one last look back at the darkness looming and then Ergun disappears down the corridors.

Was the arrow for him? Or is someone trying to get rid of me yet again?

Author's Note: Who do you think the assassin is after? Is it her? If yes, why?