Casimir stared at her for a few seconds as if he expected her to have spontaneously found her sense of humor.

But instead, her snow-white eyes gazed at him coolly like a winter morning.

"What are you waiting for?"

Casimir pursed his lips and snorted, then growled an "As you wish, mistress," and turned away to disappear into the crowd of onlookers.

As soon as humans appeared on the stage, the number of curious onlookers increased rapidly. Within minutes, the room filled with all those who wanted to catch a glimpse of the human children without necessarily offering anything themselves. It was...

"Perfect," Myreille muttered, directing her own steps away from the auction that was supposed to occupy everyone's attention for a while.

Instead, her eyes scrutinized the other fences gathered around the auction. Here, today, the satyr would have offered his wares for sale if an assassin had not taken his life. But the assassin would get rid of the blade quickly and profitably nowhere else. A dagger like the one she was looking for was bound to attract attention.

Myreille's gaze wandered around, grazing the heads of a few small thieves selling pocket watches or other knickknacks. Fairy dust or small handguns were no doubt also in fashion. Weapons, drugs, and physical services were always good bargains among mortals and vaesen.

Eventually, they were drawn to one of the side rooms. Three men stood on the stage and began advertising their wares. An Aztec death mask and the hand of a supposedly cursed mummy were for sale and quickly sold. Then, the pale vampire held up a weapon—unfortunately, not the one she was looking for.

A human pistol with ammunition... interesting, mainly because ammunition for human weapons had been limited since the decline of mankind and their value was increasing rapidly. However, the same groups usually claimed such weapons for themselves. If a firearm appeared up there...

Myreille's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as her gaze swept over those present, jerkily catching herself like a fly in a net.

Her gaze fell on one of the shadowy corners of the long hall, lined at the edges with tall pillars whose small lights cast shadows over the immediate surroundings. She couldn't say what had drawn her focus there of all places ... but when she saw the figure trying to hide there, every muscle in her body stiffened. If she'd still had a heartbeat, it would indeed have stumbled in her chest - as it was, it was her legs that were beyond her control, taking the first steps before her mind could follow them.

A long coat fell over broad shoulders. The collar was turned up to cover as much of her face as possible, and the garment was made of sturdy linen, reminiscent of times long gone. The coachman's coat had long gone out of fashion, but once upon a time, it had been seen on every street corner in the Victorian age in which she had been born. She had always thought it was elegant. But that wasn't what attracted her as if she were a copper coin and there in the dark, a powerful magnet.

Under a top hat, the brim curved slightly upwards, and the little light refracted on a golden mask—a mask she recognized.

'That's impossible,'  her thoughts murmured, suddenly far from the calm composure a bloodhunter should display.

Myreille moved like a shadow among the onlookers, her piercing eyes fixed on the target like an arrow on its trajectory. Suddenly, her mouth felt dry - far more so than usual anyway - while a knot tightened in her chest where a pounding heart had once beaten.

The man's gaze was fixed on the auction as if waiting for something worth stepping out of the shadows. The sun's golden rays that adorned the mask were the image of an old longing—a fragment of a whole, the counterpart to the mask of night that she wore.

Day and night... how bitterly they had laughed together at this irony when they held the masks in their hands and put them on for the first time. The sun and the moon were so similar: constantly circling the same world without ever really being able to get closer to each other. Close and yet far away, always unreachable, always a world away...

'It can't be,' this thought accompanied their actions and made them act beyond all reason. Fervent hope battled with bitter skepticism in her chest as her hand lay on her strong upper arm beneath the tippet of her coachman's coat. A soft, familiar tingle ran through her fingertips as if she had finally dipped her fingers into a warm spring after an eternal winter.

"Kaye?"

If ever one could have believed that the voice of a bloodhunter carried more than naked, bare coldness, far removed from any feeling or emotion, it was at that moment.

Instead of black death velvet, a golden drop of sun-kissed honey accompanied her voice, coloring it just for this one name in a shade that had been created solely for this man.

"What...?"

Sure enough, the figure turned round with a jerk, and for a second ... she thought she recognized the familiar and beloved features. But then she recognized not the sun's gold, but the icy glacial blue in the irises that did not belong to Kaye, but...

"You!"

Myreille withdrew her hand as quickly as if she had burnt herself, and the silver-white eyes under the black lace veil narrowed to narrow slits. As briefly as the ray of sunlight had strayed into her voice and features, it had vanished again as quickly as if it had been a dream or an illusion. Before her stood the assassin they had caught in the fence's rooms. The Cait-Sith on whom his own people had placed a large bounty.

The calm expression on her lips and bright eyes returned as quickly as they had burst forth, and now the Slayer's shoulders straightened into an awe-inspiring stance.

"If it is death you so eagerly seek, cat, then surely I can provide it for you... why else would you venture into this place?" His arched brows lifted, yet he could not hide a particular curiosity, which seemed reflected in his features as soon as the initial shock had passed.

"I have no intention of dying or fighting, little doll."

The tom bared his teeth slightly and let out a low growl as his gaze wandered vigilantly for a moment, probably to see if she was alone or if there were more lurking in the shadows. But it quickly died away, sounding breathless and hoarse. The Cait-Sith briefly assumed a stiff stance, which might have been interpreted from a distance as being ready for battle - if you hadn't noticed that he wasn't putting any weight on one of his legs and had already slumped back against the pillar.

"I'm not here because I want to be but because I have to be. You have your prey, and so have I. So go your way..."

His breaths were extremely heavy and Myreille could see him fumbling to his ribs out of reflex. The cat was still injured. Casimir had probably done more to him than she had given the newcomer credit for.

Now that she was so close, she recognized a slight sheen of fever sweat on the tanned skin. To summarise her assessment of the situation and his condition simply, he was no challenge at the moment.

"Kaye," he murmured. So softly, as if these words were meant for his ears alone, the cat let his gaze wander back to the stage. "So it's true... bloody idiot..." Despite his mask, she could see his features darken like she had shoved a lemon into his mouth. "How do you know that name, dolly?"

Myreille snorted softly as her gaze slid over the Cait-Sith almost appraisingly.

Bloodhunters were the elite. They were cold. Controlled. A blade was never angry, nor did it judge - and that was exactly how they had to be. Fast, merciless, precise. Without judgement. Simply a tool.

But beneath the surface of the otherwise cold tool... it was bubbling.

She had her prey, and he had his?

Hah, he had no idea. What the Blood Lord wanted and what she... Were not necessarily the same things. If the Blade didn't have to work for the cabal, then she had a life and goals of her own... and the reason she was here today had nothing to do with those of the Blood Lord. However, HE had been in one place and had stumbled into her inquiries. She wasn't going to let him get away that easily. Not again.

Especially not because he was wearing those clothes and that mask.

"I could ask YOU the same thing, cat," she returned just as smoothly, not taking her eyes off him. On the contrary, the bright soul mirrors even narrowed.
"Where did you get these things?" Her eyes were focused on one thing in particular: the mask. "It doesn't belong to you." This time, her voice became noticeably colder, and she even stepped towards the Cait-Sith so that the distance melted away as she held out her hand demandingly. "It was a gift to another. Give it to me."