[ WP ] A group of highly trained assassins are out to kill you . One day , while at a coffee shop , you spot them coming towards you .

The chatter in the coffee shop dwindled into frightened silence as the An ’ Luoi passed. It was rare enough to see one of the Blade Eaters, but the sight of three gray-hooded figures struck terror into the hearts of the common folk. Every patron searched their conscience for transgressions that could have brought them to the attention of the Quasireu ’ s elite bodyguard. Did someone overhear your careless remark? Did you consort with the wrong sort of people? Only one set of eyes showed caution instead of abject fright. 
 
 *If I can see them, they are not a threat, * Jona reassured herself, *they wouldn ’ t be so obvious. * 
 
 Still, she found herself joining the chorus of relieved sighs when the dark trio had passed. Her crystal glass shook against the saucer. Every day, more so than any of her neighbors, Jona lived in fear of the An ’ Luoi. A wry smile graced her lips; it was only fair, after all they lived in fear of her. 
 
 The echoing **TONG** of the clock tower shattered her reverie and announced the arrival of midday. Jona made her way to the counter and paid for her drink. A quick glance assured her that the An ’ Luoi weren ’ t lingering outside the cafe. In her line of work it paid to be careful. As an agent of the Second Direktorat, she was a foreign spy in the heart of the enemy ’ s stronghold. Her only protections were her caution and wits. There would be no last minute rescues if she found herself in the dungeons of the Blade Eaters. 
 
 The wide avenues were lifeless under the noon sun. The capital sprawled drunkenly over the sun-scorched plains of Anason, where it was too flat and always too hot. For an Ortinar, used to the cool breeze off the lake, a city without water just seemed wrong. Yet here was where the Quasireu had made his stand, and so here is where the wretched city stood. 
 
 It was always too hot in Zem. What little life dared to venture out during the noontime heat confined itself to the dim alleys where Jona now found herself. She loosened her shawl and let a single lock of her hair poke through. It did nothing to help the heat, but it made her feel a little better. Finally she found the place. 
 
 The bittersweet stench of atiseyan smacked Jona in the face as she ducked through the low doorway. She skirted the unconcerned customer curled up near the staircase and scanned the room. Where was Ossi? 
 
 The last cafe had been a clean, well-lighted place frequented by workers and families. This one was as far from that as possible. The dim lighting did little to hide the shabby disrepair of the venue and its victims. A few worn-out faces hunkered around a ramshackle bar. Large sack-chairs cradled some of the addicts, others made due with tables or benches, even the floor. 
 
 Jona spied the old man entombed behind a pile of misshapen glass bottles. 
 `` Onetwothreefour... Shit'' she murmured to herself. He was going to be even drunker than usual. 
 The crown of his head was facing her, the mottled skin peeling through the greasy strands of gray hair. Something pooled under his cheek on the table. Jona ignored the leering men as she reached a tentative hand for his shoulder. 
 
 `` AYA!'' She hid a wince as his bony hands crushed her wrist. His chest heaved as his terrified eyes searched her face. The telltale green stain of atiseyan danced around his quivering lips. 
 `` It's me, Baba, it's me,'' she cooed softly. Something blinked behind his eyes and he released her hand. His shoulders slumped guiltily as she massaged her wrist. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. 
 
 `` Another bottle of Atiseyan! My granddaughter has come to visit!'' He bellowed. 
 
 Jona winced at the attention. The An ’ Luoi had ears and eyes everywhere. She prayed that the derelicts saw what they wanted them to see: an elderly drunk and his well-meaning granddaughter, instead of a disgraced hero and his worried protege. The little information Jona had learned about her mentor before her departure had given her hints about why he had fallen to drink. Ossian was a hero, but in the style of the Second Direktorat, almost no one would ever know what he had done. Something had happened to the man before her whose file was as decorated as it was classified. 
 
 Ossi had come to Zem years before Jona. He knew the city like the back of his hand, and he had taught her everything he knew. Fortunately, the one habit he hadn ’ t found time to teach her was his addiction to the Zemini ’ s favorite drink.
