"Two of you planned a quick job—did you forget your manners?"
Galilea straightens. Light folds at her fingertips and becomes a blade of cold energy.
"Who—" one man breathes.
"Madwoman," the other whispers. "Old seed of Becker Manor. Finish her. Quick coin."
"You're too loud," Galilea says. She steps forward and the blade clicks out. Her voice is small and sharp.
"She's alone," the first says, more confident. "No guard. Take her behind the outbuilding—"
Galilea moves before the sentence finishes. Her foot lands, a precise arc. The first man is turned; his hand goes to his dagger.
"Sensors recalibrating," she thinks in a short pulse. "Balance: stable."
She does not think beyond that. Motion is enough.
She rolls under the dagger and the chi blade slides across a throat.
"—what?" The second man freezes.
Galilea's fingers find the jaw. She twists. The man's spine snaps with a hard, quiet sound.
"Name?" she asks the second, blade to his throat.
"Call me—" he gags. "Call me Moran—"
"Wrong answer." She lets him go. He stumbles, hand to his neck. Blood blooms. He looks at his dead friend.
"You wanted quick," Galilea says. "You wanted quiet."
"Please," he says. "Not noble blood. We'll bring—"
"Not noble enough to spare you." She watches him decide the angle of his escape.
He runs.
"Leave him," Galilea tells him. "Keep running."
"She's mad," someone behind the row of trees says. "Don't follow."
"He's faster," Galilea
