The summer night breeze caressed the rough stone of the palace’s walls, drifting through the cold figure’s black clothing. The figure lithely slid down one wall, only to emerge a second later upon another. His bare feet made no sound; his mask hid his face completely.

He looked up. The window lay open, letting in the cool air. What a mistake, the assassin thought. And I thought there was extra security. He silently chuckled to himself and started scaling the wall using nothing but his fingers and toes. Even the smallest crack could serve as a handhold. Finally, his hand cleared the window ledge. He hoisted himself up into the room, landing on the balls of his feet.

There she was, pale neck exposed against the embroidered pillow. He brought out a slender knife from his belt, twirling it in his fingers. This wouldn’t take long. He brought it to her neck…

And abruptly stopped when she sprung up and gave him a roundhouse kick to the face. “All clear,” she said.