Page 56 of New World

She was… no one.

He had never seen her before, not in any records, not in any Legion databases, not among the names of those he had deemed worthy enough to know. He was positive. She was an anomaly. A problem he hadn’t accounted for.

Who is she?

His mind scrambled to fill in the blanks. He was trying to discern what species she was, where she came from, when she turned. She tilted her head, a slight, knowing smile curved her lips.

Zoak stiffened, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He frowned when he realized that she wasn’t looking around the docking bay. She was looking at him.

Dead. Straight. At. Him.

The breath he had been holding expelled in a sharp hiss. A tingle of unease snaked down his spine, rolling through him like a phantom touch. It was as if she had reached into the shadows and yanked him into the light.

Impossible! She cannot possibly see me.

And yet, even as his eyes narrowed on her face, she stared, her lips curved ever so slightly, a tilt of the head—mocking him.

Just like the others. Only… different. Worse.

The realization caused him to stumble back from the railing and deeper into the shadows. His entire body tensed, his pulse hammering against his ribs in a way it never had before. His mind shouted warnings, but his limbs locked in place, unable to move. His pride—his very identity—howled in outrage.

How did she know?

How did she see?

Did she hold some kind of mythical power? Was it an Ancient Gallant trick? Did she possess some cursed ability he had no way of countering?

A sliver of fear slid into his consciousness as the questions raced through his mind. He feared nothing, no one! He was the hunter. Even his old Master had fallen to his blades. He was destined to be a legend.

Yet now—Zoak shivered as a multitude of unfamiliar feelings ran through him. There was a shift in the hunt. The moment when the predator realizes—too late—that it is being stalked.

His mouth dried and his chest heaved as his mind raced, trying to reassert control, to analyze, to strategize. Gripping the view-spotter between his hands, he forced his body to move closer to the railing.

She had turned back to Dorane and was kissing the man as if she hadn’t a care in the world. A visceral growl rumbled in his throat as fury slashed through his brief lapse of fear. He clenched his jaw and dropped one hand to the railing where his claws left gouges in the railing as his body shook.

It was a message.

A clear, undeniable message.

The woman—this Ancient Knight—wasn’t just looking down on him. She was challenging him. Openly. Publicly.

She had marked herself as the true master assassin.

She had taken his hunt away from him.

She wants to deny me my status!

The knowledge hit him like a gut punch, sending a nauseating wave of rage through his system. Sweat beaded on his brow at what she had accomplished with a mere look. His fingers flexed toward the rifle leaning against the steel beam before he pulled his hand back.

She had done something no one had ever done before. She had made him feel weak.

His breath came in ragged bursts, his limbs taut with the desire to lash out. To kill something. To prove that he was the dominant force in this game.

Zoak’s lips peeled back, exposing sharp, predatory teeth as his pupils shrank to slits. He had planned to draw this out. To let Dorane squirm. To savor his victory.

But this? This changes everything.

He would not kill this one from a distance. He would look her in the eyes. Anything less would be an insult to his skills.

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