She waited in the still night, listening as the sounds of chaos began to rise from the tavern. Her mind clicked systematically over her options, analyzing what she'd observed from the witness. He had the look of a soft man, one who had spent little time in his life engaged in rough labor. He was dressed in filthy cloths that did not fit him, looked utterly exhausted and his eyes clearly bore the frantic look of prey. She knew that look all too well. She could think of no explanation that would leave a man of privilege or status, as she took him to be, running in filth through the slums of the city as he was. It was extremely curious to her.<br/><br/><br/>Just when she'd begun to suspect that he'd run off to avoid her and call for the guards, he finally emerged from the tavern through the same door she'd used. He stood in the circle of light cast by the overhead lamp, trying to peer around into the darkness. She almost chuckled. Did he not know it was impossible to peer into the darkness from the light? In order to fully understand the darkness, one had to stand inside it.<br/><br/>When he didn't run off, she assumed he was looking for her. If he were planning to go for the guards, he would look as if he feared that she would stop him. This almost surprised her, but the look of intelligence in his eyes had told her that he would not be so easily swayed by unfounded rumor as most would be.<br/><br/>She finally stepped forward, approaching him from behind, and stopped just shy of the ring of light. She looked down at herself, noting that the radiant light that fed outward from the circle cast her in a faint glow. She was barely visible, cast mostly in darkness.<br/><br/>Her voice was low, throaty, bearing just a touch of an ominous tone, "You didn't go for the guards. I almost hoped you would. It has been years since I have seen a good fight."