“I don’t have enough evidence.” His frame came into view, and he stood with his back towards me, staring through the window to the bleak morning beyond. “Besides, I like to find out people's motives first.”
“Why do motives matter?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Sometimes they justify the outcome.”
“They always do for the people committing the act,” I reasoned.
“Yes,” he mused, “But society doesn’t accept all of those reasons.”
“And you speak for society? As a whole?”
His shoulders seemed to tense a bit. “No. I speak only for me and my brothers.”
“Cryptic.”
“Not really. We try to uphold justice in a way that works for us, makes sense to us. Nothing is ever fully good or evil. We try to help others do good.”
“Except you’re hired help.” I couldn’t help pointing out.
“We choose our jobs.” His voice was hard.
I mulled that over. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t have enough proof or if he didn’t believe someone like me to actually be the killer. “And if you decide that these deaths are all tied, and the killer has good enough motives to satisfy you, then what?”
He shrugged. It was barely a raise of his shoulders. “Isn’t everyone who kills on purpose bad?” I asked, scared of the answer I already knew.
“No,” he said too fast. That surprised me.
“No?”
“I’ve seen enough death, most of it unsanctioned, unjustified, but not all of it. Some people have no choice; others are forced. I’ve seen it all.”
“And you? Did you have a choice to, uh, join this brotherhood?”
“It was the only choice I made for myself. I was forced into the lifestyle at a young age. A few of us were given the opportunity to venture out because of an alliance with a powerful Alpha Prince.” He didn’t say any more, and I was curious, but the tone in his voice told me he wasn’t accepting questions.
“What is your job title exactly?”
“Mercenaries, for lack of a better term. We’re highly trained, and it’s all we knew. The fighting, the killing, but at least now we get to choose who we do it for. We’ve been using our services to help right some of the imbalance that we created.”
He seemed to finally be saying the things that were bubbling up inside him. The things that I kept cutting him off from saying. That, or he was trying to throw me off, use a trick to try to gain my trust and confidence. It wouldn’t work.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”
“Have you heard of The Silent Assassin? He went by many names.” His head shifted so that he looked over his shoulder.
I flicked back through my memories, waded through the ones that I repressed, and I thought that I might have heard something about a wandering assassin from a child's eyes where she hid and listened to her parents and Beta and Gamma talking late into the night by a dying fire. It sounded exciting, like a story from a fairytale in real life. But I knew better than to trust my memory, especially after years of forced suppression and ignoring the happy memories, if only not to cleave open the well that held my unwavering pain.
“I might have as a child.” I realized I hadn’t said anything for far too long, and the grip on the edge of my seat was turning my knuckles white, something I was sure wouldn’t go unnoticed by him.
The Hunter seemed to pause, stiffen, but in reality; he was just standing more still than before. ”What did you hear?” His voice seemed to harden, and I could sense his sideways glance at me.
I shook my head as if to erase the memories. “It was from another lifetime. I thought I heard that he was a nomad. It sounded magical even, but I was a kid.” When I said it out loud, it sounded silly.
“Do you remember what was said about him? Besides him being a nomad.”
“I don’t even know if I’m remembering correctly.”
“Try,” he urged.
I shut my eyes and fought the swirl of emotions that threatened to take me under and focused instead on trying to recall the information. “That he was back near our land, and I think it seemed to worry them. Worry some of them.” I opened my eyes, and I was met with his brown and blue one. He had turned around fully and was studying me with an expression I didn’t have a name for.
“That hurt you, those memories,” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question.
I swallowed. “It’s just hard to remember that all,” I brushed it off, tugging at the end of my braid for something familiar to do.
“Why?”
I met his eyes. “I thought we were talking about your mythical assassin. Are you looking for him?” I tried a wary smile, anything to turn the conversation away from emotions I still fought to have a hold on. “Because I can tell you that I have no information, and the only mention of him was when I was a child. I’m sorry I’m not much more help.” I brushed it off.
“I know where he is,” his jaw ticked, and his eyes seemed far away even though they never broke my stare. “I was just wondering if you knew about him.”
“Well, I don’t really, so why don’t you just tell me whatever you were going to say instead of making everything a cryptic game?” I was getting annoyed with this back and forth, but more than that, I was annoyed that he made me go back to that place. The pain still clung to me, the memory of watching my parents with their friends. How happy and carefree and sturdy they were.
“I’ve upset you,” he asked.
“It’s not you,” I huffed.
“You have a lot going on,” he offered.
I met his gaze. I didn’t understand what that meant. Was he talking about the fact that he all but accused me of trying to poison him - which he wasn’t wrong about. It seemed to have a deeper meaning, though, one I was too drained to even sift through.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” he started to walk away.
“Why do you care about the assassin? That I know who he is?” I asked, letting my curiosity win for once with him.
“I was just trying to explain to you in a way that you might understand. That I’m not the villain here. In my own way, I’m trying to right my wrongs.”
I pinned him with a wary stare. “Do you work for him? Is he your-”
“No-” That was the most amount of feeling I saw from him. Anger, mixed with something I might have thought to be longing, or sadness. It was an interesting mix that I couldn’t place. “This is a conversation for another time. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but I shut it, remembering myself. He turned on his heel, leaving me with more questions than answers. As his footsteps receded down the hall, the room went eerily still. I felt cold and heavy, and exhausted.