Round 47

Silra descends the stairs like a shadow, her dagger held low where the morning light won't catch it. Every creak feels like an alarm bell—two civilians upstairs, their post-coital disarray painting a story that could send them all to prison. The elf's pointed ears twitch with every sound from above, teal eyes tracking light across skin like a predator cataloging detail. She moves with fluid silence designed for exactly this kind of cleanup. Two civilians awake means two witnesses who could alert authorities…