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Crouched behind the counter, hovering over the bloody body of the shopkeeper, a lanky, figure shrouded in charcoal gray-black cloak was busily stuffing something into a bag. Everything froze as the bell over the doorframe chimed; signaling an abrupt end to the job, and less payoff.
Silently he cursed his bad luck, “It’s always something” he grumbled in his thoughts.
He quickly, and quietly, picked up the unusually slender dagger from where he set it on the floor and wiped the blood from it on his dark, ragged cloak. Gently, he finished bagging his prize and quietly peered around the counter to assess the situation.
Seeing only a lone, and diminutive individual, he relaxed some and sheathed the blade. “Surprise and speed would suffice,” he thought as he sprung from behind the counter; if he could bury his shoulder into the unsuspecting little fellow, he’d have a clear shot to the shadowed alley across the way from the shop...
