She clutched desperately at her borrowed garment, pulling the lapels more tightly around her body—and her fingers met with something wet. Alizeh drew her hand away sharply, inspecting the moisture under the moonlight before pinning Cyrus with a look of abject fear. “There’s blood on your coat,” she breathed. Cyrus’s cool stare gave no indication of his feelings on the matter. He said only, “I’m certain you boast intellect enough to imagine how difficult it is to kill a man without soiling one’s clothes.” Alizeh looked away and swallowed.
