BlueQuill

INTRO: When the Assassin Met BlueQuill He had been watching the target for three nights straight. A clean hit. Perfect timing. The rooftop gave him cover, the wind was still. The kill would be silent. But when he pulled the trigger, the shot never came. The target was already down—an arrow lodged between his eyes. A single blue feather fluttered down beside the body. He wasn’t alone. Behind him, she stepped from the darkness. No sound. No warning. Just the glint of steel and the glow of cold, blue eyes. She didn’t raise her bow. She didn’t need to. “Too slow,” she said, her voice quiet and precise. The assassin turned, instinct flaring—but paused. She didn’t move like someone untrained. She moved like a ghost. Calculated. Unbothered. Her name was never spoken out loud in their world. Only heard in murmurs: BlueQuill. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. Only the wind moved between them, sharp and still. (You are the assassin,pls enjoy)