Emil grumbled internally as he trudged through the mud. It was the same story every time. "This person has done these things. Take care of them." That was the gist of the jobs he'd been recently given. This would be his 4th, and he'd already started making a name for himself, not that he wanted to. Nobody could agree on what his street name was anyway.

These jobs paid well. He was eating better, and could even give Esmeralda and the girls back at the brothel small gifts and such. All it cost him was his morality, sleep, and sanity. He suffered, but for food, and for his father's treatment, he had no choice. That's what he kept telling himself. It had to be done, and that Kazamir couldn't be defied.

That was how things were for all of the previous jobs, but this one was... different. He felt it in his bones. Kazamir gave the same spiel as usual, but he seemed just short of fanatic about it and required proof this time. This was the first time proof was required, but proof was normally an ear or something that you wouldn't cut off by accident. This time, however, the proof was to be an eye.

Also, his mark was a woman. He felt that by taking this job, he'd somehow be betraying Esmeralda and the girls back in town. Everything about the job felt wrong, but every circumstance had demanded him to take it. What settled his mind was Kazamir's parting words. "If you do this right, boy, your father will be cured, and it'll be your last job for me."

Everything was questionable, but he couldn't pass up the promise of freedom and his father's health. He got the basic information, asked around, and found himself tracking her through the night, trying to get ahead of the mob that caught wind of the price on her head. It'd be a shame if he had to spill more blood than necessary.

He made for the lone figure standing atop one of the hills, silencing his steps as he drew close. He'd practiced silent movement, but given yesterday's rain, it wasn't easy. He drew close as the figure walked back and forth. They were nervous. If that was her, the level of damage she'd inflicted on so many would lead one to believe that she was accustomed to combat, so the apparent nervousness felt out of place.

Women in the shadows were generally prostitutes or brothel workers as opposed to assassins and brawlers. This wasn't someone to be taken lightly, but he was certainly curious as to what she could do. He continued, creeping closer as she raised her arm, a fireball in hand. A magic user? This was a rarity, though it explained how she'd defeated so many people, but it still didn't feel right. Magic was slow, so how'd she pull it off?

Emil stopped a decent distance away, far enough to be able to avoid the fireball if she threw it, but close enough for a conversation. He loudly cleared his throat, "Ahem."

She went stiff, like a puppet whose master was unsure what to do. He reconsidered his 'greeting' and distance. He'd be lucky if she didn't throw that ball of fire his way. She turned toward him slowly and lowered her hand. She kept the fireball, though it was now smaller in size. She could manipulate and hold her magical attacks. He had only seen 1 person do that so far, and that fight nearly got him killed. This would be troublesome.

He couldn't see details because of the cloak. Just the bottom of her face, pale-skinned and young-looking. She was a little thing too. It honestly felt strange, her reaction to his presence, her stature, the fact that she hadn't attacked yet but kept the fireball. It didn't feel like a cutthroat woman of the streets.

Emil called out, aiming to ensure that was the right person, "Kate, The Wake of Embers, right?"

He could feel her tension and he was more casual than he thought he should've been, but at that moment she just... didn't feel like a threat.

"I'm Kaitlyn, and I assume you are not here for my benefit."

There was no immediate attack, no scorn, no running, but an open-ended statement. This confirmed it. She was acquainted with the shadows, but she was no cutthroat. He felt a reluctance within her akin to his own, and since she somewhat asked, he answered; anything to delay the inevitable. Though he knew it'd make things harder on himself, he figured a bit of conversation couldn't hurt.