The guards arrived ten minutes too late.
They found a burned alley, unconscious gangsters, and a dead man with Silver Rank tattooed on his arm.
A mark known across the underground.
"Gods," one of the younger guards whispered, staring pale-faced. "That's Red Morn."
The name landed like a stone in the alley.
The captain crouched beside the body, grimacing. "Gods help us. Someone actually took him down."
"Orders, sir?"
The captain scanned the alley.
"Secure the area. Get the mage examiner here. We need a read on what magic was used."
A pause.
"But sir," the sergeant muttered, "if word gets out a big boss died like this…"
The captain looked at him. "I know."
He looked over the broken bodies again, as if searching for something that wasn't there.
"Red Morn had enemies. Rival gangs. Mercenaries. Adventurers. Hell, even some Merchant Guilds hated him. We don't want a war because some upstart decided to make a name."
