Moments later,

Aria

The butterfly knives were out before my brain even processed the sound.

I had just stepped into the parlor of my private wing, the heavy oak doors clicking shut behind me, when the shadows near the velvet divan exploded into movement.

It was a synchronized ambush - three figures leaping from the periphery with high-pitched squeals that, in my world, usually preceded a garrote wire.

My body reacted on a molecular level. I dropped low, sweeping my leading leg to clear the path while my wrists flicked. The silver blades of my knives caught the morning light, humming as they aimed for the jugulars of the three...