“Good evening, Warden,” she answered, unfazed by his less than cordial greeting. She stepped out from the underbush, and as the moon washed her coat — smoky grey in the sunlight — she shone a bright silver. She looked like she was chiseled out of steel, like a sculpture, but soft and flowing. Her expression was softer than usual too, her blue eyes less probing.

She’d decided to speak with more tact tonight than she had in the past – in all honesty, she’d antagonized the Warden more than she’d wanted to the first time they’d met. At the time it’d felt like the best way to get a measure of him, but it tasted like a misstep when she reflected on it. It’d wrought a greater gulf of distrust between them than she could tolerate. Bermondsey seemed to keep most cats at arms-length, true, but it was a great inconvenience when your job was to protect his life.

That moment at the meeting had been the seed of Elizabeth’s intrigue, but it’d really been Eshek’s frenzied cover-up and now Bermondsey’s heightened irritability that had fertilized it to full-bloom curiosity. The thorn in the pad was clearly that patchy Nightclan guard. But the intimacy of their connection – whether he was a long-lost son, or a stranger who’d distracted the Warden with his oversized paws – was a mystery to her. She could go back to the grapevine for that information (she doubted Chelsea or Eshek would tell her, but surely someone else would know), but her instincts had told her that’d be a betrayal of trust. She didn’t want to make a habit of gossiping about her own charge.

After a few weeks of working with the Warden, she’d already deduced that he was a control freak – maybe it was just the case that he didn’t like being taken by surprise by a last second arrival. But his fury was so great, the smoky grey assassin could almost feel it in her own throat. She itched to get to the bottom of this. She wasn’t necessarily entitled to knowing his personal business, of course – but she hoped he’d offer her the courtesy of knowing, since she’d done everything asked of her up to this point.

Presently, the ashen assassin walked past him to stand by the water’s edge, and peered down into the black, mysterious depths. She was still and quiet for a moment, like she didn’t have a thing on her mind, but when she turned back to him, her gaze was pensive. “You seemed… anxious today. Is something troubling you?” The question was a tad presumptuous and forward, sure, but she intended to be honest.

A witty retort formed on her tongue – something about how he was always so forthcoming – but she stored it away before it did any damage. Tact, tact, she reminded herself. She broke their eye contact to glance at the water again, contemplating how to approach this. She felt frustration stirring in her – sometimes it felt like watering a dead flower with him. Her cunning didn’t work – whether it was because he was too clever for her methods or just too locked up, she couldn’t say. But trust had no chance of standing on these grounds: not even her accomplishments had seemed to warm her to him. Her duty just seemed expected of her, and he had this grim sort of way of commanding her, as if more interested than worried if she’d come tumbling down to earth. Elizabeth wasn’t used to someone not falling for her charms when she made earnest attempts to apply them. It annoyed her.

To hell with all that then – prudence be damned, maybe it was time to just be frank with him. She suddenly whirred her head around and asked, “Who was that tom at the meeting?”

Elizabeth could take threats like that – even when delivered by the Warden of the league, and her boss – with a laugh and a roll of the eyes, but she settled for no outward reaction at all. Of course she wouldn’t tell anyone, she wanted to meow, and the fact that he still entertained the idea of her being that treacherous and mouse-brained challenged her patience and illuminated keen frustration in her sapphire gaze.

“I could have done some reconnaissance on the boy,” she admitted, after his warning was given a proper moment or two to dissolve from the air. “But I doubt you’d appreciate me taking such liberty, since I’d be in effect digging into your business, without authorization. Do you wish me to find out about him?”

Elizabeth was silent as he retold the tale of this Nightclan Loyal Guard. She wasn’t surprised the tom was kin after all – more so surprised that a long-lost sister’s son had never been mentioned. But it was the only thing that made sense, wasn’t it? Bermondsey seemed to hold family bonds close at heart – well, at least close in MIND – particularly his concern with this ‘family curse’ she’d heard whispered about. That wasn’t something she could relate to – she had no family, no liabilities, no loose ends.

Her instincts told her he wasn’t telling her all he knew – but at this point it didn’t really matter, did it? She had her own way of attaining information: all she really needed was the green light. Already the seed of an idea was forming in her mind; with Nightclan in such flux, now seemed like a better time than ever for a little good old-fashioned espionage.

She cleared her throat as she drew herself up an inch. “I might be gone for a while. I know your… children are close at hand…” Will you be ok without me? Were the words that went unsaid, but they could be found in her eyes, as she gave him a pensive stare.