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The storm was getting stronger. Flurries fell more rapidly and in greater volumes, clumping up as they fell towards the ground. They began to accumulate in small clusters atop the roof of this particular building upon which a small, shrouded figure stood.

He clutched his cloak together at the neck, letting the rest blow around him, his other arm concealed below the cloak. He wore dark grays and black, with his cloak being a dusty gray. There was a faint glimmer of dark metal whenever his cloak fluttered the right way, near where his arm was resting within the warm confines of his cloak.

Despite the fact that it was dark, the clean-shaven man stood upon the rooftop of a noble house in the Noble District. His dark hair fluttered out every now and again from the hood he wore.

"It's past curfew." A voice behind him remarked.

"It is." The man remarked, still not taking his eyes off of the sky above him.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same." The man finally turned his gaze from the sky, turning around to the shadows behind him. He couldn't see the person, but knew him well nonetheless. He had never seen this man, but he recognized the voice all too well.

"A follow-up, if you will."

"Very well." The man gestured towards the shadows, as if awaiting something.

"The merchant in this house?"

"Dead."

"Before or after you got here?"

The man paused. "Before."

"Any sign as to who did it?"

The man shook his head.

He could sense a bit of agitation from the shadows. "How was it done?"

"Gutted."

"So that rules out the Blackblades. They'd just slit his throat..." He heard a few footfalls from the shadows, as if the man was pacing slightly in thought. "The house?"

"Relatively intact. A few broken vases here and there, a few fallen paintings."

"Redhands."

"That's my guess."

"Any guess as to the weapon used?"

"Some kind of large blade. Left a curved cut behind."

"I see."

"Scimitar."

"Yes."

The man nodded. "Not many of those in Kingsreach."

"Indeed. We've narrowed it down to a few individuals."

"Who's in charge of that?"

"Two. She is in charge of intelligence. We have agreed that I will be the one to assign employees to monitor certain assassins that match certain criteria. We want to know why this happened."

"I see." He shifted slightly in his posture. "Any reason why the Council is so interested?"

"Classified."

The man nodded.

"Alarik. I've decided that you're to monitor the most potentially deadly of anyone on this list. I feel you're the most qualified."

He smirked. "A pleasure."

"Her name is Disraeli. We don't know a family name, we're not sure if she has one, but she has been seen carrying a scimitar, and we have reason to believe she's a Redhand."

"Rank?" Alarik inquired, feeling the snow blow around him. He licked his lips slightly.

"We're pretty sure she's high up."

"So a Channeler?"

"Probably."

"Great." The man grimaced slightly.

"Is there a problem?"

"I don't like Redhands."

"We're not asking you to court her, Alarik. We're asking you to monitor her. We need to figure out why this happened. The Redhands aren't exactly known for wanton murders. There had to be a motivation, especially to strike a noble in his own home."

"Any history on this guy?"

"We're working on it." He could sense the person in the shadows shuffle a bit, as if the question wasn't exactly one he had been expecting.

"Let me know when you find out something." Alarik said.

"I'll find you." The shadows assured him.

Alarik smirked. "You always do, Three."

He heard the shadows chuckle. "We know for a fact that the Redhands are based in the Slums. We're not asking you to get into their guild base, but instead, try to find her out in the open, and if you can, question her without killing her."

"How do you want me to manage that?" Alarik asked incredulously.

"By any means necessary." Three said, sounding slightly exasperated.

Alarik sighed. "This won't end well." He warned.

"That's why I picked you." Alarik could hear the wry grin on Three's face, practically.

"So I'm the one you want dead?" Alarik grinned.

"Hardly. You're the one who'll be most likely to survive this."

Alarik sighed again, shook his head, and nodded. "Very well, Three." He bowed, and then turned around, hopping to the nearest roof, then to the next, and to the next, working his way down as he went, heading east, towards the Slums.