Assassin|| C!TNTDUO

●))⁠✧Confrontation✧((●

Wilbur POV:

The book was exactly where he left it.

He'd had a small irrational fear that it would be gone when he got there, but he fished the dusty volume from the floor without a problem.

Wilbur opened it and flicked through the pages furiously.

Reaching the page that featured Quackity's mother, he quickly ripped out the small portrait and shoved it in his pocket, then snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm.

He saw Niki on the way out and smiled, waving quickly.

She smiled and waved back, looking just a tad amused.

Wilbur didn't meet anyone in the halls as he went. Which was good, because he really didn't know what he would do if he ran into Creedin or something.

He skidded around a corner and ran down the hallway near Quackity's room, smiling to himself at the thought of returning to the prince.

He allowed himself to think of the future a little. Although he supposed it would sort of revolve around what Quackity decided to do.

Whatever that was, Wilbur knew he would follow.

Though he still wanted to go home first. This time he wouldn't leave again, he'd take his brother and they'd go somewhere new, to a better life.

He reached the archway entrance to the small corridor to Quackity's room, and he passed the sleeping guards from before.

But something out of the corner of his eye made him stop.

He knelt next to one of them with a sudden dread, and now saw the small red trail down the man's chin from under his helmet.

Now it was quiet he could hear the slight drip sound as it hit the chest plate in tiny metallic pings.

The other guard was the same, as he saw when he scrambled over.

Dead. Both of them.

And they hadn't been when he'd left, -or at least he was fairly certain.

His ears pricked again as a shuffle of feet betrayed the presence of someone in the hallway.

Wilbur leaped to his feet and spun into the archway, one hand on its frame.

The previously concealed figure emerged from a column to face him.

The other assassin.

Now Wilbur was face to face with them -or what he could see through the heavy cloak and scarf, he realized they were different than he expected.

The air about them was not one of an experienced killer.

But he didn't hesitate to stare, instead, he started forward.

The person was obviously taken off guard by this movement and didn't react in time.

However Wilbur wasn't attacking, he was skirting around them and landing with his back to the prince's door and facing the assassin once again.

It was only now he spoke. "Whatever Creedin or Schlatt or whoever is paying you, I can guarantee you it's not worth it."

The guy- for it was a male voice that emerged- scoffed. But it was a strange voice, almost forced or deepened.

"Why not?" He continued.

Wilbur laughed and drew his knife
"Well, that depends on how much you value your life."

"As if. If you're so good at your job, why did they replace you?" He sneered back.

There was something that struck Wilbur about his voice.