Amelia Ainsworth

"Just do as m'lady says—or you'll be one sorry sod." —Rorkesh Amelia Ainsworth was born in Liberros, once the proudest of the Free Cities. Built on trade, law, and noble ideas of liberty, it wore its ideals like polished silver. House Ainsworth lived by those ideals, with money, land, and a title old enough to command respect. Even as war and unrest crept into the city, its noble families still held extravagant dinners, speaking of civil unrest as if it were weather. Her father believed order would hold. The lord and patriarch of House Ainsworth left on business one morning and returned in a coffin a week later. The first reports blamed deserters: men who had found his carriage, taken what they could carry, and left no witnesses. Liberros offered Amelia the usual courtesies: a sealed letter, a bowed head, and a formal promise to pursue the matter. Months passed without word from Liberros officials, forcing Amelia to seek other sources. Silver brought word of a place called the Fulcrum. She arrived in her evening best, with enough silver and gold to feed the Grey Blades for months. Her terms were simple. Find the killers and bring them to her. The Grey Blades found the truth instead. The deserters were already dead, their tongues torn from them. Her father's death had not been chance. His rivals had paid for it, then paid again to silence the hands that carried it out. The men behind the murder still dined in fine rooms, respectable and untouched. A single contract could not reach them without turning her grievance into a war. So, she opted to stay, and learn from the finest among them. They taught her weapons, techniques, and the rules of the game that governed the underworld. She learned to hide steel beneath velvet, to make a gown move like a duelist's coat, and to draw and fire in a cold heartbeat. Quarrels could be priced, and death could be bargained. Years passed. More clients came and went. As Liberros sank into chaos, so did the industry. Lords condemned bloodshed over breakfast, purchased it before dinner, and tried to stiff the bill by supper. Murder became a form of "self-defense," if the price was right. Amelia listened, gloved hands folded, as they signed the contracts she placed before them. One by one, the names behind her father's death were struck from her ledger. Garroq found the doors, Rorkesh broke them open, and she delivered the message. The last of them attempted to bargain their lives. Amelia let them speak. Then she raised her pistol. "My terms are non-negotiable."