The next morning, Renard slipped from his room like a shadow moving through darkness. The monastery halls were silent except for the distant sound of wind through mountain passes, and the crystal lights had dimmed to their lowest setting, creating pools of soft light connected by stretches of deep shadow.

Boa coiled around his arm under his robes, her small body warm against his skin. Over the past few days, the serpent had changed in ways that Renard had noticed but didn't fully understand. Her scales had gotten slightly harder, her movements had become smoother, and there was a new alertness in her golden eyes that suggested developing abilities.

The maintenance corridor looked exactly as Boa's spying had mapped it - a narrow passage lined with utility pipes and magical conduits that carried power and water throughout the monastery. The security checkpoints registered his presence but didn't react, his controlled magic signature falling well below their alarm levels.

Renard moved through the passages with practiced stealth, each footstep placed with military precision to avoid creating sound that might carry through the stone walls. His breathing remained steady and controlled, his heartbeat calm despite the approaching fight.

The route to Thomas's room took exactly twelve minutes, precisely as planned. The northeast corridor was empty, and Thomas's door showed the expected gap under it.

Boa slithered through the opening and disappeared into the darkened room. Thirty seconds later, Renard heard the soft click of internal locks opening as the serpent worked the mechanisms from within.

The outer room was cramped but neat, containing a desk, chair, and narrow bed surrounded by shelves of books and administrative materials. Soft light spilled from beneath the bathroom door, accompanied by the sound of running water that confirmed Thomas was following his regular routine.

Renard moved to the bathroom door and listened carefully. The sounds were clear - the splash of water, the soft scrubbing against skin, the quiet breathing of someone completely absorbed in washing. Thomas was at the washbasin with his back to the entrance, exactly as surveillance had predicted. Perfect positioning for a swift, silent kill.

The door handle turned without resistance. Renard opened it just wide enough to slip inside, then closed it behind him with barely a whisper of sound. The small bathroom was warm and humid from the running water. A single crystal light cast soft illumination over the cramped space.

Thomas stood at the small washbasin, washing his face with slow, methodical movements. Water dripped from his chin as he cupped his hands and splashed it over his cheeks and forehead. His back was turned, his shoulders relaxed, his attention focused entirely on routine personal tasks. The elder hummed softly under his breath - a man completely at peace in his private morning ritual.

Renard moved forward with deadly intent, closing the distance in three silent steps. The stone floor was smooth under his bare feet. His hand rose to deliver the killing blow to the base of Thomas's skull - a strike that would knock the elder out instantly and allow for quick, quiet finishing. Everything was going exactly as planned.

But as his hand came down, Thomas suddenly spun around with reflexes that didn't match his scholarly appearance. The movement was fast and fluid, like a cat sensing danger at the last possible moment.

Renard's eyes widened in shock.

'How did he know?'

The strike met empty air as Thomas stepped aside with smooth grace. But the elder's eyes held confusion and surprise - not the calculated awareness of someone who had been expecting an attack.

"What in the—" Thomas began, his voice filled with genuine bewilderment rather than the calm confidence of someone who had been lying in wait.

Thomas's reaction was pure instinct - the reflexes of someone who had sensed danger at the last possible moment and reacted without fully understanding what was happening. His defensive posture was that of a man trying to process an impossible situation, not someone who had been prepared for combat.

Maybe it was some kind of a spell or was it is sixth sense? Renard didn't know but he realized that he had to act quick.

Renard abandoned stealth for speed, launching a follow-up attack aimed at Thomas's throat. The elder blocked with precise timing, but his movements were reactive rather than planned - the responses of someone with martial training who was operating on pure instinct.

"You! You brat….!! ," Thomas said, the words coming out as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening. "Have you lost your mind—"

He was still talking but Renard didn't give him any time.

The bathroom was too cramped for extended combat, but that worked in Renard's favor. He wasn't a mage but a warrior who had emphasized close-quarters fighting, while Thomas's magical abilities would be limited by the confined space and risk of structural damage.

Renard caught Thomas's wrist and twisted, trying to break the joint while driving his knee upward. But Thomas proved more flexible than expected, rolling with the twist and using the momentum to attempt a throw that would have slammed Renard's head against the stone wall.

Instead of resisting the throw, Renard went with it and turned the motion into a spinning elbow strike. The blow caught Thomas in the ribs with a satisfying crack, but the elder absorbed the impact and responded with a short uppercut that barely missed Renard's jaw.

"Stop!" Thomas gasped, backing against the washbasin. "I don't know why you are doing this, but we can talk about it!"

The elder's confusion was genuine. He was fighting for his life against an attacker whose motives he couldn't understand, defending himself with skill but without the cold calculation of someone who had been expecting this confrontation.

Thomas's hands began to glow with magical energy, preparing some kind of spell despite the cramped conditions. But even now, his magic seemed more defensive than offensive - the desperate response of someone trying to create space and time to understand what was happening.

Renard couldn't allow Thomas to complete whatever he was planning. Magic could overcome physical advantages quickly, and confused or not, the elder was still dangerous.

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