My instinct told me that the mayor's room would be on the top floor of the three-story estate, so I crossed the yard and began climbing the ivy swiftly.

The third-floor bedroom window was open, and I entered with the cool night air. More simply appointed than I had expected, the room had a wooden bed, plain dresser, and a table with a washing bowl in front of which sat a stool. I took a seat there, laying the newly-acquired saber across my lap, and studied the figure in the bed.

This was the mayor, I knew, but don't ask me how. He was large, and in the moonlight I could make out a full head of graying hair.

I stared at him for some time. His body rose and fell, rose and fell. He turned over in his sleep, muttering something. He slept alone.

There was a kerosene lamp on the table, which I lit and slowly brought up, then turned back to the bed. He was already up, and staring at me blearily. His eyes quickly cleared, and he started.

I was expecting myself to intimidate him into silence while I decided what to do, but I just stood there as I stared at this man whom I was to kill.

And with one look, everything changed.

The man staring at me was a much older, much less angry, version of the man I had seen in that mirror. The familial resemblance was unmistakable.

I only allowed myself a moment to be shocked. Then my eyes darted to the door and I started calculating how long it would take guards to get to the room if he shouted an alarm.

But he did not. “You...I haven't seen you for a long, long time,” he said, and his voice was like a warm blanket on a cool night. “You could have come during the day, unless,” he stared at the sword, “you came for some other purpose than to simply be reunited.”

I just stared at him, in wonder. This was my host’s father. He was right in front of me.

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