Catblade Short Story - Rowan Lightburn
The music rose in a cacophonic crescendo as the target walked into the bar. Rowan took a deep breath, shrinking into himself on his hiding spot on top of the air conditioning vents. Piercing neon lights flashed over him in pinks and harsh greens. He wasn’t a fan of the turbo-reggaeton echoing inside, a crude song by Toksovo with poor rhythm and uncreative lyrics. An understatement. He hated the…










