It was late at night when Daken strode along the edge Haven’s territory, his eyes flickering often to its walls. He was throughly alert for any complications. He’d smell if any patrols or other groups of residents passed, but that didn’t mean his he wouldn’t be ready if they did. He wasn’t worried. No, his eyes scanned the darkness, evaluating the situation, forming the last few strands of his plan. He already knew early on at which point he was going to scale the wall that would create the least disturbance, should anyone be out and watching at this time of night. It wasn’t as fun as the alternatives, which was a pity, a small fleeting part of him thought; while he’d love to seduce the guards, there was the significant likelihood that Drew was on duty; and while he told himself confidently he could ensnare her given time... in this particular situation, attempting to seduce a guard who was immune to his pheromones was indescribably inadvisable. This plan was too important to fail for the sake of sport.
He needed to make this efficient so as not to be sighted. His claws were extended only enough to lift himself up the wall. He may be taller than his father, but he had infinitely more skill and grace. Still, he was a guy climbing over a wall from where he’d just been kicked out, and he needed not to be seen. He bit his lip as he reminded himself to curb the instinct to produce calming pheromones on whoever might be awake. It was good to make sure he wasn’t rusty in the stealth department anyway, right? He slid over the top quickly and landed lightly on the ground.
The added need for precision didn’t keep his own mind from straying. Visualize your goals, that was the golden, platitudinal motivational plan, right? If so, he could already taste it in his mind’s eye: the coppery scent of blood, the taste of despair beneath his tongue, the feel of her warm, dead body beneath his hands. He reminded himself to focus. There’d be no moment to savor his victory when the deed was done. The timetable would be short after his target was eliminated, and he was going to need to stay on track. Some might consider it dishonorable to murder an opponent in her sleep (especially here in Haven, where all thought they were so protected and safe). To them, Daken would laugh. It was practical. Storm was one of the most powerful of the X-Men. He knew he couldn’t beat her without cheating. What is honor when you’re dead?
This was so important. Yet despite all his intentions, against every lesson he’d ever learned, the blood rushed too loudly in his ears, a jumble of thoughts thoughts, a scorn at the ones who didn’t deserve their current power, a thrill of anticipation of what would surely follow this night. His mind was beginning to run ahead of himself. He’d been beginning to feel like a failure, looking at the three years since the apocalypse had broke out, and realizing how worthless it had shown him to be. He was only really mad at himself, but he wouldn’t need to be any longer. He’d wield more fear than Romulus — he’d never again have to live in the shadow of his father — his father — dammit, even thinking of Logan got him so worked up he could almost taste the man’s scent right now in his mind’s eye.
He was getting angry. He couldn’t afford this. Nothing compromised him more than Logan, and no road was a surer towards even the smoothest of plans going insanely wrong. He needed to focus on his technique and his plan. He slipped in silently through the window (he was so good at this he could make a grown man cry). It didn’t matter where his mind was at; he was lucky enough that stealth was programmed into him through years. He slipped inside her bedroom perfectly. It wasn’t until he was inside that he realized anything was wrong, and his blood went cold.
