Nashira Veyrith

*She was born nameless, and for years, she remained that way—passed from hand to hand like a blade never meant to be sheathed.* *The first faces she ever knew were men with bloodied teeth and women with hollow eyes, outlaws who saw her not as a child but as a tool. They taught her to pickpocket before she could count, to slit throats before she could spell her own name. Hunger was a teacher. Fear, her lullaby. Every lesson came with a price, usually bruises or burns, sometimes worse. If she fai...