When it came, she raced across the lawn directly toward the house in front of her. She was dressed in white, from her head to her feet, blending perfectly with the snow all around her. Even if someone had chosen that moment to look out through the windows, they wouldn’t have been able to pick out her form in the midst of the swirling snow.

She reached the side of the building without incident and flattened herself against it. The cameras only faced outward, so she was beyond their reach, but she wasn’t certain yet if there were armed guards wandering the property and she didn’t want to make herself a visible target.

There was a door several yards farther along. From the plans she had stolen from the contractor who’d built the place she knew that it led into a utility room.

It was as good a choice as any to provide her entrance.

She removed an electric lock pick from the pocket of her coat. It resembled a pistol but instead of a barrel it had a long thick tongue sticking out of the front end. She shoved the tongue into the lock and then pulled the trigger. There was a brief rattle as the pick vibrated inside the lock, causing the pins to fall into place, and then the door was opening before her. She shoved the pick back inside her jacket and stepped forward.

Slipping inside, she shut the door quietly behind her and listened, making certain that the rattle of the pick, quiet as it was, had not attracted undue attention.

She left her coat and shoes behind, not wanting the heavy fabric or wet soles to give her away. On stocking feet she moved deeper into the house.

The utility room door opened to a short corridor, which, in turn, led into the kitchen. That was where she found the first guard. He was standing at the island making a sandwich, a loaf of bread and a jar of mayonnaise open on the counter in front of him. He never heard her as she crept up behind him, covered his mouth with one hand and, with the other, drove a knife deep into his brain through the base of his skull.

She held him as he died and then lowered him quietly to the floor.

Wiping the blade of her knife on his shirt, she moved on.

The next guard was standing in a pool of light at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor, his arms crossed in front of him.

Her sword barely made a sound as she drew it from the scabbard she wore on her back.

Breathing deeply to fill her lungs with oxygen, the Dragon burst out of the hallway, a shadow moving through the dimly lit room. By the time the guard’s mind managed to receive the message from his eyes that he was under attack, it was too late. He died with his hands still reaching for the weapon on his hip, the Dragon’s sword thrust through his heart.

Pulling her sword free from his chest, she was already moving past the body and up the stairs as it crumpled to the carpet behind her with a thump.

She could see the floor plan in her mind, knew that the bedroom she wanted was the third door on the left, and she was already passing through it into the room itself when she heard the first shouts of alarm from downstairs.

Someone had found the body in the kitchen.

But that didn’t matter; she was where she needed to be. She could see the man’s sleeping form on the bed in front of her and she moved forward confidently.

One more thrust would be all it took.

Three steps from the bed the lights suddenly flared to life around her and Shizu found herself looking down the barrel of the pistol held in the hand of the man on the bed.

The one she had been sent here to kill.

Staring at him, Shizu nearly died of shock.

The man on the bed was Sensei.

“Hello, Shizu,” he said gently.

She could say nothing; it was as if she had lost the capability of speech.

Sensei did not lower the pistol. “You did exceptionally well. While I know your skills are extraordinary, I did not think you could penetrate my security so easily. My hat is off to you and your teachers.”

Shizu still said nothing.

The pistol did not waver. “I am sorry I had to test you this way, but it was necessary. I needed to be certain that you had developed the skills for what comes next and this was the only way to do that.”

He paused, watching her closely for a moment. “Do you understand that this was just a test? You are not to complete the mission as instructed, now that you know it is a test.”

Shizu slowly nodded.

“Let me hear you say it,” Sensei told her.

“This mission is aborted. You are not the target,” she said softly, the tension of the previous moments still in her voice.

He nodded in reply. “Very good, Shizu.”

Then and only then did he lower the pistol and place it on the bed beside him. Rising, he said, “Well done, Shizu. Well done indeed.”

Finding her voice at last, Shizu spoke up. The fact that she did so was a testament to how unnerved she was by what had just happened. “But I could have killed you!” she gasped, appalled at the very idea.

Sensei smiled, but there was little humor in his eyes. “You could have tried. I’ll give you that.”

He reached out and pressed a button on the intercom beside the bed. A moment later the door behind Shizu opened, revealing a muscular man in a dark suit.

Addressing the newcomer, Sensei said, “Show her to her room and see to it that she has anything she needs.”

The man nodded.

Turning back to Shizu, he said, “Get some rest. I’m sure your exertions tired you out. We will talk in more detail in the morning.”

Mystified, but obedient as always, Shizu did what she was told.

BY THE TIME SHE AWOKE the next morning, the damage to the estate had been repaired. She walked through the central room and saw no sign that she had killed a man there the night before. Even the bloodstains were gone from the thick carpet.

Hungry, she wandered into the kitchen. There she found breakfast prepared—a buffet-style table laid out with fruit, eggs, meat—on the same island the guard had been using to make a sandwich the night before. A place setting had been laid out and next to her plate was a small card.

“Join me in the dojo when you are finished,” it read, and included a few additional instructions. It was unsigned, but Shizu had no problem recognizing the handwriting. She hadn’t seen it in some time, but that didn’t matter. One does not forget the signature of the man you consider to be your personal savior.

The dojo was in a separate wing of the house and it didn’t take her long to find it. She moved directly to the changing room as she’d been instructed. There she found a large tub filled with water and a pure-white kimono made from the finest silk hanging on a rack nearby. A full-length mirror stood next to the tub beside a small table holding a silver pitcher, a folded towel, a natural sponge and another card. “Cleanse yourself and meet me on the floor when you are ready,” it read.

If Sensei wills, so be it, she thought.

She stripped out of her clothing and carefully placed it off to the side so it wouldn’t get wet. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she did so, her tattoo rippling across her muscles as she moved. She was not a vain woman, however, and the idea of standing in front of a mirror admiring herself was so out of her frame of reference that the thought didn’t even occur. Picking up the pitcher, she poured the contents—water hot enough to still be steaming—all over her head and body. She endured it stoically, not flinching once at the pain. She put the pitcher down, picked up the sponge and scrubbed herself clean.

She turned to the tub. A stool stood nearby and she used it to get up over the edge of the waist-high tub, then dropped down into the water.

As she had expected, it was icy cold. She dunked beneath the surface three times, then climbed back out again, drying off with the towel before putting on the kimono.