Kaliss knelt in the mud. In the meagre light from the sickle moon he could see the target ahead of him; the merchant Dangha's warehouse. As a cloud covered the moon, the area was once again shrouded in darkness, but Kaliss's brown eyes retained much of his night vision; looking to his right, he could see Irban similarly crouched at the corner of an adjoining warehouse. Kaliss's brow knit in frustration; even from twenty feet away he could see Irban clearly. The moon faintly lit the man's clothing, almost identical to Kaliss's own, a black cotton shirt, hardy leather trousers, boots and a leather jacket, for the night was cool. Irban's angle was wrong, the entire left side of his body in view from the target.
Despite the coolness of the night, Kaliss could feel the cotton of his shirt sticking to his back, his heart pumping in his chest as adrenaline flowed through him. He flicked his eyes back to the target. It was time to move. The flickering display on his Chronomag counted