Rogue

Lanterns glimmers off wet cobblestones in a Syndicate-den beneath Skygarde, where the Rogue slips through alleys like a cat stalking a rat. Their boots make no sound; their hands cradle lockpicks and whispered lies. In one hand, a note stained with blood; in the other, a dagger shaped to disappear in darkness.
  They don’t steal for coin alone, but for leverage, information, power. A Rogue reads contracts made in shadows, tears open secrets stitched into sealed orders, and vanishes before the door can close. They are hired for revenge, espionage, or simply to unsettle—to remind powerful men that walls have ears and locks have flaws.