Riften MarketShe was so quick, so light-fingered, that he almost didn’t notice. Almost. Brynjolf grabbed her wrist, bringing a halt to the pilfering of the elixir in his pocket. Her eyes — glittering dark red like fine rubies — held no alarm, he saw only annoyance there. She slashed at him — here, in the market, in broad light. The strike was so quick that her dagger was a mere flash of silver. Brynjolf jerked backward, feeling the barest hint of blade against his skin. He released the would-be thief and she instantly vanished into the crowd. The entire encounter had lasted no more than fifteen seconds. A slow grin spread across Brynjolf’s face. A trickle of blood ran from the cut on his cheek. He was eager to find that one again. The Thieves Guild would do well to have her.