ã€ŠThe Rise of Scarã€‹


 1.

    She tensed up. Waiting.

    The air in her lungs was running out, and everything seemed to turn upside down.

    Despite trying to get up, ignoring the blood streaming down her face, her legs were weak and sore. The broken rib felt like it was about to puncture her heart, with the sharp pain she felt in her chest.

    She had never been in such a deplorable state, where her defenses fell in tune with mere swift and trivial blows.

    ¡ª How easy you are to manipulate. ¡ª he said. With a voice so sweet that Gwenda confused it with affection, she almost threw herself into his arms to be able to cuddle and cry. To beg for mercy.

    She wanted to speak, but the blood rising in her throat and dripping onto the soaked ground prevented her from making any sound. At least she hadn''t lost any part of her body, like her fellow prisoner, now dead beneath her feet.

    Gwenda was handcuffed, her hands above her head and hanging by her wrists. She could no longer bear her own weight when he grabbed her face roughly, squeezing her jaw tightly, and pulled it towards his own face.

    The man''s eyes widened with hunger and anticipation as he scanned Gwenda''s face. A small smile forming on those red and soft lips that he made her taste so much.

    ¡ª You''re lucky to be smart. ¡ª he whispered. ¡ª Very lucky. Ever thought what would become of you if I ripped out your guts in cold blood?

    Gwenda''s eyes were burning from the tears she shed without a shred of feeling. And he noticed, so much so that he let out a laugh and continued to babble ¡ª something he rarely did:

    ¡ª I have no reason to have captured you. Much less to keep you in captivity. Your inheritance doesn''t interest me, much less your legacy. But you have become a threat, you have attracted a lot of attention. Especially from my enemies, and I don''t want a legion at my feet, blocking my path. ¡ª He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. His hand with burns tightened Gwenda''s jaw even harder. ¡ª And, after all, keeping you here attracts who I need. At first, I had no plans to even touch you, but seeing you injured stirs their nerves. ¡ª The fey winked. ¡ª As well as mine.

    <hr>

    The waves of the sea sang in her ears, a melody she liked to hear every night with her partner by her side. Sitting on the sand and relishing the coastal breeze, with each other''s presence. It was all very beautiful and calm, a feeling of comfort so strong that Gwenda closed her eyes and felt free.

    But she had no freedom, and there was no one by her side at that moment.

    Because, in reality, her partner was dead. Or wandering the seas and shores of neighboring kingdoms.

    The truth is, she would have forgotten him, stopped loving him, if it weren''t for the anger she had for him. For the lie he had told.

    And she was there now, at the edge of the sea, standing as she watched and felt the waves shake her inside. The water called to her, and the darkness of the sky and the horizon encouraged her. But when she walked towards the sea, she shied away from the coldness of the water.

    The next day she would have to work, she would be up to it finally. After her rescue, the agent spent a few days recovering. She counted the scars on her body while she was home alone, without going out or letting anyone in to see how she was. She didn''t want to look at anyone, let alone have them look at her.

    So Gwenda stayed away from that gloomy sea right in front of her, the wind hitting her exposed skin and causing shivers. She was staring at the dark horizon and hoped that some hope would emerge from there before she could go back home.

    <hr>

    Was all or nothing.

    Gwenda was willing to go out home that day, willing to see herself walking to the bar her friend was working. Showed up there in the mornings, twice a week, every Wednesday and Friday. The rest of the days was spent in the arena, earning mountains of money with the aim she learned and evolved over the years by her father¡¯s teachings.

    The hands was shacking beside her body and Gwenda closed the fists, touching the gun in her hip. The ground shuddered under her feet, the drop seemed to run down the back of her neck.

    So she went out home with a heavy fabric pants and huge pockets on each side on the calves and thighs. A rope was attached to the waist on the opposite side of the gun and the black tank top highlighted tanned skin from the sun she was exposed every day, just like the rain that when it came was accurate and sharp.

    Gwenda pierced his own hand with her nails that never has time to do it right and didn¡¯t take her hand off the gun, didn¡¯t dare do such a thing when everything she could feel was nervousness and anger. She wasn¡¯t having the best of days.

    She found herself counting the steps. One, two, three. Gwenda knew how many steps there was between your house and the bar where her friend was. Four, five, six. But it wouldn¡¯t hurt to have fun a bit.

    Almost seven years ago by now. Seven years, since Killian and Gwenda were together.

    Like a feather floating on the wind, Gwenda dodged from a body. Jovial like a newly made sword, Gwenda cut the air through the people with ease, dodging out of pure instinct, feeling the breeze of that bodies around her was making.

    The gate in her mind was slowly opening, but she didn¡¯t want, couldn¡¯t let that terror take her over. Had to keep it closed.

    Gwenda sighed and controlled herself.

    Men and women passed by, dressed formally, with perfect ties. Carriages were displayed on the street with the serious and impertinent coachman.

    Heavens, she could pass by as many times she want in thee street, win thousands of gold fraccion ¡ª the coin of the kingdom ¡ª and even so she would pass unnoticed on the streets. However, the hateful king from Carsany still was there, always watching her, always calling for her to a dirty job, trying to negotiate.

    It¡¯s not long ago. Started this year. The letters, the rewards that increased impetuously, the respective agreements that she refused all. Gwenda didn¡¯t want to do nothing that was revaccinated with the king, nothing.  Chose to sell herself instead accept something like this. May the king find someone else to do his damnable work.

    Until the last year she was unrecognizable to the other¡¯s eyes. No one never cared about the biggest shooter from the capital, not even the king. Although, the rumors started, and Gwenda would do everything she could to make everyone know the truth and not think otherwise.

    It had been three years since she returned to the capital. She didn¡¯t had a choice seven years ago besides running away from the problem she had been involved in. For gods, she was destined for the gallows seven damn years ago.

    One, two, three... calm down. She started to count the steps again, fingers shaking on the gun barrel, ready to grab tightly and remove from the waist.

    It was a relief to walk into that bar, see Kimer¡¯s face that smiles when she realizes Gwenda at the door, standing like a statue and preventing a man to enter.

    The place was stuffy.

    ¡ª Hey, get out of my way girl.

    Girl. She was no longer 18 anymore. And the mark... nothing, she ran away from that day and returned to the capital clean, without the ownership mark, without a tag, to remember that she belong to anyone but herself. Just like escaped the past two years when no one knew her.

    Entering the arena was the end of your disguise.

    Gwenda went to the counter and before the man could continue mumbling something disgusting, she took the gun from her waist and put it firmly next to her on the counter, ignoring the brief wave of silence that followed.

    The young woman crossed her arms on the counter, looking away from her friend.

    -¡ª I need something strong, please.

    Kimer looked at her understandingly and went in search to some kind of drink that could end the stormy war in her mind. The watery light made Kimer¡¯s dark skin glow as she reached for whatever she could give to the Shooter.

    Gwenda rested her forehead on her arms, aware of the gun unlocked a her side, pointing at anyone in specific. Kimer put the small bottle in her front, a little cup setted up next to her, wich was of no use when she took it by the bottleneck. Gwenda pulled the air between the teeth and said:

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡ª Darcy wants the documents of... the chains that held the fairies. Do you have it?

    They could be from different sectors, but your boss always give the documents of the traps to Kimer¡¯s sector.

    Kimer denied with her head.

    ¡ª I can¡¯t believe Darcy still wants that you work on this case.

    ¡ª Either Darcy ¡ª Gwenda gave a brief eye roll ¡ª Or Rubben. ¡ª she continues softly and took the bottle to her mouth again ¡ª Darcy saved me from this stupid man.

    ¡ª Louise can helps you with the fairies ¡ª Kimer said.

    ¡ª Oh, yeah? And you will be busy doing what if it¡¯s not working?

    Kimer lost her smile.

    In Gwenda¡¯s mind, things only got better when the cases were discovered, she only had time for another things if were about her case. Otherwise, waste of time. Her restlessness was agonizing, and even she condemned herself by discovering things that she definitely couldn¡¯t or didn¡¯t want to. At those times it was better to remain ignorant.

    ¡ª I can¡¯t get involved, Gwenda. I have something to maintain.

    ¡ª Reputation it¡¯s not ¡ª Gwenda mocked.

    She knew that Kimer has her own duties and, even if she worked in an allied sector, she would hardly get involved with this type of case, which involved mysticism.  At least Kimer was sincere. Gwenda kept her reputation, but not the one she wanted, because when talk about town detective, Gwenda have a lot of angry and disgusting eyes at her direction. But inside that arena, neither her ou anyone could deny that her skills were incomparable.

    ¡ª You should worry about yours. Only you to be so reckless.

    Gwenda raised an eyebrow.

    And there is: the sincerity.

    Again took one more sip that warmed her from the fee to the head. She took her hand to the gun and could swear that the noise of the conversation behind her had diminished. Maybe they know her by her blind sight.

    ¡ª See, Gwen. You know what you do, it¡¯s not me to tell that you are doing everything wrong. ¡ª Kimer put a hand over your shoulder and opened a little smile ¡ª It¡¯s Darcy.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes and took off the friend¡¯s hand.

    ¡ª I didn¡¯t come here to talk about this ¡ª The young woman said.

    ¡ª Great, I didn¡¯t think so either.

    Gwenda grunted.

    The straight hair and totally loose weighed on Gwenda¡¯s back. She straightened it just yesterday when she came back from the arena all drenched in sweat. It would stay like this for a few months, thanks to the product she used. Could smell the lavender scent, strong and delicious.

    Now straight, was easier to see the cuts that she did a few months ago, unregulated.

    ¡ª Do you know what is funnier? ¡ª asked Gwenda ¡ª The mutter exploded with a A3 Bomb, which is fabricated just  in Carsany. I can¡¯t understand how I couldn¡¯t discover what the fairies were doing with that exploded stuff. They say they flew day and night, only to arrive at the mutter and shatter it, taking along the perfectly armed soldiers who didn¡¯t even know how to aim a damn bullet.

    ¡ª Gwen, they were fairies. ¡ª Kimer remembered her friend.

    ¡ª Whatever. ¡ª Gwenda raised her hand, hitting the air, and took the bottle with the another one, before drink she told: ¡ª A A3 Bomb, Kimer. A weak bomb, that were used to explode glass which actually is indestructible. This is getting crazy. ¡ª So she drank to forget something she couldn¡¯t forget.

    When it came to magic, they knew nothing was impossible.

    ¡ª I suggest you have a rest. Ask for a break.

    ¡ª Darcy chose me in that rumble line, I need to do what she asks me for. I was chosen to be bought for one reason, Kimer. I can¡¯t disappoint her, not now when the fairies are mine. Mine until I discover what this damn fucking shit is about. And, if I don¡¯t kill them, they will go to the prison and stay there until they rot.

    And with mine Gwenda wanted to say that the case were yours, but the question fell due to technical problemas coming from the Shooter herself.

    ¡ª Go relax a bit ¡ª Kimer ask with a wave of the hand.

    ¡ª I always did this, I relax all day, K. Can¡¯t you see my eye blinking? ¡ª Gwenda pointed to her left eye, which had recently started to blink on its own.

    Kimer looked to her from the top to the bottom and rolled her eye in a sigh. The friend placed her soft hand on top of Gwenda¡¯s, in a loving gesture. This made Gwenda remember that Kimer was obsessed with cream, and when she see in some tend or store, she always go to have some adventure with a new cream. The young woman couldn¡¯t hold back herself to see how many cream Kimer got since the last visit from her.

    Gwenda never ever had a collection. But her dad... had a collection of knives that she was anxious for it to be passed on to her. But it was not the case.

    ¡ª Thanks, Kimer. ¡ª her throat wobbled and the friend smiled before gave her little slaps in your hand and went back to work.

    Gwenda grabbed the bottle, but stopped in the way to her lips, looking to the counter. Kimer will be there, helping her always that she can. And Gwenda will do the same forever.

    ¡ª What you tell me ¡ª Gwenda started and the friend turned back with her eyes wide opens ¡ª about Jurian?

    Kimer blushed and gave a shy smile. That was enough to Gwenda take her hand out off the alcohol and raised a eyebrow.

    ¡ª I believe the things are going well ¡ª Gwenda comment with a suspicious tone.

    Kimer agreed.

    ¡ª I was waiting your questioning ¡ª she said and take a drink to someone in the counter.

    The man dropped the tip and disappeared with the bottle. Kimer thanked with a head affirmation and a friendly smile.

    ¡ª He want do this slowly.

    ¡ª Big shit ¡ª Gwenda said with a little smile. ¡ª I¡¯m sure that you would love if he had attitude.

    ¡ª And he hasn¡¯t? Oh, yeah, only me can answear that.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t like this, you know.

    ¡ª Gwen, ¡ª Kimer scolded her ¡ª you knew him the last month, it¡¯s not so that hard to accept.

    ¡ª He is hypocrite. ¡ª Kimer closes his face ¡ª And he work to sector 9. Sector 9 is problem. Darcy has her favorites like me, but god take him if go to the detestable list. Sector 9 is enemy.

    ¡ª You and your rotten finger ¡ª Kimer commented ¡ª Don¡¯t control yourself and think we are the same as you.

    She was talking about Louise.

    ¡ª I never could tough as such stupid think, c¡¯mon.

    Kimer shut up Gwenda with just a look and said:

    ¡ª He isn¡¯t a Darcy¡¯s enemy, Gwen. He doesn¡¯t want conflict.

    ¡ª So it¡¯s worst than I though.

    Went to the bar that her friend work was like a tradition, but Gwenda started with the drink not to many days ago, and today was a destructive day that she couldn¡¯t stare without a drink.

    ¡ª And your thing with Trytan?

    Gwenda stopped each muscle of her body. She doesn¡¯t like to talk about this.

    ¡ª What do you mean? ¡ª asked, already thinking a of an excuse to get out of the bar.

    ¡ª It¡¯s working the way that you hope? I discovered that he was flirting with another woman younger than you. Such a rich one.

    The Shooter asked herself how a gossip could spread so quickly. Kimer and Gwenda always discover what they want, but each one has different interests to what are about these secrets.

    The young woman took the hand behind her neck and scratched the tattoo, like could feel it buried in the skin.

    ¡ª I can¡¯t hope something about this kind of person. There¡¯s nothing in our thing.

    ¡ª You should stop with this, Gwen. It¡¯s not good for you. ¡ª Kimer hummed.

    ¡ª What? Care about man?

    ¡ª Being the crazy of the job.

    ¡ª Tell me who am I if is not an irrelevant detective?

    ¡ª Say this to the king and his letters.

    ¡ª He is interested about my money as an arena participant. Want to do a bargain; want protection; someone to clean your tracks... whatever goes from bad to worse.

    ¡ª Again, you should stop being the crazy of the job. You are the Shooter, could retire if you wanted. ¡ª Kimer answer and turned to the other counter where the drinks were prepared. The Shooter teached some drinks of the lot of ones that she knows.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t participate in arena just for the money, K. Much less I¡¯m a detective for this shit salary. I have my reasons.

    ¡ª I know. ¡ª Kimer answer.

    Gwenda inhaled deeply, letting the sulfur air enter her lungs. But then she grimaced at the other scent she had detected. She released the air slowly.

    ¡ª The Labeling is tomorrow.

    Kimer got tense. She know that Gwenda didn¡¯t made, that she escaped in the last year and the another one, that she ran away with eighteen and ended up not being marked. Years passed by and she remained a fugitive walking around unnoticed, until the bribes started. Tomorrow she couldn¡¯t have another choice but surrender.

    Gwenda was both called a girl due to the lack of label and because her face still had the shape of a girl aged 20 and under. A great combination, she would say. The absence of the mark with her appearance, both showing something to the people, to he king. She was a fugitive, and until not labeled, would be hunted now. In the past, there was no need to worry about not attending the Labeling when no one knew her.

    ¡ª Alright. ¡ª Gwenda stood up from the high stool and grabbed the gun, locking it and sliding it into her belt ¡ª I¡¯m heading out. Darcy must already be pissed.

    Kimer smile understandingly.

    ¡ª Love you, Gwen. Take care.

    Gwenda nodded, letting Kimer see the message in her eyes. Love you too. Thank you.

    Her friend¡¯s smile widened before Gwenda walked out the door.

 2.

    It was Wednesday, remembered Gwenda. She wouldn¡¯t go to the arena even if she wanted to; there were more important things to deal with, but less... enjoyable.

    Darcy leaned against the back of the sofa and, without taking her eyes off her own papers, pointed to Gwenda¡¯s table, where more paperwork awaited her. The young woman didn¡¯t hesitate and picked up the papers about the case, scanning through everything they had discovered so far.

    A A3 bomb, manufactured only here, but the fairies claimed it came from afar. Flying days and nights. There is no material to be manufactured outside of Carsany, the king doesn¡¯t negotiate these supplies, fearing that certain things might end up being sold in unexpected places, like in the hands of magical beings.

    ¡ª It¡¯s all here. Every detail I¡¯ve found. I need to talk to them again. ¡ª Gwenda noticed heads turning towards her, taking their attention away from their work to understand what was going on in the young woman¡¯s mind before she could even step inside.

    Darcy just blinked before speaking:

    ¡ª Ten minutes, and then get out. ¡ª She took five minutes, the same amount of time Gwenda to arrive ¡ª This will be your last visit to them, be smart and don¡¯t fuck it all. Someone else will take your place in the interrogation starting tomorrow. Just... leave the fairies to someone else; you¡¯ve messed up enough.

    Gwenda thought about grunting and throwing a bunch of truths at her boss but decided to stay quiet and brace for the worst...the worst of the worst, as always.

    Only she understood the language of the fairies. Calling someone to take her place should be something difficult, but not impossible. She had interrogated the fairies until her last drop of patience, and when she didn¡¯t get the necessary and received a good spit in the face from one of them...Gwenda didn¡¯t contain herself. Fairies might be small, they might sit on the shoulders of normal people, but their spit was something slimy that took days to come out off if you tried to wipe it off suddenly. But Gwenda, trembling with anger for not getting the answer, absentmindedly wiped her face, forgetting about this small detail.

    The slap Gwenda gave to one of the fairies almost killed it, and then the young woman was almost kicked off the case. However, Darcy saved her skin by saying she was necessary in every aspect. The general reluctantly accepted Darcy¡¯s insignificant plea to keep her in the case, to keep her ¡ª in almost every way the law allows ¡ª as a detective and agent within the case.

    Gwenda had hat slime on her face for days, along with a black eye as a consequence of her serious act. So serious that it doesn¡¯t even compare to what the sectors do with mystic beings, she scoffed. The hunt was something Gwenda couldn¡¯t avoid, not entirely.

    But none of that mattered no. She was out of the interrogation area for an indefinite period, and she wasn¡¯t sure if she would get anything from the fairies. Nothing else crossed her mind that the things could improve.

    On the papers, everything was there, from the type of the bomb, the location, to how many to the first town of the neighboring kingdom. Fairies wasn¡¯t common next to Carsany¡¯s muter, they stay almost in the other side of Telomeron¡¯s kingdom, close to the capital, Canopy Tree. A beautiful name, Gwenda had praised one day while in the library reading books upon books, capturing everything. Everything to be where, at the moment, she has a life.

    The A3 bomb could not explode a mutter, that was built thousands of years ago just for three damn fairies to come and destroy a relic. Thank the gods it wasn¡¯t the entire mutter.

    Gwenda stared the papers, the name of each dead soldier. Their age resounded in Gwenda¡¯s heart. They were so young. The fairies murdered her people, her race. Even she can¡¯t recognize each face, was still feeling that tightness in the chest, knowing that they are gone. Mystics beings are some fucked up, Gwenda knew that the mutter was not built for a trivial reason.

    Was so obvious something like that, but the young woman didn¡¯t want to believe. Couldn¡¯t put the fault in someone of Carsany. Couldn¡¯t do it without proves.

    Gwenda descended the stairs to the basement and walked down the corridor, her air swaying down her back. She flung open the iron door, embracing the deafening noise as the door creaked open and closed behind her. She enjoyed seeing the contorted fazes of the fairies. Their ears picked up everything a volume three times louder.

    The young woman didn¡¯t care about talk in a normal voice when said:

    ¡ª Who gave the bomb to you all?

    No one of them answer, no one did de little sound.

    They were trapped with fairy bindings, small powerful things, holding their entire body and the transparent wings that were barely visible. The three of them had distinct colors. The moss green one had entirely sparkling green eyes; the violet one had bright pink eyes; and the white one, that were slapped by Gwenda, had blue eyes. They all had round heads, pointed ears, and long sharp teeth that could tear the flesh of anyone they bit.

    Gwenda looked ate the papers.

    ¡ª I already got so many things about this incident ¡ª she stared the fairies ¡ª I can eliminate one of you and stay clean.

    They were red with so much angry, and Gwenda boasted with a few seconds.

    ¡ª I want to know who gave the bomb to you. How could bring this during that hateful days and night that lament so much. Someone were with you and I will discover. ¡ª Gwenda blinked ¡ª Well, whoever that was helping you all, led you into a ambush.

    ¡ª We were not deceived. ¡ª one of them said, as tedious as Gwenda could be. ¡ª He is our ally, not our enemy.

    He.

    ¡ª Good you know that the death is not the worst option to you ¡ª Gwenda said.

    ¡ª We know how humans operate, why do you think we took the risk? ¡ª asked one of the edges.

    Gwenda was just watching, walking back and forth, the shoulders forward.

    We know how humans operate.

    It was an echo in her mind, the sound of the puzzle.

    ¡ª Clearly because are foolish.

    ¡ª I wouldn¡¯t say foolish.

    Gwenda clenched her jaw.

    ¡ª The bomb ¡ª she returned to the subject ¡ª We had deaths of almost fifteen soldiers and you three are to blame. ¡ª The young woman wanted to make that sentence very clear. ¡ª You can¡¯t take a bomb. Can¡¯t explode a mutter and kill people like that.

    Unless there were clustered in that specific place.

    ¡ª We are stronger than the world wants to make you believe. ¡ª one of them said.

    Gwenda gave a bitter smile.

    ¡ª If you don¡¯t want one of your tiny fingers out, tell me who helped you. Bomb A3 can¡¯t explode a wall. ¡ª And she would keep repeating that until she found the right answer, one that didn¡¯t sound like a lie. ¡ª And Carsany is completely protected from magic, nothing enters, and nothing leaves. Your approach to the wall would only weaken you.

    One of them smiled. Gwenda¡¯s eyes gleamed.

    They used magic, obviously. And for that, something in Carsany that retained those powers allowed it to enter and get closer.

    ¡ª We are not traitors to our kingdom, human.

    Gwenda laughed lifelessly, without lifting the corners of her lips.

    ¡ª It seems so.

    The fairies became irritated, and Gwenda remained away from them while was trying with more and more questions, take something out of them. An useless interrogation, that¡¯s what she was doing.

    Could threaten as much as she wanted, but going through with it wouldn¡¯t be possible; she would be dead as soon as she finished with the second fairy head between her fingers. Seeing them beg for death wasn¡¯t pleasing to Gwenda, but considering the situation she was in, it was one of the choices she would be forced to make.

    <hr>

    Gwenda studied each sentence, each word in those papers. A simple and big no was carved in her forehead. It was not possible, nothing that. Once she left that interrogation room and slammed the door with a bang, she hurried to write.

    He. They were working with just one.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    We know how humans operate. Which means it is from Carsany and know how things work. Or even it comes from inside of Carvlinea franchise. Because, as the law has always made clear: nothing enters, nothing leaves. Information or people, all confined on the kingdom.

    The young woman was called to the lower floor, where weapons training took place. New weapons were scattered everywhere, both blades and fire guns. Darcy didn¡¯t wait long to start discussing with someone about the report of another incident that Gwenda had been kept ou of.

    He looked around, locking eyes with a man leaning on a railing, his eyes narrowed in her direction. Gwenda had faced such a look before and never averted her gaze, always accepting the penetrating stares of people, especially from Darcy.

    ¡ª I heard you found out what really happened at the wall ¡ª The man spoke, capturing her full attention.

    Gwenda looked at him with hatred. She didn¡¯t know why ¡ª and didn¡¯t want to know ¡ª the man clenched his jaw, stepping away from the railing, leaving his hands insert by his side, near the gun, ready to do something foolish.

    ¡ª This is confidential ¡ª Gwenda replied in a harsh tone.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t get involved where you weren¡¯t called, agent. ¡ª Darcy retorted, but it was in vain when that same agent drew his weapon from his waist and pointed it at Gwenda.

    The young woman did the same, unlocking her gun. One move. One move, and she could end his face, shatter his brain that couldn¡¯t seem to think straight.

    ¡ª Lower your guns. ¡ª Darcy growled ¡ª Now.

    She didn¡¯t. Not after realizing she had fewer chances of getting out alive. Not just this agent, bur more of them had already prepared to shoot her. Many aimed at him, not because had any familiarity with Gwenda, but because they knew who she was and how much she benefited this sector.

    ¡ª Gwenda knows everything about mystical beings, knows everything about fairies. Has it never crossed your minds that maybe she¡¯s responsible for the wall explosion?

    People became alert. Gwenda didn¡¯t move an inch.

    ¡ª What¡¯s your name, agent? ¡ª The young woman asked.

    He narrowed his eyes.

    ¡ª Ryxer Vannyer, son of...

    Son of a bitch, she thought.

    ¡ª Son of a soldier who died at the wall ¡ª Gwenda finished for him.

    The young woman¡¯s blood ran cold. He was drawing his own conclusions. Even though Gwenda understood him, in what she¡¯s going through, she didn¡¯t lower the aim of the gun. The bullet would still burry in his forehead if he moved even a bit. The agent seemed to explode with anger.

    ¡ª She doesn¡¯t have the labeling, can talk to the fairies, always figuring something out and making it seem so obvious that it makes us look like fools.

    ¡ª It¡¯s a detective job, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re so amazed. ¡ª She replied.

    Ryxer grunted.

    The label. She¡¯ll have the damn mark tomorrow, whether she likes it or not. Gwenda refrained from reaching for her neck, where hey would probably mark her. It should go from the neck up so everyone could see. Sometimes the wrist was allowed, but it was mandatory to walk with the mark exposed if she didn¡¯t want a more painful one.

    ¡ª At least you know what you¡¯re insinuating, agent? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    ¡ª All evidence points to you.

    ¡ª Enough ¡ª Darcy intervened ¡ª Tomorrow will be the labeling, don¡¯t have a ridiculous outbreak for something you don¡¯t need to worry about. This case is not yours.

    Only the agent dared to say anything.

    ¡ª When she has the mark, we¡¯ll know what the truth is.

    ¡ª Not even dead would I allow them to label my body. ¡ª Gwenda clenched her jaw. And if she didn¡¯t have full control, she would be trembling with anger right now.

    Darcy turned her face to Gwenda.

    ¡ª You will get the mark, for the good of all.

    ¡ª Darcy, you know me, I¡¯m not an enemy of Carsany.

    ¡ª When you get the mark ¡ª Darcy repeated ¡ª we can move on. Until then, I want you to just find something with the information you have.

    The mark meant that she belonged to Carsany, the king¡¯s property, loyal to the king until death, wiling to defend him with her body, bleed for him. But the truth... was that Gwenda would never do that, is she could, she would bury a bullet in her own heart.

    ¡ª I won¡¯t get mark ¡ª Gwenda repeated and heard someone unlocking a gun. Darcy let out a throaty, almost a fake laugh, what the young woman thought it was just to ease the tension around, and touched her shoulder.

    ¡ª We¡¯ll see.

    She knew Gwenda had no other option; he king would be after her. She was the Shooter, a pawn of Carsany that would be useful. And if she didn¡¯t have the mark, he king wouldn¡¯t be secure in the fact that Gwenda wasn¡¯t yet his property. A skilled shooter living in Carsany... he couldn¡¯t let that chance slip away.

    Gwenda lowered her gun, and everything seemed clearer, less silent. However, no one else lowered theirs and restrained themselves from trembling when she spoke:

    ¡ª If you allow me, I¡¯ll go home to look for something about the case. In books.

    No one did anything.

    ¡ª Do it ¡ª ordered Darcy ¡ª And give me your gun ¡ª The woman reached her hand toward Gwenda.

    The young woman looked from her hand to her serious face, short and shaved red hair on one side. Gwenda scowled and locked her own gun before placing it in Darcy¡¯s hand. She would be surprised if she could leave here with any kind of weapon to defend herself.

    Darcy knew that Gwenda was not the culprit, knew she was more stressed in his case than anyone else, but she had to act as her agents wanted, or they could remove her from power. She didn¡¯t dare make any sudden movements as she moved towards the stairs. Besides the sound of footsteps, she heard everyone locking their guns and whispers. She just prayed that they would dismiss the idea that Gwenda could betray her race.

    <hr>

    It had been a short time since she had run into Louise on her way home. Her friend had the two front strands bleached, white, while the rest of her black hair fell down her back like a wavy curtain. The difference in size between the strands and the rest of the hair was noticeable even from afar.

    The slightly slanted eyes were her charm, as well as the full lips. Louise always wore ordinary clothes, and today was no different. A blue and white coat, like blurry spots in a sea, with only four buttons, almost snuggly fitted o her body, and white pants as thin as can be.

    Her collarbone and neck were exposed. Gwenda resisted the urge to look at that, at what Louise belonged to. She clenched her teeth.

    ¡ª Kimer told me you¡¯ve been a bit... hard. I came to have ice cream with you.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes. Of course, Kimer told Louise.

    ¡ª Aren¡¯t you busy with other things? ¡ª she asked.

    ¡ª The king knows I came to meet you; he accepted right away. ¡ª Of course. ¡ª By the way, there¡¯s something you need to know. ¡ª Louise fell silent for a moment ¡ª Rubben expects you to attend the Sunday games. I said I couldn¡¯t speak for you, but that I would find a way to talk with you.

    ¡ª I want nothing about Rubben, I don¡¯t know why he still bothers. He¡¯s wasting his time.

    ¡ª That would be a great opportunity, Gwen.

    ¡ª Opportunities for...

    ¡ª Your career. ¡ª Louise crossed her arms. ¡ª I heard you defeated Courvin last night, everyone heard. Even Rubben saw another opportunity when you kept refusing the king all these times.

    Gwenda laughed scornfully.

    ¡ª If I refuse the king, Rubben is as deluded as I though.

    ¡ª Gwen, he hired a Hunter to go after an Antrop¨®les. A Hunter. Do you even know how much you must pay to be able to hire one of those?

    Antrop¨®les. Creatures called a second soul, a second chance. They chose who deserved that second chance, and Gwenda couldn¡¯t decide if she found it absurd or not. After all, they deserved it.

    ¡ª No more than the amount the king offered me. ¡ª Gwenda replied to nothing in particular as she looked around, perhaps trying to find a way to escape this conversation.

    ¡ª The damn thing came back with its head severed. The king didn¡¯t take long to hire him too. And everyone in this deal got rich. Rubben started getting paid for doing this kind of work, paid by the king to eliminate threats in Carsany since he had contact with many capable and experienced individuals. That¡¯s how Rubben created the squad he has now.

    ¡ª Louise, I don¡¯t need help deciding whether to accept one or the other, okay? And you¡¯re helping Rubben, not me. If Rubben could get me into his sitthy squad, do you think it would take long for the king to take advantage of the opening I¡¯m giving him? Rubben works for the king. I¡¯m out.

    They reached Gwenda¡¯s house and entered without further delay, closing the door with a brief this and locking it from the inside.

    Louise sighed as she went to the fridge, opening it and starting to look for food. Gwenda wasn¡¯t hungry, even though she caught a glimpse of Louise grabbing a slice of pizza she ordered yesterday on the way home to enjoy alone the small victory in the arena.

    Gwenda observed her friend, scanning every inch until stopping at her neck. The mark was red, as if irritated, as if Louise has scratched it. She and Kimer had been marked. Serving the king with blind eyes. That¡¯s what it was about. A horse with the symbol of their origin, their ranch. Like Gwenda¡¯s horse has.

    A wave of sadness passed through Gwenda, and her hands trembled as she crossed her arms, looking down at the floor. The Knights took people in the last month of the year, where they were sure someone in the city must have turned 18 by then. Hose who appeared to be older were reviews to ensure they were labeled. Walking around the city with each person¡¯s documents.

    The Branding Officer simply did his job of making people¡¯s skin with a long metal rod, hot enough to reach the bone.

    It was a planned mess in the skin, the symbol of Carsany and the king¡¯s initials, not to mention a tiny circle with a C inside, from Carsany, as if the seal of a beetle wasn¡¯t enough. Gwenda and everyone from Carsany were under the command of the king, and the label was another way to make it official.

    The young woman felt stupid for entering that arena, showing her skills in a kingdom that sought people like her. But she wouldn¡¯t be here if it weren¡¯t for the arena, for the fractions of gold she received just for winning ridiculous and easy competitions.

    The most repugnant thing was knowing she would have a mark that meant nothing to her but signified something despicable. Gwenda wouldn¡¯t be loyal to a man just because a label claimed she legally belonged to him.

    This denial of the mark scared her because she knew well that she couldn¡¯t escape tomorrow without killing someone because they wouldn¡¯t give up unless she rebelled. Having Carsany¡¯s stamp, from the king himself, was like wanting to have remained with the rope around her throat and her feet swinging in agony.

    Gwenda would have reached for her gun, but she knew it wasn¡¯t there anymore. So, she let out a trembling sigh and headed towards her room with the intention of changing and appending the rest of the afternoon talking to Louise.

    Darcy knew the young woman would deny this branding to the death. And if she still had the gun... she could defend herself more easily. Her boss jut took away another form of defense to make sure she wouldn¡¯t win this fight.

 3.

    Sound of wheels, man shouting, and women shouting back. The noise of horse hooves, their snorting.

    The sun streamed through the window, passing trough the sapphire blue curtain briefly. Her muscles were sore, and moving even just to change position was out the question. Her ears picked up everything, every sound that was interrupted by the chirping birds that seemed...

    A knock sounded at the door, strong and heavy.

    Gwenda jolted upright, sitting on the bed with wide eyes. She abruptly threw the blanket off and got out of the bed in complete silence, heading for the window.

    Through the crack in the curtain, she saw a carriage and six guards standing at her door. Two horses stood next to the carriage, and she immediately wondered if hers was okay in the stable of the sector, where she paid weekly to ensure the best care they could provide. Occasionally, she appeared there when she wasn¡¯t involved in a particularly heavy case and on her days off so she could spend time with her horse she had received from her father, not just use it as a means of transportation around the city in pursuit of outlaws or mystics.

    The knock sounded again, and Gwenda didn¡¯t bother to dress properly before rushing to the living room barefoot, holding her weight to avoid making noise. She also didn¡¯t bother to run her hand through her hair to tame a few stray strands.

    She grabbed the frying pan from the wood stove and hid it behind her body as she approached the door cautiously. At the same moment another knock sounded, she opened it before it finished and blinked several times because of the sun.

    ¡ª Yes? ¡ª she said as her vision began to return.

    ¡ª We come by order of Your Majest. ¡ª The one in front replied, the others were lined up in two rows, side by side so she could pass between them like a runway. ¡ª The king wants to see you at the Labeling this morning. ¡ª The guard held up a paper in front of her face and Gwenda narrowed her eyes to try to read it, but couldn¡¯t ¡ª The paper said you agree to participate in the king¡¯s investigation. Just sign.

    ¡ª Your Majest already has me with the label ¡ª she replied ¡ª Tell your king to leave me alone, I won¡¯t accept anything he offers.

    ¡ª Miss, sign. ¡ª He said and held out the paper to Gwenda.

    The Young Woman thought for a moment.

    Gwenda could have refused all these agreements, but only because she was free. Oda she would become a citizen of the king. Not of the Capital, not of Carsany... of the king. And she was aware of everything she was about to accept by putting the tip of the quill on the parchment paper.

    She took a deep breath out with the frying pan to take the paper. The guard tensed up as he saw the threat had been committed a second ago without even knowing it.

    ¡ª Give me a second. ¡ª She requested and clos the door without waiting for a response.

    Gwenda knew they had fired at the windows, making sure she wouldn¡¯t escape.

    The young woman placed the paper on the table and ran her hands trough her hair, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. She went to fetch a quill and found one on the kitchen counter along with black ink. She stared at the gray will be held between her fingers, staining them, noticing that the ink pot was almost empty after jotting down so many things on so many documents...

    Gwenda put it bac. She wouldn¡¯t sign that paper, shouldn¡¯t sell herself to the king. If she did, she would be throwing away everything she had once fought to become. She couldn¡¯t say whether her career, as Louise mentioned, was about being the Capital¡¯s Shooter or being a detective and agent of sector 3.

    Gwenda¡¯s father wouldn¡¯t bear to see his daughter, his only daughter, accept this bargain, accept being someone of her king¡¯s caliber. But... would he understand that maybe she had no choice? Gwenda didn¡¯t know.

    She sat in the chair with a weight on her shoulders. She was so lost that she couldn¡¯t move as she used to. It was depressing.

    It was painful to think of her father and what he had risked to keep his daughter alive. Her father was a tough man, yet still loving. The steps Gwenda took were only to follow him, so that she could be like him, someone worth it.

    The sleepless nights, the nightmare she had... they cost her temper, her patience, her very self. The world changed, or maybe she herself changes.

    Gwenda would thank Kimer and Louise for cooperating with her, for standing by her side. They helped the young woman focus on herself and the present, leaving the past behind. But it was impossible to forget all that training her father had taught her, all that joy she had just being by his side.

    She knew she didn¡¯t have much choice. She couldn¡¯t flee earlier because she knew they would hunt her down, maybe even send a hunter to do the job. And now, with the guards at the windows and the door, her last hopes vanished with the morning breeze.

    Gwenda waited in the chair.

    <hr>

    Two guards burst through the door with their shoulders, letting it slam against the wall. Gwenda¡¯s breath caught, and she tightened her grip on the dagger¡¯s handle.

    They drew their swords from their belts, pointing them at Gwenda, ready to tear her apart.

    ¡ª Your Majesty is summoning you ¡ª The front guard growled.

    Gwenda lunged. She leaped onto the table with a surge and dodged blows aimed at her feet. She jumped towards them and tried to drive the blade between the neck and shoulder of one, but he dodged, and her calf started to ache from another guard¡¯s blow.

    She spun in the middle of the room, defending herself with only a dagger while trying to strike whenever she had the chance. Gwenda kicked one in the stomach with the sole of her foot, and he grunted before falling backward and out through the open door.

    Someone kicked behind her knee, ad she almost stumbled before spinning around and advancing. Advancing, advancing, advancing. Her retreated with backward steps, and she just followed him while striking. The sound of the blade through the air was the only one amidst panting and gasps. The guard behind tried to attack, but she kicked him and returned to the one in front.

    Gwenda defended against the sword and moved to his unprotected side, burying the blade in the guard¡¯s waist. He groaned and fell to his knees before leaning on one hand while the other held the wound.

    The young woman froze. Blood had splattered everywhere. Her hand was dirty, and she just watched what she had done.

    Gwenda trembled and shrank back, her shoulders slumping forward.

    He was a guard. And she had just wounded one of them.

    She couldn¡¯t bear the pressure they exerted, the laws she had to follow... but that didn¡¯t give her reason to even hurt one of them. This could bring her a punishment she wasn¡¯t willing to pay.

    She tried to reassure herself by saying they did this to the people, but by orders of a king.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t understand what happened after her stomach churned and bile rose in her throat. Maybe she muttered something like an apology before feeling dizzy and reaching for support on the table, blood covering her vision like a stream.

    Her throat began to burn. The scream in her skull spread through her body with a shiver.

    Footsteps sounded near the door.

    Her vision started to blur, and her knees buckled, so she took a hesitant step to the table and held on, knocking over a chair on the way. Another bile rose to her mouth, and Gwenda trembled.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    She prayed for every death on that wall, for every soldier... but she had just hurt one of them. Nothing could lift this unsettling weigh that began to shape on her shoulder, like a shadow.

    The dizziness was... just how her body reacted to most of the deaths she caused, but it had been a long time since she felt anything like it, long before she stopped going on hunts, as Darcy practically forbade her from participating.

    Her cases always involved the mystics lost in Carsany. As much as she avoided pulling the trigger for any race, when she did, nothing could stop her.

    She looked to the side, where the guard with blood covering his abdomen was being lifted by two others, their screams leaving her ears as quickly as they arrived.

    She would have regained her strength and vision if a shadow hadn¡¯t suddenly appeared in front of her and knocked her out with a punch in her face.

    <hr>

    The people on the street infiltrated food or object stalls. Some still smiled as they left.

    There were young people walking in a singe direction, following the carriage in which Gwenda was confined, but they were slower. Their eyes glued to the ground. They were newly 18, Gwenda noticed. She knew how some of them felt.

    They put her inside the darkened carriage, and when she woke up, with her head on the shoulder of a guard, she just stared at the window on the opposite side of the carriage, paralyzed for a long time. She sighed several times just to let he air in faster.

    When she moved her hands to her lap, she dared not look at the handcuffs, dared not look at what had made that sound of metal against metal.

    The young woman swallowed hard and accepted the cold touch as she had done once before. But the metal seemed to burn her sore wrists. She didn¡¯t need to check to know that her hands were still stained with blood, as was her beige, loose-fitting coat that reached halfway down her thighs. At least the blood was dry and didn¡¯t smell.

    Gwenda said nothing during the journey to the square in front of the castle wall, a wall at separated the king from the people, a barrier. She remembered well where and how the Labeling was done. A tent that caught her attention passed by, and she frowned. A woman sat behind a low table on the floor that held a crystal ball supported by a kind of golden stand. Purple and dark blue cushions were scattered on the floor.

    Gwenda had seen this oracle before. It was pure pretense, but till. The black hair fell in a curtain down her back, not a single strand over her shoulders.

    A man rested his hand on the back of a little boy, both seated on cushions in front of the Oracle. She smiled friendly as she spoke.

    Gwenda looked away.

    The Oracle never smiled, even to show her perfect teeth and long canines. He would never allow himself to smile at anyone, especially not himself. The mirror was her enemy, the reflection that was there. But the Oracle looked at himself every day, challenging with his own gaze.

    He lived with mirrors all around him, like a curse... And more and more seemed to disappear from the stories told by historians. The books said he dug a hole in the wall and stayed there curled up, waiting to scape from his own reflections that always imitated him, always. He had even clawed out his eyes to stop seeing, so he would be alone in the darkness. Regeneration was slowly getting worse.

    No one ever went to see him again. And for centuries he remained alone, totally.

    The carriage stopped.

    Gwenda let them look at her. The two guards in front of her and the other two on her side. The she allowed them to take her out carefully. As angry as they may be inside, as devastated as they may be, they took her out with care. And then she wondered where the guard she injured would be.

    She couldn¡¯t tell if it was because Gwenda was a woman or for some other reason, like an order from the king that echoed in their heads in a way she thought it was. Keep her alive and treat her accordingly. Maybe a curse or two, and then a command with the hand.

    She told herself she didn¡¯t deserve this. The redness that was about to turn purple on her face was just the beginning of what was to come.

    It¡¯s raining, Gwen.

    She stiffened.

    A hand was clenched around her bicep as she was led toward growing line. Her wide-eyed gaze bounced from one young person to another. She didn¡¯t remember there being so many.

    She was shoved into the middle of the first ones with brutality, and when the one behind cursed, one of the guards intervened and reprimanded him, threatening to put him at the end of the line. The young man, like an idiot, fell silent.

    The Shooter didn¡¯t look at the ground, perhaps one of the few who didn¡¯t show fear at the moment, who was pretending to face this situation strongly.

    The handcuffs reminded her of who she was, of what she had done all these years and what she had been through. But now there was no other way.

    There was only one end for Gwenda. And she knew it.

    The trembling sigh she gave hurt her chest, and she held her breath and closed her eyes, staying that way. She felt the person in front of her move, and Gwenda did the same, barely able to stand. Her head was bubbling, dancing in all directions and not letting her think.

    Her work on this case involved magic. Fairies are daughters of the Nymphs, there must be some connection. But for that, she would need to leave Carsany, pas through the wall, and still be lucy to find the nymphs. And risk beyond the wall...

    Her legs trembled, and she released the air slowly upon opening her eyes. Gwenda saw nothing, only the blood clogging her vision, the blood from just a short while ago.

    The weak groans of pain from the people reached her in a weak wave. Many mouths were gagged with cloth, a gag. Just so they wouldn¡¯t scream too the entire neighborhood.

    She didn¡¯t have the strength to grit her teeth, didn¡¯t have the strength for anything. She didn¡¯t even feel the irritated skin on the soles of her feet. The person in front of her left for some reason, and the wind hit her calmly and welcomingly. It was when she looked ahead that terror ran through her body.

    Gwenda tensed and widened her eyes at it, at the smoke that made her swallow hard. The young woman took a step back.

    Guards moved behind her, taking care of the line, and Gwenda burst with terror.

    ¡ª No ¡ª She murmured with a faltering voice as she tried to escape from a powerful hand that grabbed her arm. If it weren¡¯t for that, Gwenda would have fallen to the ground due to the lack of strength that had abandoned her at the moment she needed it most ¡ª No.

    She tried to break free, unsuccessfully, and when she laid eyes on the metal bar, hot as hell, she stopped. Gwenda stopped everything, from trying to stand up to not showing weakness. The weakness of the Shooter.

    ¡ª Please ¡ª She whispered to anyone, to any god who might be watching from somewhere. ¡ª Please ¡ª Gwenda swallowed hard. That¡¯s all she knew how to say. ¡ª Please.

    This went against everything she believed in and fought to be.

    She fell to her knees in front of the Branding Iron and watched as he prepared the metal bar to slam it into her neck and press against her sensitive skin for a long time.

    Gwenda threw herself to the opposite side, getting away from him. She didn¡¯t want to think, didn¡¯t want to feel, just wanted to get out of there. And preferably alive and without that seal.

    A guard held just below her chin, forcing her to tilt upward. He made her stand up.

    ¡ª Please. ¡ª She pleated once again, interrupted, averting her gazer directly to the guard¡¯s.

    His eyes shimmered.

    Before she could reason again, Gwenda was pushed and fell to her knees in the same spot as a few moments before.

    Once again, Gwenda tried to get away.

    Someone, she didn¡¯t see who, closed his hand behind her neck with more force and grabbed her hair to make space for the hit metal bar, lifting her face up to see what they would do to her.

    ¡ª No ¡ª Nothing more than a low noise came from her throat. She was tired and with heavy hands, yet she raised her arms, the last chance to stop it.

    The Branding Iron frowned as if he were irritated, his eyes focused on Gwenda. The mask covered from his nose down and almost fell onto his chest. The hood seemed attached to I because it never hung back.

    The man with the brand struck her hands with the hot metal and moved slightly to the side. Gwenda let tears fall in supplication.

    Her hair strands were being pulled out. She didn¡¯t care about the exposed shoulders, so that it would be better to hit her neck. She just reacted.

    Gwenda struggled. Tried to get up and screamed.

    The Branding Iron missed the spot and hit just below her collarbone. Gwenda clenched her teeth so hard she thought one might chip. It took only a second for the man to realize he had missed the spot, but he had already marked her.

    The raw flesh was there, bleeding, and stinking. The young woman still pleaded for mercy or whatever it was. They weren¡¯t in a fair fight, but she wanted the damn mercy.

    The Branding Iron looked around, looking for whoever it was. Perhaps looking for what he should do since he didn¡¯t hit her neck. Unsuccessful, it seemed. Then he turned around, and when the burning metal touched her skin again, nothing could stifle Gwenda¡¯s scream, nothing could stop her from screaming and holding onto the metal bar tightly. It was hot, but not enough to make her let go right away.

    The man with the brand kicked her hands, making her release it with a noise, and stepped on her handcuffs, pulling her hands down. The strength she was exerting to stay upright and not fall to the ground with that foot was killing her. And the person behind her was pulling her hair back, splayed by his hand. Her scalp screamed in pain.

    But she muttered something to the heavens.

    A word echoed through her body, she only thought of it when she closed her eyes, in lamentation. A failed word.

    Sorry.

 4.

    She couldn¡¯t bear the eyes on her; to be lying on the ground like a weak woman. Her father wouldn¡¯t stand for it.

    Gwenda cursed herself and screamed in her own mind with such force, but so silently. She couldn¡¯t contain herself while still being held by the hair, still being forced to kneel. Even though the Labeler had moved the hot metal rod away, they pinned her to the ground, waiting for something.

    Footsteps sounded behind the masked man and he just stepped aside, making room for the other one who smiled at Gwenda, excited.

    Tears of anger filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

    She closed her eyes, not wanting to look. Gwenda trembled on the ground. Her past still hurt and for all the useless fighting. She should have stayed outside the wall, that was her heart¡¯s only wish that moment. And now the blood that flowed just below her collarbone was one more infinity of things, eternally.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t cry, princess. ¡ª The king knelt in front of her.

    Gwenda opened her eyes again. The sovereign still smiled, pretending understanding.

    She grunted in response.

    ¡ª I¡¯m not your princess, you idiot. ¡ª Her voice came out hoarse.

    The king did nothing. Didn¡¯t laugh, didn¡¯t retort. He looked at the guard behind Gwenda, who then released her.

    Unable to hold her weight, Gwenda fell forward onto her knees, which burned on the sandy ground, her sweaty hands till trapped in the shackles.

    It¡¯s raining, Gwen.

    She shuddered.

    ¡ª Have you ever thought about what would happen if the people found out that the Shooter is trembling now? Defenseless? ¡ª The king spoke.

    Was that his plan? Gwenda wanted to ask. But she knew it wasn¡¯t.

    The gate in her mind was still closed. Thanks to whatever she believed was real. Because by now, nothing else seemed true.

    ¡ª I came to bring something. ¡ª The king extended his hand to the side and a guard handed him a parchment ¡ª I need you to sign. ¡ª He pointed to a line below some text ¡ª Right here.

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    Gwenda swallowed hard and completely ignored him while focusing on her ow heartbeat.

    ¡ª And I want to offer you a place in my castle.

    She felt the color drain from her face.

    Gwenda was about to reply when a familiar voice caught her attention.

    ¡ª What are doing to her?!

    It was Kimer.

    Gwenda clenched her jaw and widened her eyes.

    ¡ª Kimer ¡ª Now it was Louise¡¯s turn. ¡ª Majesty, if you allow me, I¡¯ll take care of the Shooter.

    Louise was nearby and stopped right next to the king, who just stared at Gwenda.

    The sovereign stoop up with a sigh.

    ¡ª Make she sign.

    The king handed the paper to Louise.

    Gwenda¡¯s mind was in chaos, she had never seen anyone react like that, in front of almost half the city. She was humiliating herself.

    ¡ª Yes, Majesty.

    Then he left with his guards and his friend didn¡¯t wait long before bending down to help her up. Gwenda tried to look into her eyes, but the mark on her neck was all she could see. And now she had one just like it.

    Her friend glanced sadly at her, and Gwenda just staggered away.

    ¡ª Gwenda. ¡ª Louise murmured softly.

    She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. They were wandering around the gate. Waiting;

    Her father. Her father was with her, as he always said. He was there with her, watching; What did he think of all this? Gwenda couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that she had failed. Her father took everything she was when he left. Took everything she imagined to be.

    And now her chances were gone.

    A hand gently landed on her shoulder, and she stiffened at the touch.

    Gwenda gathered courage and looked up, only Louise was in front of her, standing a meter away; The Labeler was right behind her, the metal rod still between his fingers with white knuckles.

    But the hand was there, in her shoulder. Gentle and inviting.

    A hope burned in Gwenda¡¯s chest. It could be anything. It could be the pain olf the mark. But for Gwenda, it was a hope that helped her keep that gate closed. The evils of her mind wouldn¡¯t be set free, not here, not now. She couldn¡¯t destroy herself here in front of everyone, she couldn¡¯t panic.

    What was she taught to be... what did she learn... for what? To get here where she is now and lament wasn¡¯t an option. Even though Gwenda saw it as one. In the past, she endured this horror that tore her chest apart. Endured it for so long that she still didn¡¯t know how she didn¡¯t surrender to the gallows that one day was destined, where always, in the end, seemed to be her fate.

    Hope still shone, it was still there. The truth is, she never abandoned it. That healing she had in her body when Kimer and Louise laughed or when she discovered a case at work, she never abandoned it. And Gwenda still fought.

    So she straightened up and turned around.

 5.

    It wasn¡¯t very convincing, considering Gwenda was now at home sitting on the couch and staring at the wall on the other side of the room. The king wasn¡¯t very convincing when he invited her to stay at the castle.

    Gwenda wondered why the king would offer her a place in his home. But it was obvious. She was the Shooter, that would only bring them closer so that she could be persuaded by that man. After all, she would have her mark, and her signature would be on the paper, living that would be another clever way to protect him. But from what exactly? It was inside the castle, a protected, closed place. So, the young woman became confused about the shallow reasons the king might want her inside his house.

    What could threaten the king his castle to offer a place for the Shooter willingly?

    A shiver of anger ran down Gwenda¡¯s spine as she thought about it and returned to her thoughts a few moments ago.

    She had been taken to her house. No one took care of her wound. Not that she expected anyone to. They removed the handcuffs from her wrists as soon as they left her at the door, and the first thing she did was massage where the wind could finally touch, without the metal piercing her wrists.

    Gwenda couldn¡¯t say anything. She couldn¡¯t thank Kimer and Louise for being there. As soon as she entered the house and closed the door quietly, she knelt in the kitchen. She spent the whole day doing nothing else. She didn¡¯t eat, didn¡¯t go to work, didn¡¯t take care of her new label that could very well get infected. She didn¡¯t bother to deal with the wound, protect it from bacteria. She spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch.

    Gwenda lamented all this time. She lamented for her father, for her mother lost in the darkness of her mind. She lamented for whatever gods were listening. She lamented for Kimer and Louise, for Darcy.

    Darcy saved her skin in the last case. Gwenda put her boss in danger more than once and Darcy was still there for her when she was about to be devastated. The boss knew that Gwenda refused to shoot, to kill at times. So, she did the job for her.

    Gwenda¡¯s mind was involved in deaths. She could think of burying a bullet in someone¡¯s heart, but she always feared doing such a thing. She reached the point several times of seeing everything blurred, the gun pointed at someone who simply didn¡¯t want to surrender. So, Darcy had to do that job for her. And end. That was the end of the case.

    She had always been taught that species didn¡¯t matter, that killing would be the last option. But never an option to be set aside. What would her father think of her now that she was in the sector of a Carvlinea? A place that taught them to be tough, always willing to go all the way. That wasn¡¯t what her father wanted for her; Gwenda knew.

    The young woman sighed. She was thinking too much about what her father wanted or didn¡¯t want for her and what he thought was best, that she hadn¡¯t thought about what she herself really wanted.

    Maybe because she didn¡¯t want to know her conclusion about the life she was living. Everything was spinning, and Gwenda found herself forced to sleep on the couch when the dark and quiet night came earlier than planned.

    <hr>

    Someone opened your door, and Gwenda opened her eyes, wondering why the hell she didn¡¯t locked it. She didn¡¯t need to turn to know it was Louise. Her friend never knocked on the door.

    ¡ª Gwen ¡ª The weakness in her voice made her falter, and her eyelids drooped. ¡ª How are you?

    Gwenda didn¡¯t respond as Louise closed the door and walked to the middle of the room without taking her eyes off her friend on the couch with her knees pulled close to her chest.

    It¡¯s raining, Gwen. It¡¯s raining.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    She took a deep breath and replied, hoarse:

    ¡ª Fine.

    Louise sat down beside her and rested her head on the alarm propped against the back of the couch. She didn¡¯t dare touch Gwenda. Not when she was in complete agony.

    ¡ª Can I stay here tonight?

    Gwenda dragged her hand to Louise¡¯s hand and tried to hold it firmly. Louise seemed to hold her breath and gripped her friend¡¯s trembling hand. Gwenda couldn¡¯t hold back tears and pursed her lips before lowering her head.

    ¡ª Gwenda ¡ª Louise voice faltered as she leaned closer ¡ª It¡¯s not your fault.

    She shook her head in denial.

    ¡ª Kimer and I are here for you. Here. ¡ª Louise placed her palm over Gwenda¡¯s pounding heart ¡ª You were never alone.

    Louise knew what she was feeling. She knew about the loses, the betrayals, the chaos of living day after day lost in the jungle like a savage at eighteen. Louise knew that Gwenda couldn¡¯t stand to fail. She knew everything. Every detail.

    Gwenda¡¯s father had taught her to accept the defeat. Because it¡¯s better to fail than not to try, and without failure, there is no means of winning. Her father showed her that failing wasn¡¯t absurd. Gwenda followed his advice for the long years she spent by his side.

    When he left, that¡¯s when the sky turned ash. She couldn¡¯t bear to fail. When she saw herself failing at something, she saw herself failing her father, what he had built. Not a weapon as most must see her, not a pawn for the king to use with a mischievous grin on his face. But a daughter. A strong woman. And Gwenda wasn¡¯t in favor of failing at anything.

    Being marked was a defeat. She was a paw of the king. She was becoming what she promised her father she wouldn¡¯t be. His pride in his daughter may have diminished even though he wasn¡¯t here in front of her. Because he was with her, he would always be.

    Get up, Gwenda.

    <hr>

    The rain arrived as Louise and Gwenda went to bed. They lay side by side, embracing each other. One comforting the other.

    Louise was the first to fall asleep, and Gwenda only noticed when her friend¡¯s hand stopped stroking her hair. She opened her eyes and carefully disentangled herself before putting her hands under her head and staring at the ceiling.

    Her face felt stiff from dried tears. Her eyes were full, heavy, sore. There was nothing left to think about or do. She had to go on as if she were a slave.

    If the king were more direct, maybe she could think about going to the castle. If the threat was facing affected all Carsany... maybe Gwenda could think about helping to defend from inside the castle, planning and calculating the next steps. But first, she wanted to know every detail precisely.

    Make it stop raining, Gwen.

    She would make the king fail in his duty. She could bring him to his knees.

    She would find a way.

    Gwenda got out of bed quietly and headed to the bathroom, taking off that now bloodstained and muddy beige coat, dropping it along the way. She needed to clear her head.

    She let boiling water fall on the floor with a snap as she waited on the rug. She watched the stream. The same that cut through the air in the square this morning.

    Gwen closed her eyes and felt the heat she had inhaled that morning, back in the square and failing to the ground that cruelly injured her knees.

    She didn¡¯t take a deep breath. Gwenda didn¡¯t wait until her courage ran out before stepping into the shower and getting completely wet. Every muscle of Gwenda relaxes, and she didn¡¯t bother to push her hair away from her face as she opened her eyes and looked down at her feet. She caught a glimpse of the open, wounded mark, but did nothing. She didn¡¯t hiss between her teeth, didn¡¯t she away from the hot water. Just let it washes her soul slowly and savored every moment.

    A spot just below her collarbone burned, seared. Gwenda hunched her shoulders forward, shrinking, and forced herself to pass the products through her hair. Massaging her scalp and sore rips carefully with the soap.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t stop when the tears came and were washed away by the water. But it was just tears.

    She stepped out of the shower feeling cleansed and quickly made her way back to bed. She put on her underwear and found a sports bra and loose shorts in the closer. Without a second thought, she put them on and got under the covers.

    Louise was asleep turned to the other side when Gwenda closed her eyes and found herself accepting being taken into the nightmare that haunted her night after night.

 6.

    Gwenda left home without eating, her ponytail swaying on her back with each step. The tank top she wore was the same as Wednesday¡¯s, and she was grateful she hadn¡¯t needed to drag herself on the ground with her yet. It was funny how sometimes Darcy came up with a kind of training, pulling out of thin air the possibility of invasion, like a child¡¯s game, but with close contact shocks where people ended up with broken arms or legs if they didn¡¯t hide. No rules, just hide or die, because when it came to fighting, five hooded invaders would corner the agents and pin them until the end of the round. That was in the best-case scenarios.

    But in the end, crawling on the ground and hiding was an art for Gwenda.

    Louise had left before the sun even rose, and Gwenda hadn¡¯t the strength to say goodbye before going back to sleep again.

    Still, she hadn¡¯t put anything on the raw flesh, not even something that could alleviate the pain. Bandages were out of the question. If she were a pawn of Carsany, of the king, that showed this, that let curious glances know about it. Just like she knew about everyone who passed by on the street. Some of them had bandages, and Gwenda felt for them.

    The young woman walked down the road and accepted those who observed her. It didn¡¯t take long for her to understand that they were watching her newest label. She didn¡¯t know how of these people knew her or who had seen her in the square, but that didn¡¯t matter either.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t go to the bar where Kimer worked this morning and headed to her Carvlinea Sector instead. Hoping that perhaps her boss would give her friendly greetings for arriving early. But Gwenda knew she couldn¡¯t expect much from Darcy.

    She walked with her chin up and her back straight, trying not to think too much about the still bloody wound below her collarbone. But the paper was her biggest fear. The signature she would be forced by the king to make. Louise had the task of doing it for the king, but the friend couldn¡¯t ask for something like when all Gwenda wanted was to be left with her own consuming thoughts. But Gwenda was afraid of what would happen to Louise.

    The horses on her sector¡¯s stable were saddled. Almost all of them. And Gwenda frowned at the hurried man finishing saddling one more and entered the sector.

    There was no one there when Gwenda arrived, and she was surprised that not even Darcy was there. The papers were scattered on her desk, and the pen ink was turned as if someone had hit it.

    The young woman descended to the lower floor with her heart pounding. Then she heard Darcy¡¯s screams.

    Her boss was shouting orders to the agents who were looking for weapons and loading them. The sound came from all sides. Gwenda ran to the center of the sector, and there they all were.

    Each one had their weapon. Some had two, one on each side of their hips. Swords were strapped to the backs of agents who knew how to handle and tear apart, but the firearm didn¡¯t leave their body, it was there regardless of the reason.

    Gwenda walked up to Darcy, dodging bodies that almost collided with her on the way.

    ¡ª What¡¯s happening? ¡ª Gwenda asked as she stopped by her side and watched the movement more closely.

    ¡ª Rebels attacked on Pheharia Street ¡ª her boss replied.

    Gwenda¡¯s legs went weak. Sector 6. Kimer worked there and probably must have been called in by the attack and left his job as soon as possible to help. If only Gwen had gone to her bar¡­

    ¡ª How long ago? ¡ª She wanted to know.

    ¡ª Here, take these ¡ª Darcy ignored her and threw two weapons at her. Gwenda caught them and strapped them to her hips. ¡ª Make it count, Matchstone. Today¡¯s rebellion is brewing.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth, and Darcy continued giving orders.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t forget that Rubben won¡¯t miss this move; I want everyone defending each other.

    Some agents rushed up, straight to the horses.

    ¡ª Raux ¡ª The man who had threatened Gwenda approached Darcy ¡ª We¡¯re short on ammunition for the K23 weapons.

    K23, better know by the name Black Crow.

    Darcy seemed unfazed as she assembled her own gun.

    ¡ª Pray that it won¡¯t be necessary to use them.

    It had been a long time since a rebellion had occurred.

    The man diverted his gaze to Gwenda, and she just stared back at him to show that he deserved every single thing that went through Gwenda¡¯s head at that exact moment.

    Ryxer Vannyer glanced down at her collarbone.

    Gwenda understood those who doubted her. She was one of the few in Carsany show knew more about mystical information than about human and things without magic. But she wanted to be someone who didn¡¯t put a question mark on someone¡¯s face. She had been working in sector 3 for some time now; they should be used to and aware that she would never do that.

    The man nodded to her as Darcy turned to leave. Ryxer followed the boss, and Gwenda was one of the few to stay on the lower floor. The new agents were training when she left the place to go upstairs and see her friend.

    <hr>

    Gwenda pointed the gun at a guy with a knife in his hand, her knuckles white.

    She had heard the explosion on her way there. Everyone did and hastened their pace. People died, including rebels, few remained standing. They risked themselves to bring down a Carvlinea sector. Why?

    She had barely dismounted her horse and rushed inside the now ruined place. Her legs were trembling as she searched beneath concrete and dust. She would only relax when she laid eyes on Kimer.

    Now she had stopped one of the rebels from escaping by shooting his foot. He fell to the ground with a groan of pain, but soon was on his feet, staggering. The two stared at each other, and the rest of the agents were behind her, dealing with other rebels.

    ¡ª Surrender, and I won¡¯t shoot ¡ª Gwenda said, taking a step toward him over the rubble.

    ¡ª They promised my family ¡ª His voice was hoarse as he responded, and Gwenda tensed when he took a vial from his pocket and opened it with this thumb. She couldn¡¯t do anything as she saw him gulp it down in one go.

    Gwenda cursed and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit his hand. The vial shattered, and he roared in pain before dropping the knife to the ground with a clatter and then collapsing, writhing on the stones. Smoke escaped from his mouth, and his body began to decompose. Gwenda entertained the thought that perhaps this vapor was the man¡¯s soul.

    ¡ª What the hell is this ¡ª She muttered to herself.

    She sighed and lowered her arm before holstering the gun back on her hip.

    The rebel¡¯s cheekbones had completely dried up. Gwenda couldn¡¯t tell if it was skin or bone on his arm, but soon there would be nothing left but the skeleton, she supposed. His clothes nor draped over his skeletal frame. His eyes seemed to disappear, and his teeth were exposed as if the decomposition had already taken place.

    Gwenda looked away.

    ¡ª This had never happened before ¡ª Ryxer stopped by her side, frowning at the dead rebel.

    She blinked and moved away without bothering to respond to Vannyer. No, it had never happened before.

    Sector 9 was an ally of the destroyed sector, the sector 6. They arrived almost at the same time as Gwenda¡¯s sector.

    She searched for Kimer in every corner, and when she found Darcy, she found her friend. Her legs almost gave way, but then she set her eyes on Jurian, who stood next to Kimer with a clenched jaw, trying to stare down Darcy. However, the chief was talking to Kimer and didn¡¯t care in the slightest about the presence of an agent from the opposing sector.

    If only he threatened to do something...

    Gwenda walked toward them and jumped without looking over another body in the way before placing her hand on the gun. Jurian didn¡¯t seem inclined to play nice with his fists clenched. He glanced at Gwenda, and she stopped. The two locked eyes.

    Jurian didn¡¯t need to look where Gwenda¡¯s hand was to know hat would happen if he moved o the wrong side. Gwenda narrowed her eyes.

    Her boss turned to her, but she continued to stare at Jurian. Darcy turned away almost with an eye roll and began to ask for the reports of the previous missions of the sector that had just suffered an explosion to see if anything was interconnected.

    Gwenda followed her boss and Jurian¡¯s gaze followed her.

    They were in danger, that¡¯s what this explosion made her understand. If they wanted to destroy a sector, it wouldn¡¯t take long for bombs to be installed in the others. It was an option. If Darcy didn¡¯t find anything in the reports, they would have to take action to prevent this from happening again.

    ¡ª Anyone you know? ¡ª Darcy asked.

    ¡ª A rebel claimed to seek justice and fled ¡ª Irritated, Darcy turned to the man providing information, ready to say something that would make him shrink ¡ª Knocked out nine agents and even stole a horse. I don¡¯t believe there was anything else to be done.

    Darcy huffed and handed the report papers to sector 6 who passed by.

    ¡ª Justice with your own hands is not justice, it¡¯s vengeance ¡ª Stated the boss.

    ¡ª And if it has something to do with the wall? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    Darcy didn¡¯t look at Gwenda as she replied:

    ¡ª Most of the soldiers had no family.

    And fell silent.

    Gwenda knew there was something involved, and it wasn¡¯t just the fact that perhaps they were trying to honor the death of the soldiers.

    ¡ª That¡¯s not important. They were royal guards.

    ¡ª We don¡¯t know if the rebels were in favor of the king and opposed to our cause. ¡ª Gwenda frowned not understanding what the hell she had just said. Weren¡¯t they the ones doing the king¡¯s dirty work by eliminating mystics and patrolling the streets of the Capital? But it was the Carvlineas who probably instigated the mystics to attack in this manner, and they still failed at their own job. There must be people who hated them. ¡ª Don¡¯t jump to conclusions like that, Matchstone. The case was ours, and justice should be done with the mystics who blew the damn wall.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡ª Who said it was the mystics, besides our assumptions?

    Gwenda regretted having said something when Darcy turned to her abruptly, her red hair swaying with the movement. Her expression showed confusion and doubt. Doubt from Gwenda.

    ¡ª What did you say? ¡ª Her blue eyes seemed to swallow all the courage Gwenda had built up over the months to address Darcy and not someone inferior who could do it for her.

    Gwenda opened her mouth to answer, but someone shouted in the distance.

    ¡ª There¡¯s someone alive!

    Agents ran toward the commotion that was forming ahead with prayers to the gods on their lips. The boss was still staring at her when Gwenda passed by her, going to the pila of cement.

    The woman under the concrete unshed it away to free herself, but when she tried to free her trapped foot, her strength gave out. Her forehead was bleeding, and she blinked rapidly, as if to keep herself awake. Her groan of pain from the effort cracked the ice that threatened to climb up Gwenda¡¯s fingers. The woman¡¯s breathing was heavy and fast. Agents approached to help, but she managed to lift the cement and pull her foot out from underneath.

    Gwenda turned to... Darcy was no longer there, vanished into thin air. Then she turned her attention to the short haired woman, covered in dust.

    The woman got up with the help of an agent and clung to his neck with one arm. She couldn¡¯t put her left foot down as it was splayed to the side.

    ¡ª Do you want me to call a medic? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    The short haired woman tilted her head and squinted.

    ¡ª No thank you, girl. ¡ª She replied.

    Even though her eyes had returned to the mark still fresh on her skin, she didn¡¯t seem to mind that Gwenda was over eighteen, perhaps she had though the girl had just reached the right age for the mark. If she were as observant as Darcy claims... the woman must know that the Shooter made the label turning twenty. The sector 6 boss left with one of her agents, limping, and Gwenda watched her go. When she turned around, she saw Darcy talking to Ryxer Vannyer near her black horse. Her boss held the reins while flipping through papers on a clipboard with a furrowed brow.

    Ryxer Vannyer was the son of a soldier on the wall, killed by someone¡¯s hands. Gwenda had her own doubts that the fairies didn¡¯t do this to a mystic but to someone inside the wall. It could be anyone, from one of the soldiers to the king himself. Even though she found it impossible for the king to do something like that. The three fairies didn¡¯t comment on the contract they ventured into, whether it was them, and it would be the first thing to come to someone¡¯s mind like Gwenda¡¯s. That only the mystics were behind this.

    If a human wants to destroy Carsany, they wouldn¡¯t hire fairies to destroy the wall. After all, they couldn¡¯t do it. They can¡¯t simply plant a bomb and escape in time. Bomb A3 explodes almost instantly, which explains once again that it could only have been done with magic to contain the explosion and make it strong enough to do what they did. It was only the fairies who were nearby when this happened, failing into a trap and being taken to sector 3, leaving Gwenda in charge.

    When the young woman saw those small creatures in the ropes made to bind them, she couldn¡¯t help but imagine the scene of the rest of the case. Complicated. The report of everything that happened and why it happened should be her job. At first, she refused, but when she saw that she was already finding answers ¡ª slowly, but she was ¡ª she accepted before it was passed on and seized this opportunity.

    Gwenda sighed and moved with her head down towards Kimer, to speak with her and ask if something much worse than this happened. On the way, a dead rebel was under the cement, and only his head, one of his arms still stretched upwards, and one of his feet were visible. A glass flask was open with the lid dangling, half the contents had leaked out, but still.

    She didn¡¯t look around to see if anyone was watching when she picked up the flask and closed it, putting it in her pants pocket. Under her lashes, she looked around and then headed to Kimer.

    Her friend was squatting in front of a body leaning against a pillar. She looked at it with curiosity.

    ¡ª Who¡¯s that? ¡ª Gwenda asked, and Kimer turned to her.

    ¡ª Good to see you¡¯re okay. ¡ª She said and turned back to the body. ¡ª It was the head agent of sector 9. Jurian was totally shaken. ¡ª She reached for the dead man¡¯s jacket, and opened it, looking inside. Kimer took a knife out from inside and put it in her own jacket.

    ¡ª Were they friends? ¡ª Gwenda felt her throat tighten. If they were brothers or something...

    ¡ª They were ¡ª Kimer sighed and stoop up ¡ª But he¡¯ll get over it ¡ª She moved to Gwenda¡¯s side and smiled at her.

    Gwenda smiled weakly back and patted Kimer¡¯s back twice.

    ¡ª I thought you¡¯d die before I got here. ¡ª She commented.

    Her friend shook her head.

    ¡ª I hardly ever get close to death, Gwen. ¡ª She replied.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t take long to retort, her eyes shining.

    ¡ª We can settle this tomorrow. If you show up at the arena and beat me, two larges pizzas ate one me, drinks included.

    Kimer¡¯s eyes lit up, and the smile slowly widened on her face. Gwenda almost laughed.

    But her friend declined:

    ¡ª I can¡¯t, Gwen. I need to work, and I think you do too. ¡ª Kimer put her hand on her friend¡¯s shoulder. ¡ª Take care of that label. I don¡¯t want to see it get infected.

    She acted like she was her mother, but Gwenda never complained and never would. Even though she had discreetly rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª You¡¯re always working. You don¡¯t seem like the one who told me to relax two days ago.

    ¡ª Hey, it¡¯s not me who earns fractions of gold just by hitting bottles and cans and winning duels.

    ¡ª If I knew how to do something other than that.

    ¡ª You¡¯re already doing it, Gwen. Doing a great job. ¡ª Kimer gave a corner smile before moving on and continuing her search for any information in this chaos.

    Gwenda sighed and rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand, on the opposite side of the mark. It still felt like it was boiling on her skin, as if that burning sensation she felt when the bar touched her never ended.

    In a glimpse, Gwenda saw Darcy staring at her even though she was paying attention to someone else speaking beside her.

    The agents were in motion, collecting everything they could. They had to remove under the cement to see the rebel¡¯s clothes. A crowd was trying to pass the sector 6 agents blocking the passage. Gwenda asked which of them were rebels who didn¡¯t speak up like these, who didn¡¯t have the courage.

    They yelled to leave them alone. Leave the bodies alone, give them a little honor. But no one cared and they continued to work professionally.

    The itching on Gwenda¡¯s spine started, and she tried to straighten up more than she was, even though she knew it wouldn¡¯t help. It was an itch saying something she didn¡¯t want to admit, so Gwenda denied it every time, ignore it as if was normal. She had already been sore on her back without being able to get up because of it, but she tried.

    When Killian left her alone, the itching stopped for a while, only to start again when the cases seemed more and more complex.

    So she opted to think that it wasn¡¯t just anguish, but a problem. Gwenda started taking medicine a few days ago, and it didn¡¯t help. The intensify seemed to decrease, and she became more reasonable with the medicine. Still remembers when she screamed in pain and shoved twenty capsules into her mouth at a time as if that would help in any way and let her rest for at least one night without the damn nightmares and pains. She woke up sweating even between her legs, and the dark circles were drawings on her face as part of her. Gwenda still had dark circles, but not as a deep as a year ago.

    ¡ª Gwenda ¡ª Someone called her, and she turned in the direction with a stiff body ¡ª We need you here.

    Ryxer Vannyer was squatting over a corpse and beckoning her with his hand while looking at the fallen man¡¯s face.

    Gwenda just stared at her feet. Leather boots and winter pants, which hadn¡¯t even arrived yet. When the agent realized that she hadn¡¯t moved, Ryxer looked for her and landed on her eyes. He made Gwenda see in his gaze that everything was fine, that everything seemed right.

    So, she took a deep breath and went in his direction. Ryxer smiled amiably and stood up.

    <hr>

    The table in the middle of the weapons base in sector 3 trembled slightly when the body of a satyr was thrown on top of it by Vannyer.

    Ryxer and Gwenda exchanged glances. She found it strange, the dead man that the agent called her to take a look at and ended up removing the boots. Hooves made Gwenda lose her breath, and Ryxer looked as pale as death at that moment. But she swallow hard and forced herself to take off the satyr¡¯s pants, tearing them with the knife she always kept hidden on one side of her hip behind the gun.

    Pure despair filled Gwenda¡¯s eyes. They had called Darcy and the sector boss of Kimer. Since they found it, they could take care of it until they found something. If they didn¡¯t find any answers in a month, they should return the body to sector 9. Kimer just watched from afar, Gwenda had noticed.

    But the next month was New Year, and Gwenda knew she was too involved in this case to even be able to stop by the end of this month, which was near.

    ¡ª A satyr within the wall in the same month as the explosion ¡ª Darcy murmured to no one in particular.

    Gwenda quickly volunteered to have a decent conversation.

    ¡ª Talking to the fairies might help with something else. They are Daughters of the Nymphs, and satyrs have a fetish for them. Besides that, it must be a coincidence.

    Darcy Raux pointed her finger at Gwenda without caring to take her eyes off the body on the table.

    ¡ª I want you out of the interrogation. You will work to find something with what the interrogator provides you. Agent Vannyer will stay with you to help you stay awake.

    ¡ª What?

    The boss glanced at Gwenda under her lashes, making her hold her breath.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t want rest until we find something, and I¡¯ll help any way I can. ¡ª And in that, Gwenda knew what the boss meant. She never had time for anything other than her work that seemed to please Darcy every day. ¡ª You will pack bags and stay here. There¡¯s a room at the end of the hallway, settle in there.

    ¡ª Boss ¡ª Gwenda practically growled, placing her hand on the table.

    When Darcy looked at her again, Gwenda didn¡¯t shrink back, didn¡¯t do anything but narrow her eyes and clench her jaw, showing her frustration.

    ¡ª I¡¯m tired as much as you are of this case, but this...

    ¡ª It¡¯s an order, agent. Obey. This case will end, and I want both of you until the end. No contradicting because it won¡¯t change what¡¯s already decided. Nobody will rest until the culprit of this is found. If you want to continue being part of Carvlinea, do what I say. Don¡¯t close your damn eyes.

    Gwenda could see the torture Darcy was going through to try to understand what al this was about. The young woman lowered her head, defeated.

    ¡ª Agent Vannyer, protect Gwenda from what she can¡¯t protect herself from and stay focused. Both of you, stay focused.

    Gwenda waited for Darcy to say: And you, Gwenda, protect Ryxer. But the boss said nothing and headed for the exit with other agents on her tail. Some rookies went back to shooting training on the other side.

    She was irritated that Raux had forgotten that Gwenda could protected herself. And who needed couple protection was Vannyer, not her.

    ¡ª Well... ¡ª Ryxer began.

    ¡ª Shut up. ¡ª Gwenda raised her hands in the air and moved away from the table with her eyes closed.

    She let out a sigh of agony and rubbed her face before leaving the lower floor as soon as possible. If she didn¡¯t get out of there, she might explode in the middle of a bunch of firearms and sharp blades.

    <hr>

    Gwenda and Vannyer spent over two hours studying the damn body. It was a satyr, what did they expect? No scratch marks before the sector explosion. It was easy to differentiable between a drier wound and a more recent one. But there was nothing. Perhaps the almost faded scars on the arms indicated that he had participated in some things he had to face bravely. But Gwenda couldn¡¯t insinuate anything just from these clues.

    They didn¡¯t open the body. Gwenda refused to open the body to find out if he died before or after the explosion, with that poison she had picked up on the ground near another body. That wasn¡¯t what interested the most.

    The poison caused terror in the rebel, but that was because he was a human. She couldn¡¯t say if it would cause the same in a satyr without opening the body.

    But... she had stopped for a moment, paralyzed, the color had drained from her face as she thought. If it wasn¡¯t poison that killed him, it was the explosion. It was impossible to say which of the two, but no broken part of the body gave any answer, besides it being atop the heap of cement when they found the dead body.

    If the satyr took the poison, that slimy liquid, and died because of it. It wasn¡¯t to be expected much that it was something weak.

    Holy Goddess.

    To kill a damn satyr, that poison had to be something powerful, and Gwenda still carried it in her pocket. She held herself back from putting her hand around it, even though it was inert tight next to her.

    To tell the truth, she didn¡¯t know whether to tell Ryxer about the vial she had taken or not, bur she told him to keep secret the fact that there was a type of poison strong enough to kill mystics. She made Vannyer promise by his last. And so Ryxer did.

    <hr>

    She got home and hurried to the fridge, then found something and ate while taking off her boots and leaving them along the way. Gods, she was starving.

    And then she packed her bags. Even with her heart pumping blood through her body and feeling the throbbing in her brain, she packed her bags with everything she thought necessary to spend a long time at the base. She knew she was still far from guessing the culprit behind all this, but she wouldn¡¯t stop, just as Darcy asked.

    It was pure rage screaming through her veins as she threw everything into the bag haphazardly, as if that could distract her from the threat spreading through her body. She grunted as she threw with all the force she had one last shirt over other clothes. And then she stopped and looked at her own mes. The only thing she did was close her eyes and exhale before lowering her chin and falling to her knees.

    Gwenda tied her hair in a bun on top of her head and took a deep breath, then began to pack the suitcase again.

 7.

    At least the boss gave her this night off, and she stayed home and slept in her comfortable bed, bidding a final farewell to the delicious mattress that helped her fall asleep.

    Louise and Kimer managed to find time in their own tasks and found her sprawled on the floor in front of the sofa where the huge rug lay. She was blowing on a piece of paper to keep it in the air, but it kept falling to the sides, and she had to start over. She didn¡¯t bother to keep it a secret that Gwenda would be busy day and night at the base and said she wouldn¡¯t be home for a few days.

    Much as Gwenda¡¯s dismay, both wanted details, and she almost kicked them away and went to sleep, but she answered all their questions. Before she realized it, her body no longer functioned, and she left her friends talking to themselves as she passed out, still on the floor. She woke up in her bed, soft and warm, and mentally thanked her friends before closing her eyes again and relishing a little more time. Five second later, she grumbled and got up.

    And now Gwenda was walking down the road with suitcase in her hands, one in each. She had left her beige button-up coat drying at the back of the house and grabbed it this morning. She encountered Louise along the way and wondered how much time this woman had off to be strolling around the Capital.

    ¡ª I met Trytan today. ¡ª Louise suddenly remarked.

    Gwenda pretended not to care when she replied:

    ¡ª Did you run away before he could say hello?

    Louise forced a laugh.

    ¡ª Smartass.

    Gwenda smiled. The braid was brushing against her back as she walked.

    ¡ª He asked about you ¡ª Louise continued ¡ª I told him you were too busy with work and...

    ¡ª What did you say? ¡ª Gwenda looked at her, and Louise raised an eyebrow, knowing what to expect ¡ª I¡¯ll give you three reasons why you shouldn¡¯t mention my whereabouts and what I¡¯m doing. Letter A, my work is confidential, anything related to the wall, and you shouldn¡¯t say anything either.

    ¡ª I didn¡¯t say... ¡ª Louise rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª B, Trytan is only interested in sex, from my calculations; C, I don¡¯t want my work to be of interest to him. He¡¯ll look for someone else to cater to his needs if he thinks I¡¯m just working. And in that case, I¡¯ll be too busy at the moment to even pick someone up.

    What was supposed to be don¡¯t tell anyone about my whereabouts became don¡¯t tell Trytan about my whereabouts.

    Yes, Trytan might show that he might want more, but in the end...

    Louise huffed.

    ¡ª Your hobbies are still very different from the normal people.

    ¡ª That¡¯s because in your mind, dancing at parties and getting drunk is a big advancement in your career and life. Cool.

    ¡ª At least in the drinking part, you¡¯re badass, you¡¯re lacking the rest. Want me to teach you, agent?

    Gwenda almost rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª It¡¯s not my really thing, Lou.

    No one said anything else.

    He friend knew that Gwenda had stopped with that nonsense when she fled the Capital with nothing, just her and her shadow out of reach of the king¡¯s officials. This king who hunted her died, and the prayers seemed to have been heard. Then she learned that the only son had taken power, but still didn¡¯t dare to return for a few years.

    People judged her without knowing. Gwenda spent good times having fun until everything slipped through her fingers like water. It was ice melting, and she hadn¡¯t noticed while enjoying the fun. The guilt soon hit her, and nothing could take it away, making it a part of her forever. Perhaps she would never feel free from this feeling that as eating her away more and more.

    They didn¡¯t see the snowball forming, that was he truth. But it led to what it led to, and now Gwenda knew there was no turning back.

    The fact was that they considered her someone outside of society, as if her friends were limited, and she didn¡¯t venture much behind man to satisfy herself. She was fine like this marking other down their own conclusions and letting them see how far it would all go. One way or another, it would end, Gwenda would shut mouths that judged how she really was, even though they had never spoken to her enough to know anything about what she went through. They were idiots. And they would remain so until she forgot them.

    They must have seen her journey out of the Capital and them back. They might have believed she returned just because she was lost and regretted it, or some shit like that.

    Hearing lies coming from filthy mouths was so...

    Her friend hooked her arm with Gwenda¡¯s, and the two didn¡¯t say anything else for the rest of the way. The itch in Gwenda¡¯s spine started again, and deep in her mind, a black flame ignited.

    <hr>

    She threw the suitcase on the ground, near a shelf of old files. It was painful to walk past everyone, who didn¡¯t need to be there today, with two full suitcases. Gwenda¡¯s unease was constant, and she couldn¡¯t wait to find an end to it. Darcy stopped her on the way and pulled her into a conversation about the wall case, warning that it would be faster and easier that way. Well... she warned rudely, but she warned. But Gwenda had already understood, no matter how nonsensical it seemed.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Ryxer arrived later and placed the suitcase on the other side of the room, seeming to want to keep his distance. Gwenda felt better that way.

    ¡ª Have you investigated previous cases related to the wall? ¡ª Ryxer asked.

    ¡ª No. And I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll help. The wall has always remained intact, nothing out of place in such as a... clear manner like this case. No sensible mystic dares to venture into the wall because of the magic.

    ¡ª What if the mystic doesn¡¯t have magic?

    ¡ª Impossible ¡ª She retorted ¡ª Mystics always have magic. Their healing alone is a form of magic. If soldiers were to shoot them with an arrow, they could die in seconds. Their speed is a magic that diminishes as they approach Carsany.

    ¡ª Did the fairies say anything?

    Gwenda looked at him. She forgot that Ryxer knew almost nothing about the case and that she should tell him what she had discovered. It would be easier to just give him the report she had prepared, but that would go against her instincts. Ryxer would make his own report with what he found, and then they could see if anything matched. They didn¡¯t need to work literally together.

    ¡ª The fairies are defending someone who helped them. They mentioned a contract and that they are, partially, secure about it. What we know is that Bomb A3 was involved with magic, or it couldn¡¯t have exploded a part of the wall. ¡ª She paused, recalling ¡ª Fairies are Daughters of the Nymphs, and, with their permission, those damn little fairies can do anything. I don¡¯t think the nymphs would want them to fall into an ambush like this.

    ¡ª Should we leave Carsany and investigate?

    ¡ª Maybe when we find out more. It could have been a mystic who helped them with everything but could also be someone from inside the wall ¡ª Ryxer seemed to pay more attention. ¡ª Once implanted, the bomb doesn¡¯t wait to be exploded for more than about five seconds, there¡¯s no safe countdown or anything like that. The fairies could have been injured, at most lost their wings, but they came out unscathed somehow. Fortunately, they fell into our trap and now we don¡¯t know if the magic used was by them or by a mystic. This could help us figure out who else was behind them. But what we do know is that there¡¯s no squadron, just someone alone, which makes things a little more complicated.

    In fact, if it were a group of terrorists, it would be quick to decipher. The fairies claimed it was just one person, but Gwenda¡¯s doubt was entangled with the explosion case in sector 6. There¡¯s also a possibility that they put the magic in the bomb... but Gwenda has thought and rethought many times and no.

    ¡ª And the clues? Anything nearby? ¡ª Ryxer asked.

    Gwenda sighed.

    ¡ª Besides the fucking fairies... ¡ª She forced a smile ¡ª Nothing.

    No clues. She couldn¡¯t say if the explosion destroyed any clues they might have had or if there were them or stayed out of it, just making sure they paid them for the job of placing the bomb in the right place without leaving traces. They could be inside Carsany now, wandering around, or already in the Capital.

    ¡ª There¡¯s a good chance the satyr was responsible for all this. ¡ª Gwenda commented.

    Ryxer watched her.

    ¡ª The dead one.

    Gwenda agreed, even though it wasn¡¯t a question.

    ¡ª He was in the sector 6 explosion.

    ¡ª It¡¯s possible, but it doesn¡¯t make sense for him to mess with the wall and then practically kill himself.

    ¡ª Unless he¡¯s already done what he planned. Exploding the sector might have been a distraction for something bigger or maybe that¡¯s exactly what he wanted. We don¡¯t know if he wanted to kill someone specific or everyone, we don¡¯t know if he managed to hit the target. When the fifteen soldiers died, he entered Carsany so he could continue the plan and then accepted death thinking his target had died in the sector explosion.. If they didn¡¯t actually die.

    Ryxer stared at Gwenda. His expression didn¡¯t confirm anything, just endless reasoning.

    ¡ª Let¡¯s wait and see if someone will return through the fairies, as they said. If the satyr is guilty, we¡¯ll need more evidence than just our insinuations.

    ¡ª I know. ¡ª Gwenda agreed.

    ¡ª Until then, we¡¯ll act normally, without too much fuss. We still have our daily work, and I think the arena is waiting for you today.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t look away from him when Ryxer got up from the floor,

    ¡ª Are you giving me orders, Vannyer?

    As if she didn¡¯t know that all this nonsense was confidential.

    ¡ª I¡¯m reinforcing it, Matchstone.

    Gwenda opened a creepy smile.

    ¡ª Of course, agent.

    She wanted to make it clear that Darcy had given the case to Gwenda before unnecessarily involving Ryxer in it. She highly doubted Vannyer would be more useful than she thought.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t think it was very nice to point a gun at me. ¡ª Ryxer stiffened and walked to the door.

    Gwenda smiled weakly, ready to be ignored. But then Vannyer stopped at the exit.

    ¡ª I apologize.

    Gwenda pretended to consider whether she would forgive him or not.

    ¡ª I had my reasons, okay?

    She shrugged.

    ¡ª Think better next time. And, ¡ª she raised her eyebrows ¡ª you would be dead before burying the bullet in my head.

    Vannyer laughed.

    ¡ª With all those agents thinking the same as me, I¡¯m not sure you could escape that.

    ¡ª It doesn¡¯t change your possible death.

    Ryxer rolled his eyes.

    ¡ª Goodbye, Gwenda.

    And he was gone.

    She heard his footsteps down the hall and then when he went up the stairs quickly, one thud after another.

    ¡ª It¡¯s Matchstone to you, Ryxer. ¡ª She muttered to herself.

    Gwenda got up with a sigh and followed the same path as Vannyer. She knew they should come back here tonight, and only then would they have time to look at this case. Maybe they would spend the nights awake or end up unintentionally sleeping, but they would go after answer in any way possible.

    Today was Saturday, she would spend the rest of the day in the arena and needed to eat something after the first round. She was thinking she had the option to lose since the food was crap, and Gwenda only ate yesterday when she got home. If ate now, she might vomit in the middle of a fight and lose a fraction of silver, which would be fine.

    She grabbed a glove that covered her arm and part of her hands from her desk and placed them on the way to the stable. She had a spot in the arena¡¯s barn to keep her horse only for the duration of her competition; afterward, she needed to pay to keep him there, which was what she did. Two silver caches, meaning six silver coins each.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t mind leaving him there when she wasn¡¯t working; after all, it was cheaper than the stable in the sector.

 8.

    Get up. Gwenda.

    Gwenda couldn¡¯t get up before a fist struck her jaw squarely, causing her to stagger backward and tilt her head up before falling backward onto the ground. The roar of the crowd drowned out her groan.

    She cursed and didn¡¯t wait long to settle on the ground and trip the opponent when he approached, thinking he had won with that blow. Gwenda knew she might lose this damn fight, but she still wanted to try.

    The muscle-bound man stumbled to the ground, and Gwenda pulled a throwing dagger from her hip and stood up, ready to throw it at his skull and make a mess. But she threw it besides his head. She regretted it as soon as he stood up and charge at her with a series of punches and kicks. Gwenda didn¡¯t dare to defend against any of the blows; she just kept a safe distance and moved further away as he advanced like a raging animal.

    The crowd¡¯s roar seemed to drown out every thought and strategy of the fight that was unfolding right in front of her. Her breathing wasn¡¯t working properly anymore, and she aimed her fist man¡¯s face. Just aimed.

    Gwenda was throwing backward with a kick to the stomach, and she felt all the food from yesterday rise back up. She put her hand to her belly and held back the vomit, forcing it back down. She leaned her other hand on her knee and tried to breathe through her mouth.

    She realized she shouldn¡¯t have dropped her guard when she saw the sole of a brave foot heading towards her face. She widened her eyes.

    Many thoughts raced through her head. They gave her a man twice her size to fight today, as if they believed she could defeat him with just two blows. She had left her firearm in her horse¡¯s stall, and if she had it now, she could end it all, but she knew firearms were prohibited here during this type of competition... he didn¡¯t even know why she had really decided to participate in fight. Aiming and pulling the trigger was enough.

    Gwenda dodged at the last moment. She felt the wind as his foot grazed her back. Then she spun in the air and kicked her heel into the face of the brute who had taken all her breath away. Something broke against her foot bone, but she didn¡¯t care as the opponent fell to the ground with a loud scream, and she staggered to the side, doubled over, with one hand pressing her belly.

    She refused to straighten up, refused to take a deep breath because she was focusing on something else, concentrating on not throwing everything up like a waterfall. She put the back of her hand to her lips and grimaced before vomiting not the coarse sand beneath her feet. When she saw what came out of her, she couldn¡¯t hold back another wave of nausea. But didn¡¯t¡¯ vomit again. Her eyes rolled on their own, and she closed them tightly.

    The roar in the stands was muffled, and all she could detect was the blood rushing in her ears. The song of death that she felt venturing through her body with every fatigue and breathless moment as if it could take her at any moment. Her head hurt with every movement.

    A hoarse and thick scream caught her attention in the midst of everyone, coming from the stands behind her. There were always those who went beyond the limit with winners, who gave their all-in support. Gwenda smiled and let out a brief laugh of happiness mixed with irony, still bent over with her hands on her knees. She felt this way every time she came the arena, every competition she won. She couldn¡¯t complete the feeling that emanated from her without a touch of irony, as if she couldn¡¯t believe she was here, dancing on fractions.

    But Gwenda knew she only made money and had plenty left because she saved and invested. She still managed fractions at the corner store she bought from a totally unassuming owner. People went there for sex and fun; it was almost like a damn motel, as her friends called it to tease her. But she hadn¡¯t been there for months and had left someone trustworthy to run everything while she was away. Any misbehavior from employees or people who just frequented the place, delays from those she paid to work there, and thefts from both sides, everything. Her cousin would warm her with a nice letter that always ended with: Kisses from Panteneon Taurus, little cousin. Kick them out and come here more often, please.

    Panteneon Taurus was the name of the store most resembling a mote. Hat investment saved her in many ways. She could have nothing today and still be spending on nonsense what she earned from spilled blood.

    Gwenda shook her head and blinked rapidly once she returned to normal, just to make sure. Then she straightened up and took a deep breath, detecting the metallic smell she knew well. She exhaled.

    Everyone still seemed to be celebrating her, for her, since she was feeling particularly bad.

    The man on the ground knelt as he spat blood on the sand. Gwenda felt her mouth fill with her own blood but didn¡¯t show or do anything. He stood up, and without even turning to Gwenda, the opponent headed towards the exit where he would be humiliated by those who had bet on the young woman. She couldn¡¯t help but smile.

    She picked up the dagger from the ground that had been near the brute¡¯s head and strapped it to her empty hip. Gwenda spat, then, and wiped the back of her hand on the chin where he had hit moments before everything ended.

    The Shooter headed towards the short, thin man in the middle of the arena with his hands behind his back. It was he who always delivered each fraction. Then Gwenda reached out, and the man dropped a full pouch. She closed her fingers just in time with a mischievous smile on her face. She didn¡¯t care about the man¡¯s opinion of her lack of trust when she opened the pouch and looked inside. The gold coins were there, all neat.

    Gwenda raised an eyebrow and took two coins before grabbing them by the cord and closing the pouch. She handed the two coins to him and winked, letting him see the message in her kind smile.

    The man frowned, and the Shooter just moved on out of that place. She had to go to the stable to get her weapon for the next competition, but she was afraid that today wouldn¡¯t be good at all. She wouldn¡¯t be shooting objects, but living things.

    <hr>

    Someone fired. The crowd turned into a hellish frenzy with screams and shoving. Out of the corner of her eye, Gwenda saw his blood trickling down his thin belly, his ribs seeming to protrude. His groan reached Gwenda¡¯s ears, and her chest shattered into pieces.

    ¡ª He goes with me, you idiot. ¡ª Gwenda spoke angrily as calmness filled the place. ¡ªFrom now on, this elf is under the jurisdiction of sector 3! I don¡¯t want a finger laid on him. If any other mystics are here, ¡ª She raised her voice for everyone around to hear. ¡ª Make you reports to sector 3. If I find out they¡¯re imprisoning one of them, they¡¯ll have to deal with the consequences!

    The man released the mystic, and he staggered forward before falling to his knees. Gwenda approached calmly, asking her heart to calm down.

    When she bent down and pushed the creature¡¯s shoulder back, she could see his eyes filled with pure terror, so turned away and plunged her hand into the wound in search of the bullet. The elf leaned forward, groaning in pain.

    Gwenda pulled, and the elf seemed to breath again. Some elves regenerate, though not as quickly as the fey. But she had to remove the bullet for this healing to take effect, without any obstacles.

    Now Carsany had a hole in its wall, why wouldn¡¯t magic enter?

    Gwenda stoop up and ignored the grateful look from the male as she addressed no one in particular.

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    ¡ª Just tie his hands and leave him in my stall.

    They knew her well enough to know se had the right to give orders. The Servant of Raux, as many addressed her. She wasn¡¯t exactly a servant, but something close to it.

    Leaving him to suffer with a bullet inside his body, struggling to stand while someone held him, wasn¡¯t something Gwenda could tolerate. But she felt it. She felt every instinct in her screaming to turn to the man who fired and shove the bullet into his head. Even though he was a mystic, and her job was to eliminate mystics in Carsany...

    Her eyes roamed over the elf¡¯s skinny body still on the ground.

    Gwenda tilted her head. Her job in the sector consisted of that, hunting lost mystics around Carsany and resolving bargains like the last two explosions. It wasn¡¯t much different from what she was paid to do.

    Her legs weakened, and she swallowed hard.

    He was just a creature in the wrong kingdom.

    When someone finally grabbed him unceremoniously and dragged him away, that was when she looked at the pool of blood.

    ¡ª Where are the real targets. ¡ª Bitterness was the only thing in her voice.

    Gwenda heard laughter behind her and didn¡¯t turn to see who had the courage.

    A dozen guards brought the targets. Chickens tied by their thin legs. The man who had been holding the elf removed him from the center of the arena and took him to the stable under the bleachers.

    Gwenda took a deep breath. That place was getting worse every day, creating endless whirlpools. She didn¡¯t agree with that kind of cruelty. To anyone. But she didn¡¯t agree with many things, and that didn¡¯t matter anymore.

    They had a chicken in each hand. The men working here tied one leg to the rope hanging from a wooden beam suspended to another, leaving them upside down. The chickens didn¡¯t even move as they should. Some glanced quickly to the sides, and others flapped their wings randomly with short periods of rest. Almost dead, Gwenda noticed, they were exhausted. And she wondered how long they had been like this to have such a slow reaction.

    Those who brought the targets stepped back, their steps heavy as they moved away, and Gwenda tilted her head slightly with doubt if they weren¡¯t already dead from the lack of movement they normally had when caught by their thin, ugly legs.

    A shot next to her snapped her out of her trance, and she saw the bullet miss the chicken. The shooter missed badly, but Gwenda didn¡¯t have the strength to laugh at the disaster. They were far enough away from missing to be normal, anyway. The nearby chickens startled and flapped their wings more intensely. Gwenda blinked slowly, being just the Shooter calculating such a mockery.

    They would roast animals later. Because they knew they couldn¡¯t waste them like this. This was just another way to prepare someone¡¯s dinner. A bizarre way.

    The arena was basically the graveyard of mystics.

    Gwenda aimed and fired twice in a row. The fist bullet made a hole in the front chicken, and she could see the blood from afar, the second bullet passed through the hole the first one had made hit the back chicken.

    The Shooter lowered her arm and let out a long sigh, studying the third chicken she was about to hit, a red one that flapped its wings relentlessly, trying to break free, writhing in all directions.

    Gwenda prayed that it would kill itself before pulling the trigger.

    <hr>

    Another gold fraction hung from her hip along with the firearm and the dagger. And now she made her way to the stable. He felt filthy, but there wasn¡¯t much she could do about it at the moment.

    The older man with graying hair who tended to the horses looked at Gwenda with disgust, and she didn¡¯t take long to understand it was because of the mystic in her stall. She grimaced back at him and opened the place where her horse was.

    Behind, sprawled on the ground with his back against the wall, with hay and horse dung scattered on the floor nary, was the pointed-eared elf with full of earrings. His blond hair fell over his closed eyes, and one of his hands lay on his belly, inert just below the wound, which thankfully was healing slowly.

    Gwenda took advantage of his resting state and continued to observe him. The beige pants were dirty, and she didn¡¯t even want to think about the bare and filthy feet. She wondered where he had come from to be so dirty and so thin. The outlines of his muscles were still there, but they would soon disappear completely if he didn¡¯t receive the necessary care and training.

    The binding on his wrists seemed to have been forced, and she knew the elf tried to free himself in vain. Escape was out of the question, he knew it. Everyone knew it. Or else he would have shackles on his ankles even if he could undo them.

    Twilight turned his head in Gwenda¡¯s direction and breathed out towards her, causing the loose strands of her braid to dance in a way that would be difficult to undo later. The horse knew to behave when someone was sent to his stall. He wouldn¡¯t attack even if Gwenda ordered him to.

    A necklace was fastened around the elf¡¯s neck on the ground, and Gwenda frowned it before approaching and squatting in front of the mystic, between his legs spread to the sides. The pendant was what caught her attention the most, and she reached out to touch it. It was a simple transparent gemstone attached to a thin gold chain. Gwenda rolled the little stone through her fingers and then let it fall back onto the practically lifeless elf¡¯s neck. But he was already looking at Gwenda when she thought about moving away, yet she didn¡¯t, and felt the movement of Twilight behind her. The Shooter just studied those beautiful celestial blue eyes with white pupils.

    The two stared at each other, both with impartial expressions. Gwenda didn¡¯t know if she should ask questions now or just take him to the sector.

    ¡ª Why. ¡ª Gwenda stood still. It wasn¡¯t a question; it was almost an order. His voice came out hoarse, like that of a boy just entered the puberty.

    She raised her eyebrows and gave a smirky.

    ¡ª Because you¡¯re useful to me.

    The elf did nothing but blink. It wasn¡¯t a surprise to him that Gwenda just wanted to use him to get answers. Maybe she did make him a servant in exchange for saving his life. But the truth was that she didn¡¯t know if he was southern ou northern elf. She would find out in the meantime spent with him asking questions and discovering things. They way the elf answered would give away where he came from.

    Gwenda tilted her head.

    ¡ª Of course, you know you would have died if I hadn¡¯t been taking advantage of the fact that no one had good aim today.

    ¡ª It seemed to me that the man who shot had excellent aim. ¡ª The elf flared his nostrils as if irritated.

    She let out a brief laugh and picked up the pendant between her fingers.

    ¡ª No, he didn¡¯t. ¡ª She briefly raised her eyebrows, amused ¡ª He didn¡¯t hit your heart.

    The Shooter stoop up. End of discussion. The elf owed her, and the mystic was fully aware of it. Gwenda couldn¡¯t help but smile as she adjusted Twilight¡¯s saddle better; she had to stay firm so that she could take the still wounded elf with her.

    She took a deep breath and turned to him before approaching and reaching out her hand. The elf shifts his eyes between her hand and her face. His skin was practically pale, as if he never showed himself to the sun. His shoulders seemed burned, and that made Gwenda¡¯s throat waver.

    The mystic grimaced discreetly when he grabbed her hand with the strength he still had and struggled to get up. Gwenda didn¡¯t bother to help him before taking a step back and resting a hand on Twilight¡¯ neck. He was still securely tied, giving her a sense of security that he wouldn¡¯t try to escape anytime soon. He was in Carsany, witnessed Gwenda¡¯s power, and wouldn¡¯t try to flee even if he wanted to.

    The young woman¡¯s back felt sore, and she tried to show it as she moved to the other side of the horse, opening the stall door on the way. She climbed up quickly and didn¡¯t take her eyes off the elf for just a second.

    The creature just looked towards the exit, towards the man outside the stall who as sitting on a stool smoking something, a firearm in his other hand, which he didn¡¯t have before. Gwenda cleared her throat, but the elf continued to stare at the exit. He blinked and seemed to realize he had no chance of anything. Not when Gwenda leaned down towards him and grabbed his arm tightly, pulling him up onto the horse.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t have much time ¡ª She spoke with disgust.

    The elf didn¡¯t even grunt before trying to get onto Twilight as best as he could.

    Gwenda took handcuffs from the bag she always carried at the back of her horse and wasted no time locking them on the mystic¡¯s wrists. She held the rope that was hanging and wrapped it around her own hand before lightly tapping Twilight¡¯s sides with her feet.

    The elf seemed not to dare to breath, and his body behind Gwenda made her lose some senses. She cursed herself and blinked several times even before Twilight trotted out of the stable. In a few maters, the horse would be galloping away from the nightmare that Gwenda, shamelessly, called a bank.

 9.

    Ryxer wondered what he should do to get Gwenda to work with him without barriers. They had to share all the information now, and Gwenda didn¡¯t seem willing at all. She might be the owner of the case, but still.

    He was wiping down the throwing knives the compartment Darcy had placed them in while waiting for the return of the Shooter. Ryxer had the urge to visit and find out what she was doing in that place she went to almost every single day, but he didn¡¯t want to meddle in her affairs. In fact, he preferred to take care of what was ordered and nothing more, all focused on him so there wouldn¡¯t be any problems with other things.

    Or perhaps he simply didn¡¯t want to show up in the arena to avoid dealing with the things she did there. He wasn¡¯t sure if she was only competing or if she was up to some other shit. Like illegal arms trading or worse. There was an old case involving arms sales with some impostor from sector 3, which tarnished their reputation and was one of the reasons sector 6 was almost an enemy.

    The ideas in his head were confused, and nothing seemed to make sense. Everything seemed impossible and wrong. First of all, Vannyer couldn¡¯t see how the wall could have been blown up with that kind of bomb, but that was obvious, and he realized that even Gwenda was tired of sticking to that idea and not finding answers to the possibility.

    When everything made sense, when everything pointed to Gwenda being guilty, he couldn¡¯t let the chance slip away. She didn¡¯t have the mark, spoke with fairies, literally knew everything about the kingdoms outside Carsany. There was no reason why Gwenda shouldn¡¯t have been the culprit. And the agent still believed that his colleague could have, indeed heard the fairies.

    Gwenda made the mark. Gods, she seemed to want to be killed right there in that square. If she managed to escape the label, the king could kill her. Ryxer had almost left when hey finally marked her just below the collarbone. Gwenda¡¯s frightened eyes almost made him fall to his knees. He had doubted Gwenda when she was just trying not to belong to anyone, trying not to belong to anyone, trying not to be owned by anyone. But Vannyer was still right not to doubt the Shooter.

    Ryxer heard more than one pair of footsteps quickly descending the stairs and then prepared himself with a blade in hand gripping it until his knuckles turned white.

    A body was pushed into the room, and he tensed when a pale man stumbled over his own feet. No, it wasn¡¯t a man, but an elf. He gritted his teeth and restrained himself from throwing that dagger between the elf¡¯s fingers directly his neck.

    Gwenda entered decisively, her firm steps echoing with an addictive mortification, the gun pointed at the elf¡¯s head. Nothing about her seemed normal. The way she stared at the creature thrown to the side on the floor was as terrifying as the fact that there was a mystic inside with them. Her face was red and purple, and Ryxer understood that she had taken some serious blows. However, she carried two damn full bags on her hips. Every part of his colleague was showing leadership, and her eyes expressed only death. She was showing who was in charge, who was in control. And Ryxer, he realized, really wasn¡¯t ready to face her.

    She unlocked the gun with a click, and Ryxer prepared himself for what was to come, but nothing happened when she started talking:

    ¡ª You will give me all the damn answers to the questions I ask, and I don¡¯t want to hear a single complaint. I promise you that I will break yo with my own hands if you don¡¯t cooperate, so I suggest you do as I say. ¡ª She threatened.

    The mystic just looked at her as if he couldn¡¯t care less; He wanted to het it over with, and if necessary, he could die right here and now. His expression confirmed all of this.

    ¡ª Of course ¡ª The elf spoke calmly, unconcerned ¡ª I don¡¯t accept being broken by anyone other than the one who saved my life.

    ¡ª So you¡¯re aware tat you owe me a favor ¡ª Gwenda didn¡¯t seem surprised.

    ¡ª Since the beginning. So I though I¡¯d let you spend your anger on me ¡ª He sat down and stretched his handcuffed hands up. His wrists were red, and Rycer thought maybe Gwenda had tied him up with rope before, as here were circular marks on the skin in various placed.

    ¡ª You don¡¯t seem like you¡¯re willing to discuss this. You¡¯ll be my servant and behave, that¡¯s in exchange for me saving your life. And if that¡¯s not enough, know that while you¡¯re with me, you¡¯ll have my respect and care. You can train to get back in shape if you ever were ¡ª Gwenda said.

    The elf¡¯s eyes gleamed, and his hands fell into his lap.

    ¡ª You people are disgusting.

    Gwenda smiled.

    ¡ª It seems like you¡¯re having fun.

    He grimaced at his colleague and then turned to Ryxer.

    The elf¡¯s strange blue eyes scanned every tense part of the agent¡¯s body. The creature seemed to judge him with his gaze.

    ¡ª This is your enemy here. Vannyer is almost on the same level as you, elf.

    Ryxer glared at Gwenda However, she didn¡¯t dare take her eyes off the mystic still sitting on the floor. The elf was studying Vannyer as if he were just an object, someone who was only useful in a fight, nothing more. A weapon, that¡¯s what he thought Ryxer was. In case the elf stepped out of line.

    But Ryxer wasn¡¯t Gwenda¡¯s bodyguard and never would be, he wouldn¡¯t pay for that. It was all a disguise.

    ¡ª You may have saved me, human. ¡ª He finally turned to Gwenda ¡ª But it doesn¡¯t change the fact that you treated me like beautiful trash.

    Gwenda smiled.

    ¡ª Aren¡¯t the North elves the ones who treat any creature like a worthless and useless animal?

    The mystic seemed to ponder the words and then nodded, agreeing without shame. North elves. How the Shooter knew he was from the North, Ryxer had no ideas.

    ¡ª And so. ¡ª Gwenda called all attention back to her again ¡ª What¡¯s it going to be?

    The elf sighed.

    ¡ª I believe I don¡¯t have many choices.

    Ryxer just watched the elf obediently get up, gritting his teeth, rising taller than Vannyer had thought. The mystic gave one last look at the silent agent and followed the Shooter.

    His body relaxed when the creature passed through the door, leaving only him inside again. It was the most questionable thing he had ever seen in his life so far. Gods, his mind was chaos.

    If Gwenda wanted to play with mystics and not kill them, as was their job, that was fine. As long as she didn¡¯t involve him in it and didn¡¯t say anything about Vannyer being in this nonsense of mystic servant, it was fine.

    Maybe the elf helps with something. If he was just another brick in this case, he wouldn¡¯t hesitate to kill the elf, even if it was Gwenda¡¯s. He might take a few beatings in return, but Ryxer wouldn¡¯t let that creature step on the case¡¯s rope to be just another problem.

    <hr>

    The Shooter didn¡¯t look back to see if the elf was following her down the hallway. His heavy steps assured her that he had surrendered, and the sudden agreement would stand for a good while. Gwenda knew that if he was the culprit behind the wall, he would have either killed himself or denied involvement. Maybe he¡¯ll deny it when she beings up the case; perhaps he knows who¡¯s behind it and will react unexpectedly. But those were just hypotheses.

    They would need to interrogate ay mystics they encountered for answers.

    Gwenda almost laughed at Ryxer when he shoved the elf into their dormitory. That was enough for her to realize that Vannyer had never seen a mystic up close without them being behind bars or lying immobile on the ground. After all, he was the guy with the long-range, long-distance weapon.

    She entered a room where there was a cell occupying half of the space. The elf entered tight after her, pausing at the doorframe, sweeping his eyes around the room. He let out a throaty noise and a muttered curse when he stepped fully inside with a powerful stride.

    Gwenda opened the gate and gestured inside with her hand before flashing a forced smile at the Northern elf. He flipped her off before complying and entering. His eyes didn¡¯t leave hers until she closed and locked the gate with a key that was always in her pocket. She put it away and took out another from the other pocket.

    ¡ª That door is the bathroom. Wash up, and in 10 minutes, I¡¯ll be back ¡ª She said waving the key in front of him. The elf rolled his eyes discreetly and approached with his hands raised.

    Gwenda unlocked the handcuffs on his wrists and stepped away from the gate, intending to leave the place. The Northern elf massaged his wrists and surveyed his cell. The thin mattress was on opposite side of the bathroom and was the only thing he had; he didn¡¯t need anything else.

    She didn¡¯t¡¯ stop scrutinizing him with her eyes every moment she was with the elf until she discovered he had nothing hidden. O blade or firearm under his pans. His skin was so smooth that Gwenda felt envious. No battle scars or anything of he sort on his back, arms, or chest. He was a lucky elf. She didn¡¯t know how old he was, but being so clean of things like that was a miracle.

    Gwenda left with one last glance and closed the door. She stared as if there was a little window through which she could see inside, as if she could see what he was doing.

    The young woman huffed and turned to the corrido. On Saturdays, sector 3 had a break, and no one came here ¡ª usually because there was no reason ¡ª except for he boss, who snooped around to find an explanation, perhaps thinking she¡¯d have better luck since I was silent.

    The truth was, Gwenda would be nothing without Darcy¡¯s help when she returned to the Capital. Without Darcy, no life. She was under Rubben¡¯s commands, being more of a slave than doing the tasks he ordered. Rubben was always meddling in what the sector were doing and, as he worked for the king, always had such permission. Many agents were forced to withdraw from case. And guess what? These cases were passed on to Gwenda, who didn¡¯t have much experience. In the end, it was punishment for her.

    One night, when she was forced to break into sector 3 to get some papers, Darcy was there and not only put Gwenda on the ground but also understood her. She wouldn¡¯t say that Raux bought Gwenda from Rubben, but that¡¯s exactly what happened. He spent a fortune to get her out of the hands of a murderer who only cared about the money the king provided him.

    After a while, Rubben didn¡¯t take long to want Gwenda back. Of course, he would eventually give in and want to buy the Shooter. If that happened, Gwenda saw no other option but to throw herself off a cliff. Darcy played a very dangerous game. She denied Rubben and stated that she would keep Gwenda until all the money came back to her.

    That was Gwenda¡¯s biggest fear. She knew she had the money to pay Darcy, knew she could be free if she handed over the damn money. Raux knew that the young woman could pay but didn¡¯t say anything about it because he knew the reason why Gwenda didn¡¯t do it.

    If she paid, she would be closer to freedom, but closer to being caught by Rubben. Since she had already signed an agreement with him, Rubben could use that against her freedom, even if Darcy had bought her. If Gwenda were free, she could have a more painful end than being under Darcy¡¯s commands. She wanted anything but freedom while she could still be by her boss¡¯s side.

    Raux denied it, saying she would be free to choose whether she wanted to follow Rubben or not; he couldn¡¯t take her, according to the laws. That was the problem; he worked with the king, there were no limits. Anyway, Gwenda was so sick of this story that she simply didn¡¯t believe that freedom would be better than being bound to the sector 3 boss. Because somehow, she would be serving him as soon as she paid Raux.

    The young woman was afraid of Rubben. And only Raux knew about this detail.

    ¡ª What¡¯s gotten into you? ¡ª Gwenda blinked. She barely noticed she had reached the base¡¯s lockers where the agents stored their clothes when they wore the usual attire day after day.

    ¡ª What? ¡ª She turned to Ryxer standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

    He let out a bitter laugh with a sigh of impatience, shaking his head.

    ¡ª How can bring such a creature to the sector, Gwenda?

    ¡ª It¡¯s Matchstone; get used to it. And if you didn¡¯t like it, I advice you to talk to Raux. I highly doubt she cares about what I do to get my answers.

    ¡ª Well, clearly bringing a damn elf to the base is out of line. Darcy will kill him when she sees him. If I don¡¯t do first.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes and grunted.

    ¡ª We¡¯ve had prisoners here before, Vannyer. Besides, Darcy won¡¯t touch him. And if she even raised a finger towards the elf, I must say it goes against my work, and I believe I won¡¯t be as useful anymore. We both know that¡¯s not what she wants.

    Gwenda had already started rummaging through the agents¡¯ clothes. Someone must have forgotten or left clothes there because they didn¡¯t want a reminder of failure at home. She hardly knew if they were still alive; she hadn¡¯t heard from them again, and Raux didn¡¯t even contact the former agents anymore.

    ¡ª We both know this will lead us to rock bottom. What will you do if he¡¯s not related to the wall?

    ¡ª I thought you heard our agreement, Vannyer.

    ¡ª I heard it, Gwenda. Loud and clear, every word is burning in my head, fuck.

    The young woman growled to herself and slammed the last locker shut; The sound reverberated through her bones.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t call me Gwenda.

    Ryxer let out a frustrated breath. His face was red as he ran his hand through it, stretching every inch. Then he rubbed his eyes.

    The Shooter opened the shirt in front of her and studied it. It had a few holes, but it would do. The black pants seemed intact, so she decided to take this set for the elf. She knew that soon they would have to find warmer clothes, but for now, it was fine.

    ¡ª Terrible idea, Matchstone. Terrible idea.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t smile at her colleague¡¯s distress, but she swallower hard. She knew it was a risk, but it was worth it. This elf was worth it. The answers he would provide would be worth it. And she had to try.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    If anyone laid eyes on the Northern elf, they wouldn¡¯t hesitate to grab a gun and bury a damn bullet in his heart. No just one, but a series of shots. One after another. Just thinking about if made Gwenda apprehensive.

    She looked her colleague.

    ¡ª Did you come here just to complain about my brilliant idea or to show support? After all, he can help us. ¡ª Gwenda shrugged and leaned against the lockers before raising her eyebrows at Ryxer.

    The agent breathed in slowly and let out a sigh of irritation.

    ¡ª Promise me ¡ª he pointed a finger at Gwenda, and she slowly opened a smile ¡ª that you¡¯ll deny my involvement in this stupid idea until your death.

    The Shooter rolled her eyes but raised the two fingers they used to seal the oath.

    ¡ª I promise.

    Vannyer seemed to relax a bit and nodded briefly several times.

    ¡ª Great. ¡ª He said.

    ¡ª So, does that mean I have you support? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    Her colleague sighed and leaned a shoulder against he door, arms crossed again.

    ¡ª What are you really going to do with this elf, Matchstone?

    ¡ª Pull out his nails and put them in your coffee.

    Ryxer grimaced in disgust and looked away. He seemed about to vomit, and Gwenda chuckled

    ¡ª Matchstone...

    ¡ª Kidding, agent. I¡¯m going to ask questions about the wall, see if he has anything that could make a difference in our search.

    ¡ª And what if he doesn¡¯t even know that the wall was touched by anything other than human hands?

    ¡ª He¡¯ll be under my watch, and, as we agreed calmly, he¡¯ll be mine for a long time because I saved his life.

    ¡ª Alright, but what then? ¡ª Ryxer shrugged.

    ¡ª What then?

    ¡ª When his debit is paid.

    ¡ª That¡¯s still be thought about, agent. ¡ª Gwenda pushed herself off the lockers and started walking towards him. Ryxer lifted his chin. ¡ª Until then, there¡¯s no reason to be worried, is there? I offered him respect, everything a mystic would ask for in the midst of creatures that want to destroy them. We¡¯re one step ahead, Vannyer.

    ¡ª He¡¯s an elf. He can jump three steps ahead of us without me even noticing.

    ¡ª And I¡¯m the Shooter. ¡ª She stopped a few inches from Vannyer. ¡ª Have a little faith in me. And let go of the uncertainties.

    Gods, how hadn¡¯t she noticed his light brown eyes, like cashew brown? They were beautiful and had a shine of their own that would tale Gwenda¡¯s breath away if she dealt with it before.

    Their breaths mingled, and a muscle in Ryxer¡¯s jaw twitched. This made Gwenda smile wryly.

    Her colleague put his hands in his pockets, shaking his body with impatience and bringing his face closer to hers.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t want to have to deal with consequences of this, Matchstone.

    Of course he didn¡¯t.

    ¡ª Then let me handle this and stay out of my way.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t forget that Raux assigned both of us to solve this case.

    ¡ª Yes, how could I forget. ¡ª Gwenda narrowed her eyes ¡ª But it seems that only I know where to start. Besides, you haven¡¯t done anything useful to far. Where are you even today?

    Ryxer¡¯s expression turned grim. Gwenda had gone to the arena to have fun, but still. She found and elf, didn¡¯t she? It was worth it.

    ¡ª At least it wasn¡¯t me having fun with animals.

    Gwenda felt the verbal blow enter her body and settle there quietly.

    No one besides her knew how much she cared about animals and never wanted any of them suffer, especially at her hands. Gwenda and the Shooter inhabiting her body were completely different, but if the Shooter¡¯s instinct was to kill, it was still Gwenda who was in control.

    ¡ª Get out of my way. ¡ª She snapped.

    Ryxer managed to open a satisfied smile, but he didn¡¯t move.

    ¡ª If I leave this case, Gwenda. ¡ª He whispered ¡ª We both know that nothing will progress.

    It was a threat. He was threatening to leave the case. Fuck it, it would be better. But she knew Ryxer wouldn¡¯t accept it.

    The Shooter didn¡¯t think twice before taking the dagger from her hip and pressing it just below Ryxer¡¯s chin with supernatural speed. He lifted his head, and his body tensed.

    ¡ª Call me Gwenda one more time, and you¡¯ll lose one of your balls. And if you so much as doubt me and question my actions, I¡¯ll rip the other one off with my hands. You know nothing about me. Are you listening? You don''t know fuck all about me. So, I suggest you hold your tongue before I rip it out and give it to the shapeshifters. One wrong step, Vannyer, ad it won¡¯t just be bodies of the mystics on the ground.

    On the ground. Not buried, on the ground, just like all the creatures she had been hunting.

    Gwenda withdrew the dagger from him with a speed that made him step back further and almost take a step back.

    ¡ª Shave, agent. ¡ª She suggested.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t need to look the dagger to be sure that she had drawn blood.

    <hr>

    ¡ª Shave, agent. Shave. ¡ª Ryxer muttered to himself, irritated.

    He was in the bathroom. Shaving.

    He refused to think that the reason he was now in front of the mirror was because of Gwenda¡¯s opinion.

    Ryxer didn¡¯t regret saying that. Anything he had mentioned, he didn¡¯t regret. It was he first time he had managed to annoy her, make her feel small. And maybe the last. But Ryxer didn¡¯t feel as good as he thought he would. None of this went as he expected, especially her reaction. Vannyer didn¡¯t expect to receive her blade ready to slit his throat at the first deviation. He had judged her, the guilt he thought would cover him didn¡¯t even show up.

    She had judge him too. Gwenda didn¡¯t know where Ryxer had been today. And maybe it was better that way, he didn¡¯t need anything from Gwenda. Ryxer always knew that living beings were targets in the arena at some point, he just wasn¡¯t sure if today would be the day. Well, it seemed he had guessed right.

    This madness of being in the same room... he knew that sooner or later they would need to talk about personal problems. Actually, they shouldn¡¯t really, but when people spend days and days living in the same place, they will eventually uncover each other¡¯s secrets.

    Ryxer couldn¡¯t stop thinking that this was how he will find out if Gwenda fits on the lost of suspects. After Gwenda¡¯s lethal threat, he wouldn¡¯t blame her without evidence. Because she had noticed that there was a little district on Ryxer¡¯s side. The Shooter had certainly noticed.

    Vannyer put a bandage the same color as his skin on the small wound Gwenda had inflicted. Just to keep it closed and so that no one would see. If any of his coworkers found out that Gwenda had done this... he had the feeling they would laugh at, even though it was a bit idiotic and clueless.

    But the biggest concern was that Gwenda would see what she had done to her dormitory mate. Not just the wound, which she was probably as aware of as he was, but also the cowardice Ryxer felt when he fought her with nothing but words. He knew it would be a bit tough to address her without shrinking when she directed anger at him.

    She threatened to throw his tongue to the shapeshifters. But which shapeshifters? Would it be those that Gwenda encounters along the way when she goes in search of reports of mystical beings, or those she may have as protection?

    Or could it even be someone she is keeping hidden in the sector somewhere that no one ventures into. No, it¡¯s stupid. Ryxer thought and almost laughed at his thoughts. Even though it¡¯s not possible.

    Gwenda made it clear who was in charge of this case. Vannyer hoped at some point she could soften her heart just to consider him on the same damn level as her. Because they are both in this case, they were both put as the solvers of this case. They were, indeed, on the same level. And Gwenda basically showed that she had a higher status.

    So it was decided. He would provide service and do many useful things until Gwenda saw him as a leader who knows what he¡¯s doing; And not just as a helper who mostly gets in the way. As he had done.

    Ryxer rushed out of the bathroom without expecting to find Gwenda already in the dormitory, but still with a glimmer of hope.

    She wasn¡¯t there.

    <hr>

    Gwenda repeated Ryxer¡¯s phrase in her head over and over, fearing she might blurt it out unintentionally. She wasn¡¯t having fun. This was more work than anything else, or so she tried to convince herself. She couldn¡¯t choose the targets in the arena and only felt happy participating in this money-making competition when cans or bottles were the detestable targets... Gwenda never ate meat from an animal unless she had raised the poor creature herself. And that was for a simple reason her father had taught her.

    One must not mistreat before killing, much less before ingesting. The consequence are never just tough meat to come, but the spiritual matter, the issue of one¡¯s well-being upon eating the flesh of an animal that had its life created and taken with cruelty.

    ¡ª Girl?

    Gwenda blinked and turned her head to the elf siting on his thin mattress, his back against the wall.

    ¡ª Yes?

    He frowned.

    ¡ª Are you here for... ¡ª He gestured with his hand for her to proceed with the reason for being there.

    Gwenda had brought clothes for him and something for him to eat ¡ª which he apparently devoured every crumb of ¡ª and then she had buried herself in the sector¡¯s library, trying to distract herself. It didn¡¯t work, clearly. After some time, she returned to the elf¡¯s cell and saw him drying his hair with a towel, already dressed.

    And then nothing happened after that, she just sat there on a bench at hip height.

    ¡ª What¡¯s your name, North Elf? ¡ª She asked.

    ¡ª I believe North Elf is perfectly already.

    ¡ª How did you learn to speak our language? I imagine the first language you learned was your own.

    ¡ª I didn¡¯t learn to speak your language. I learned to speak Telomeron¡¯s language.

    Gwenda had expected that.

    ¡ª You hate the fey.

    ¡ª That doesn¡¯t change the fact it¡¯s their language.

    ¡ª Obviously, it doesn¡¯t change. But why learn a language from a species you hate so much?

    ¡ª If I hadn¡¯t learned, I imagine I wouldn¡¯t be able to communicate with you now. It may be the language of the fey from Telomeron, but it¡¯s the standard language of Alphardj. You humans picked up the filthy fey language. Elvish is much more beautiful and easier. ¡ª Gwenda did nothing but listen and stare at him. ¡ª But you already knew that.

    She gave a smile quickly faded from her face. Yes, she already knew, how did find out, little elf? But the elf only insisted that elvish was perfect just because it was from North. Any elf from South would say it was just inflated ego from their Northern kin.

    ¡ª You heard about the wall incident, didn¡¯t you?

    The North Elf laughed, his arms resting on his raised knees.

    ¡ª Of course, I heard.

    ¡ª And what¡¯s your opinion on that?

    Gwenda felt uncomfortable on the bench, unable to stretch her legs or lie down. On the bench, she was forced to sit upright on a single small platform. So, she grumbled and descended. She crouched down and sat on the floor, leaning against the opposite wall from the cell bars.

    She sat exactly like the elf. Arms resting on her knees and hands meeting in front.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t have an option. ¡ª He simply replied. ¡ª I heard rumors that the bomb was a powerful one since it blew up a wall. I thought it was crazy at first that thing even had a reaction.

    ¡ª It was a weak bomb. Poor.

    The North Elf seemed to understand and nodded before stretching his legs, suddenly uncomfortable. Gwenda also stretched her legs.

    ¡ª So... a weal bomb. Blew the damn wall up. The Carsany Wall. ¡ª The elf seemed paler and folded one of his legs, but he was smiling. ¡ª Holy shit.

    Slowly, Gwenda folded one of her legs. Always being discreet in her movements.

    ¡ª Exactly what I thought. But I want you to answer what you were doing in the arena.

    The mystic turned to her.

    ¡ª I wanted to steal the apples from the horses. I was hungry. They cornered me and locked me up. Shortly after, they took me to the arena and that happened. And you, what were you doing there?

    The North Elf gave a forced smile and pulled his legs closer to his chest. Gwenda mimicked him a second later, sighing.

    ¡ª I think you could be considered the richest girl in the Capital of Carsany. How old did you say you were?

    ¡ª Eleven. ¡ª He grimaced ¡ª Why are you in Carsany, elf. ¡ª It wasn¡¯t a question.

    ¡ª In search of knowledge. ¡ª He replied, stretching his legs again. He crossed one foot over the other and started swinging the top one.

    Gwenda let out a raspy laugh.

    ¡ª A North elf in search of knowledge? Since when?

    He rolled his eyes, and Gwenda took the opportunity to stretch her legs and cross one foot over the other. She clasped her hands between her thighs, just as he did.

    ¡ª I¡¯ve been here for almost a month. It was almost a sacrifice not to be on the streets on Labeling Day. You¡¯ve been through it, apparently. How can they do that to people, it¡¯s so... barbaric.

    Gwenda felt her chest tighten.

    ¡ª It is ¡ª She agreed lifelessly, lowering her head.

    She avoided looking at the mark in the mirror, avoided looking at herself in the mirror these days. And she also didn¡¯t take care of the wound, it was still exposed to anything, even curious glances.

    ¡ª What knowledge was that, if I may ask ¡ª She said then, empty.

    The elf sighed and rested his head against the wall. Gwenda couldn¡¯t move because of the sadness that invaded her body, she just stared at her hands buried between her thighs.

    ¡ª Not to boost your ego, but Carsany¡¯s books are more detailed. Not the best ones, ¡ª He quickly emphasized ¡ª but more detailed.

    ¡ª Did you find anything in the public library that pleased you?

    ¡ª In the what? There¡¯s a public library? Where exactly?

    Tired and with her eyes almost closing, Gwenda smiled and replied:

    ¡ª Someday I¡¯ll take you there, North Elf, or something like that. But first, I want the answers to my questions, please.

    He made a noise more like a laugh as Gwenda got up.

    ¡ª Just because you asked nicely.

    When she reached the door and opened it to leave and do one last thing, the elf commented:

    ¡ª I think I¡¯ll need to eat a bit more, if you don¡¯t mind.

    A hint of a smile threatened to appear on her face, but she held back and walked out without saying goodbye or looking back.

    When she heard the door close behind her, she let her eyelids droop with a shiver and took a deep breath. The encounter had gone better than she imagined. And she hoped that the nest ones would be the same. Little by little, she repeated to herself, little by little so as not to tire him and become resentful with her questions and visits. When she trusted him and found out everything she needed to know, she could let him out of the cell to help her with what she would need later.

    But now Gwenda had to deal with her coworkers. She wasn¡¯t sure how they would react when they found out she was hiding as elf in a compartment of the sector She had to make it clear to Darcy what her intention was with the elf. She went up the room filled with tables and sofas in almost every empty corner. Each place had its pile of paper and clipboard.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t mind making a mess to find a blank piece of paper. Then she took a quill and dipped it in black ink. Gwenda wrote a note explaining everything she needed to and at the end wrote something that could soften Raux¡¯s stone heart just a little to accept it all.

    She folded the paper and, with the seal of sector 3, she sealed the letter completely and left it on the corner of the table. Before anything else, the young woman took the quill again and wrote ¡°Darcy¡± on the front. To avoid any misunderstandings, although it was obvious that Gwenda had written this letter. Only she wrote letters to Darcy and used the seal of her own sector to indicate it was her. She had thought about creating her own seal. The seal of the Shooter. But it would cost a fortune and probably the law doesn¡¯t allow anyone to have their own seal beyond the most obvious ones. This thought lasted less than a day, but she always remembered the hope she once had to have her own damn seal.

    Gwenda sighed slowly and looked out through the glass door. It was already night and there were no stars in the sky on the side she could see. But she had certain trust in the sky to know that on the other side It was full of bright points.

    The Shooter smiled to herself and turned around, heading back downstairs with the intention of sleeping. First, she would take food to the elf, then she could rest or stay awake and work. Either way, tomorrow would be a new day and she didn¡¯t have many expectations.

    <hr>

    And as if the heavens could her Gwenda, the stars began to shine. One by one. Until they formed a cracked line in the sky.

    Eight stars in total.

    Eight hopes. Eight loves. Eight lovers of the future. Eight heirs.

    And amidst all the endless scheme, the sun and the moon merged smiled at Gwenda and the other seven stars of their own sharpness. As if they were unique. United like a family until the power of death broke them apart.

 10

    Sunday was market day. The day when Gwenda had her weekly day off after nearly suffocating with work. Darcy always gave Sundays off. And that¡¯s because it was Raux herself who practically begged ¡ª well, not exactly, but Gwenda liked to think so ¡ª for her to have a break from everything. The young woman accepted, but when she found out that her boss meant the arena as well, Gwenda just forced a fake laugh and agreed.

    But there she was, shooting at cans.

    The crowd burst around her as if they were one single entity.

    Today Gwenda wore gray sweatpants, a white tank top snug against her body, and a kind of black jacket that only protected her arms and shoulders, meeting in front and behind her neck, nothing more. She didn¡¯t need her uniform today since she wouldn¡¯t be fighting hand-to-hand. She had decided she needed another fraction to pay her employees at the Pantaneon Taurus tavern by the end of the month.

    Thinking of this, the New Year had entered Gwenda¡¯s mind and refused to leave, like an invisible tick behind her ear.

    She had nothing planned for New Year¡¯s. She was completely out of ideas and didn¡¯t expect Louise or Kimer to be available, which would leave her alone. But she could try to invite them to go out.

    ¡ª Twenty more second and the Shooter will be out of...

    Gwenda pulled the trigger, finally.

    The bullet hits the last can with force, and she watched it crumple before falling to the ground.

    ¡ª Shit. ¡ª she muttered quietly to herself before holstering her gun.

    She had aimed, targeted the damn can. But her thoughts had drifted away, and returning to reality was a bit difficult. Even with the deafening clamor in the stands.

    ¡ª Very well. ¡ª The short, skinny man spoke ¡ª The Shooter wins the round and takes the reward!

    The crowd roared, and Gwenda gave up on smiling. It was already second nature. The competitors always seemed better, and... well, nothing changed.

    The man tossed the fraction to her and held the bag with one hand, looking inside. Gold coins.

    She attached the fraction o the opposite side of her gun and headed for the arena¡¯s stable. Twilight seemed calm, like almost every day. This calmness of the horse reminded her of her father and his charisma. He was someone who... Gwenda couldn¡¯t find words to describe him. But she believed that when she thought about her father, she would dig deep and extract all the feelings, everything he had once been. She wanted to know, wanted to remember.

    The question still bubbled in her mind: What would dear old dad think of her now?

    When she left the Capital at 18, her father had died just moments ago. As if he were nobody. However, Gwenda thought that if he were nobody, he wouldn¡¯t have died; his death wouldn¡¯t have been so important to the former king, the father of the current ruler. Gwenda grunted at that shitty royal family and climbed onto her horse.

    She didn¡¯t want to return to the sector, but she had many things to sort out. She needed to figure out what to do with that vial of some kind of... poison, she supposed. Gwenda hadn¡¯t ventured into that strange liquid yet.

    Twilight didn¡¯t bother waiting for a command from Gwenda before heading into the street, heading in the right direction. Not toward the sector, which was where he intended to go at least to be able to eat in peace.

    The Shooter had left breakfast near the North Elf¡¯s cell as soon as he woke up. She didn¡¯t have her own, as usual, and went upstairs. She was already ready for the arena when she met her boss on the way, her eyes following the words on a parchment scroll.

    Gwenda noticed that the letter was open, read. She didn¡¯t comment and just walked out the glass door. She only hoped that Raux had understood and would inform the entire sector that an elf was imprisoned under Gwenda¡¯s care. And no one else. Gwenda prayed that her boss had informed that this was confidential and that no damn information would leave the sector. Whether they knew there was an elf there or not, that was fine, as long as they knew it was a secret.

    She made sure she locked the door leading to the elf¡¯s cell with the key before anything else. She didn¡¯t want to admit she was worried about him, about the elf. But she was, and it was this damn worry that scared her. It shouldn¡¯t be like this. She knew that if she lots him, she wouldn¡¯t get the answers. Gwenda had talked to him; he didn¡¯t seem like such an indecent person as everyone described the mystics. But she had seen these indecencies with her own eyes and knew there were no limits.

    She didn¡¯t feel obligated to talk to one of them the way she did. Not literally talking, as she intended to ask questions, and that¡¯s exactly what she did the night before. An interrogation. Gwenda knew some techniques to persuade him; her father had taught her when she was younger.

    Twilight walked quickly on the road but didn¡¯t trot or gallop. He seemed hungrier than his owner, even though she had fed him as soon as she left him in the stable to participate in the competition.

    The fair was crowded when they arrived, people shouting their sales with the best prices and thanking the buyers. Those with cloth bags in their hands, which seemed to fit more and more things each time, walked in all directions, their eyes half-closed to the price signs hanging high.

    Gwenda noticed a vendor cutting a pineapple and giving a piece to a little boy. The mother just watched, neutral. The man raised his eyebrows with a amusement and smiled at the child, waiting for a response. The boy smiled and said something that made the vendor let out a hoarse laugh that reached Gwenda. The mother smiled and picked up a pineapple, putting in the bag. She handed three silver coins to the man and took her son¡¯s hand, who disappeared among her fingers.

    Gwenda¡¯s throat wavered, and she blinked to shake off the feeling before dismounting Twilight. Her horse snorted fiercely, and she raised an eyebrow at him. Was he irritated? Since when exactly? It couldn¡¯t be hunger.

    ¡ª What¡¯s wrong with you. ¡ª Gwenda demanded even though she knew she wouldn¡¯t get an answer. She placed her rough hand and caressed his neck under the long black mane.

    With her eyes scanning around, she reached for Twilight¡¯s chest where the mark was. Gwenda had shaved his hair during this summer, trying to help, so the word was more visible. Her own father had made the mark on Twilight, shaving the animal¡¯s hair, and marking it in the same way she was marked now. It was a word in another language, almost unknow. It took the young woman a while to understand what that scribble meant. A tattoo, that¡¯s what it was.

    Gwenda had Twilight¡¯s reins and infiltrated into the fair, looking, and looking. What did she need to buy? She hadn¡¯t really noticed what was in the fridge, but she knew there wasn¡¯t much. Maybe she should wait for Ryxer to do that job, but it would be foolish to expect anything from him. Vannyer probably must b looking at the trees, pondering life and at the same time how he could be so useless. It means, Gwenda didn¡¯t see anything in Ryxer, nothing visible, no personality beyond a guy who has no friends. She wasn¡¯t much different, after all. Maybe they would spend New Years together, like two colleagues.

    Her horse seemed more interested in some fruits then she was, so much so that he stretched his neck to see them as they passed by the stalls. Gwenda spotted carrots and pulled Twilight over there. She stopped, but the gorse kept moving forward and almost snapped his teeth on a carrot if Gwenda hadn¡¯t held him back, pushing his neck forcefully back where it came from.

    The horse took a step and outsmarted Gwenda. She gasped as she stepped back and Twilight closed his mouth on the damn carrot. Gwenda grunted.

    She went to the back of the mount and took out a brown bag, similar to the fraction pouch but larger and worn.

    Gwenda tossed some carrots inside and gave three silver coins to the poor vendor who frowned at her horse. The Shooter¡¯s look turned dark as she dropped the coins into the man¡¯s hand. One more for the two carrots that Twilight had taken for the one that had fallen to the ground. Gwenda bent down to pick up the pieces that Twilight had bitten and dropped, apart from the whole carrot. Then she stuffed them inside the bag but held onto the ones she would give to her horse on the way. She seriously thought about eating but decided to wait until she got to the sector.

    A skinny woman was juggling lit torches in the air while smiling to herself and mastering it with ease. Gwenda saw people throwing money into the hat on the ground. She would pay to see her burn herself, that¡¯s for sure. But she knew it wouldn¡¯t happen; this woman never burned herself in her little show in the middle of the fair.

    The young woman passed by and dropped a coin into the hat. Then she impatiently gave another piece of carrot to Twilight, who took it with his lips before stuffing it into his mouth. Gwend only heard the endless chewing beside her.

    There were Knights at the fair. And they were all monitoring every move of the buyers. It wasn¡¯t expected that the guards would be in their respective stalls, since there were those king¡¯s men doing that job for them.

    A lot of theft had already happened at this fair. And no one settled down until the guards appeared, one in each stall. It didn¡¯t take long for the vendors to hire the Watchman to take care of the stall and go after the thief if they stole.

    Gwenda never stole again.

    It was true that she could afford the fruits. But she needed to train, and the fair was a great place, one where she could do it without anyone noticing. If she stole from someone on the street, she would be in more trouble than she had been once. It had always been like this: grab, here, put it over there, study the fruit, pass it form one hand to other, and with just a diversion of eyes, flip it into the bag at least one fruit. Then say she gave up and venture into another stall.

    She stopped doing it because of the guards, who were always watching those who put their hands on the merchandise. Eyes, both dark and light, were moving over every hand in that tent. So Gwenda started paying and gave up learning to steal in a amore than discreet way.

    She gave the other piece to Twilight and picked up some apples. She paid the vendor and nodded at him as she left and went to another stall. As much as she liked strawberries, she didn¡¯t buy any. Besides being expensive, they didn¡¯t even seem like real strawberries; they didn¡¯t have the taste they should have.

    In the end, she had bananas, apples, carrots, lettuce, crispy bread ¡ª which she found at a stall further down the fair ¡ª tomatoes, and a huge mango. The mango wasn¡¯t for her, and certainly not for Ryxer. IF Vannyer wanted something else she hadn¡¯t bought, he should come and get it himself. Gwenda would still stop by a bakery to buy another type of bread and maybe a turnover for herself, which she would only devour when sitting on her bed in the dormitory, bathed and relaxing while she could. Sunday didn¡¯t last forever.

    ¡ª Gwen? ¡ª Someone called her up ahead.

    She stiffened her body and made her expression threatening before averting her eyes from a stall and stumbling into Trytan.

    He thanked the vender and left the coins with him. Gwenda noticed Trytan¡¯s gloves that reached halfway up his arm, fingers exposed.

    ¡ª I didn¡¯t expect o find you here with Twilight. Came from the arena, I imagine. ¡ª He approached her.

    ¡ª Something like that ¡ª She replied and dodged past him to continue ahead.

    But Trytan started walking beside her.

    ¡ª I watched you yesterday. Seems like you¡¯re still the same. And, by the way ¡ª Gwenda tensed up. ¡ª What did you do with that elf?

    Shit.

    ¡ª It¡¯s none of your business ¡ª She snapped ¡ª It¡¯s confidential.

    ¡ª I know, just thought you might satisfy my curiosity.

    Gwenda grunted.

    ¡ª What¡¯s gotten into you today, Gwen? ¡ª Trytan turned his head to look at her.

    ¡ª Nothing. Just tired ¡ª She didn¡¯t allow herself to sigh.

    Out of the corner of her eye, Gwenda notices him drawing close.

    ¡ª I can imagine.

    Gwenda exhaled. She normally didn¡¯t act this way with Trytan. With him everything was cool and... no stress. But he acted as if Gwenda were fleeting, so why couldn¡¯t she act the same?

    ¡ª Do you want to meet up with me later? I have a slot at...

    ¡ª I can¡¯t.

    ¡ª But today is Sunday ¡ª He insisted.

    ¡ª I¡¯ll be busy. And ¡ª She continues before he could ask questions ¡ª I wanted to know if you¡¯ll be free on New Year¡¯s.

    Trytan seemed to light up with anticipation.

    ¡ª I¡¯ve got nothing. In fact, Plox and some friends invited themselves to spend New Year¡¯s at my place.

    ¡ª Plox? Is that a woman or a man?

    ¡ª Woman. She works with me.

    ¡ª Ah. ¡ª murmured Gwenda ¡ª I heard you¡¯ve been having fun at clubs. How are the drinks?

    ¡ª If you are asking if they¡¯re better than yours... some are.

    Gwenda smiled. It had been a while since she had been to that kind of party, but she didn¡¯t mind. Maybe it would be just a day to see how the drinks were made and then improve them.

    ¡ª But it¡¯s about the way you prepare them

    ¡ª Should I hire you to work at my motel.

    Trytan pretended to think.

    ¡ª It would be wonderful. ¡ª Trytan glanced at Gwenda, leaving her speechless. His eyes swept over hers and lingered on her lips. Th Shooter restrained the urge to run her tongue over her lips and avert her gaze.

    ¡ª What are you doing here at the fair? ¡ª She finally asked, but then shook her head. Trytan always came before lunch at the fair. Gwenda did too sometimes, but today she decided to go to arena earlier and take advantage.

    ¡ª I ended up having some earlier commitments,

    ¡ª I have a feeling I don¡¯t want to know what it¡¯s about. ¡ª Gwenda said.

    Trytan¡¯s long, blond hair swayed as he shook his head.

    ¡ª It¡¯s not...

    ¡ª I don¡¯t need to know. ¡ª Gwenda looked at him and put an arm in front of him, stopping Trytan form walking further. To make him stand still and give up accompanying her.

    Because she didn¡¯t want to know

    He pushed her arm down and moved back beside her.

    ¡ª I just wanted to talk ¡ª Trytan almost growled through his teeth.

    ¡ª Is that so?

    ¡ª I wasn¡¯t with anyone if that¡¯s what you want to know.

    ¡ª Your life doesn¡¯t interest me. Do whatever you want.

    He seemed hurt when he spoke:

    ¡ª What¡¯s your problem today, Gwen?

    ¡ª You. ¡ª He didn¡¯t even flinch ¡ª You are my problem.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t see why.

    ¡ª Oh, you don¡¯t see?

    She stopped walking and brought her face close to Trytan¡¯s, but just barely. They stared at each other.

    Trytan could go around ad do whatever he pleased, that shouldn¡¯t bother her. It shouldn¡¯t. After all, they were both just sleeping, nothing more.

    The Shooter felt the caress of Trytan¡¯s thumb n her hand and looked down. Their hands were together. She hadn¡¯t noticed when he had entwined his fingers with hers, but it probably happened when she tried to stop him from continuing alongside her. She had to admit that holding his hand calmed her heart. Seeing Trytan¡¯s fingers gripping hers opened Gwenda¡¯s chest.

    The Shooter blinked.

    The presence of Twilight was comforting at her back, and she took a step back without daring to take her hand off Trytan¡¯s. Gwenda returned the caress, and she could swear he swallowed hard.

    ¡ª Do you really have commitments today?

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª She answered immediately, still looking at their joined hands ¡ª On New Year¡¯s, Trytan. ¡ª Then she disentangled her hand from his and leaned up on her tiptoes.

    Gwenda planted a kiss on his lips and then looked into his blue eyes in an encouraging way.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t bother me until then. ¡ª She murmured softly against his lips and planted her feet firmly on the ground again.

    Gwenda ran her hand under her horse¡¯s neck and directed him down the path. She made sure the purchase was hanging at the back of Twilight, glancing over at Trytan who had just started walking in the opposite direction.

    She let out a trembling sigh.

    <hr>

    Gwenda felt sick when everyone recoiled upon seeing her enter the bakery with a gun on her body. Discomfort, she always had that when people were practically afraid of her. Because they didn¡¯t need to be, she wasn¡¯t a demon or anything like that.

    The Shooter wondered how many of these people who saw her on the street had witnessed her suffering to earn. The sectors, all of them, had witnessed. They were always ere, Gwenda was the only one who had refused to go for the past two years. She had a good reason for that, but not anymore. And now that they knew her, what exactly could happen if they didn¡¯t see her at the Labeling next year?

    There were months left, and yet she was breaking out in a cold sweat just thinking about that day. They had hit just below the collarbone; she would need to leave it well exposed so she wouldn¡¯t take another one in a more visible place. No even hell would hold Gwenda back if she were marked again. She wouldn¡¯t allow anything or anyone to hold her back while she tore apart everything she once fought no to be or else kneel.

    ¡ª Eat. ¡ª Gwenda reached through the bars and tossed the huge mango to the elf.

    He took it with both hands and turned it over in all directions, studying. He was sitting on the mattress with one leg thrown to the side. His back against the wall.

    ¡ª It¡¯s the best I could find. ¡ª She said.

    ¡ª Perfect. ¡ª He turned to her, the elf¡¯s eyes shining like... ¡ª I suppose I won¡¯t have a knife.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t fuck with me. ¡ª She said with a smile almost forming and turned around.

    ¡ª Thank you. ¡ª The elf sang, ad Gwenda closed the door, locking it.

    Two agents passed by her and didn¡¯t even look in her direction.

    When she arrived at the sector, she was surprised to see them there. She had gotten so used to Sunday breaks that she forgot they were working today.

    Darcy didn¡¯t even greet the agent when she returned. Gwenda left the horse in the stable for the stableman ¡ª as the agents called him ¡ª and entered the sector. Eyes turned to her, but none were Raux¡¯s. And then she wondered which of these pairs of eyes had been watching her in the arena today. Probably those who started working in the afternoon.

    Gwenda simply didn¡¯t wait for a hello from her boss, who was buried in papers, and went downstairs to deliver lunch to the elf.

    Now she was following the path, and Ryxer was at the dormitory table, flipping through clipboards and looking for something. She placed the bag aside, letting the table shale with the weight of the groceries. Gwenda opened it and grabbed her turnover before heading to the mattress on the other side.

    She sat down with a sigh, still thinking that had a lot to do today. When she took her first bite, she noticed Ryxer rummaging through her bag. The way he searched for something showed he was hungry. Gwenda frowned; she bet he had already eaten something. But apparently, he hadn¡¯t even had breakfast. The coffee filter was clean near the water barrel and there were no dishes in the sink to be washed.

    Vannyer grabbed an apple, wiping it on his shirt as he pulled out a bread roll from inside. He bit into the apple and added a cheese bread she also bought at the bakery. Usually, there were no cheese breads on Sundays, but she got lucky and took advantage, buying several.

    She leaned her head against the wall and relaxed. Gwenda only realized she was tires now, when she managed to sit and feel that leg pain spreading when she sat down. It¡¯s as if the body knew it was about to rest now and needed to regain strength. And knew it.

    Ryxer held the apple in his mouth and grabbed the papers before going to his mattress an sitting down. He put the information in front of him and took a bite of the apple. He frowned and continued as before, looking for answers. At least that¡¯s what Gwenda thought he was going. And if it wasn¡¯t about this wall case... screw it, she could find the answers herself. If Vannyer wanted to do something other than what Raux ordered, then fine by Gwenda.

    ¡ª Do you know anything about the satyr¡¯s body? ¡ª Gwenda broke the silence.

    Ryxer looked up at her almost immediately, perhaps remembering that he wasn¡¯t alone. They stared at each other.

    ¡ª What about his body? ¡ª Vannyer leaned back against the wall and took a big bite of the apple.

    ¡ª I wanted to know if they buried him or threw him into the woods. I don¡¯t think they buried him, but... it¡¯s an option.

    ¡ª Why are you suddenly interested in whether they bury the body of a mystic or not?

    He tilted his head.

    Beings are beings.

    Gwenda looked away.

    ¡ª For nothing, Vannyer. Just curious. ¡ª And she bit into her food again, intending to end the conversation.

    ¡ª Did you get any News from sector 9 about what they found when studying the body?

    ¡ª If they got anything, ¡ª She shook her head ¡ª I wasn¡¯t informed. Maybe Darcy should know, she¡¯s always with her eyes on some letter that could have gone through sector 9¡¯s better directly. Anyway, when Darcy finds out, she¡¯ll tell me.

    ¡ª I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that. ¡ª Gwenda turned just as he took the last bite of the apple and tossed the rest in the trash under the table. Hitting it without even trying.

    ¡ª What do you mean?

    Vannyer shrugged.

    ¡ª Raux is more capable of not telling you about it than you think. I know that...

    ¡ª If Darcy wants this case to end quickly, she has an obligation to tell me everything involved. Otherwise, being here with you is a waste of time.

    Gwenda stopped and forgot what she was about to say. If Darcy didn¡¯t tell her something about this case, it would be harder to unravel. Nd since she wanted it to be quick enough to put Gwenda and Vannyer together in that same place so they could hurry, the Shooter was pretty sure her boss would tell her everything she needed to know. But if Raux herself was hiding evidence... and the whole story of quickly uncovering answers was just talk thrown away... then she and Ryxer didn¡¯t need to be there together.

    Gwenda snorted and continued to eat, angrily. Everyone seemed guilty in this shit. Maybe it¡¯s a plan to bring Ryxer closer to Gwenda. No, it would be foolishness. Or maybe it was a bigger plan to make Gwenda realize that Ryxer was the culprit.

    She ignored Vannyer¡¯s gaze on her and made a mental note to confront her boss for answers. Gwenda might be overthinking these assumptions, but she wouldn¡¯t hesitate to question her boss.

    ¡ª Have you practiced anything? ¡ª Gwenda asked before looking away at the trash.

    Ryxer followed as he ate his cheese bread.

    ¡ª A sport or another, all the same.

    Gwenda let out a weak laugh.

    ¡ª Too easy or...?

    ¡ª Too easy. ¡ª He agreed before looking at the clipboard in front of him.

    Finally, she finished the turnover and crumpled the bag, forming a ball. Even though she was far away, Gwenda aimed at the trash and threw. The bag hit and fell to the ground. Ryxer looked at Gwenda¡¯s failed attempt and a smile slowly spread across his face.

    ¡ª Do you ever practice anything? ¡ª He asked, leaning back against the wall.

    She shrugged.

    ¡ª I never learned the rules of any sport, just knew how to handle myself, how to get by, and how to hit what needed to be hit. ¡ª Like most people did. Observing wasn¡¯t exclusive to Gwenda.

    Vannyer laughed.

    ¡ª I see.

    ¡ª Have you ever won competitions? ¡ª Gwenda asked again.

    ¡ª Yes, many. Before becoming a Carvlinea, I participated in competitions at the Verssand arena. ¡ª His eyes met hers ¡ª Do you know it?

    She nodded.

    ¡ª I used to go there when I was little. ¡ª Me and my father.

    ¡ª What did you do there? It was awful.

    ¡ª What else do you do in an arena if not to compete, Vannyer?

    ¡ª I know, Matchstone. ¡ª A Half-smile appeared on his face. ¡ª But the games were terrible.

    ¡ª Well... than be thankful I never saw you play.

    ¡ª No, I was one of the good ones. ¡ª Gwenda raised an eyebrow ¡ª I played until I was twenty-one, the I quit it. You couldn¡¯t have not seen me play.

    ¡ª What was the name of your team?

    Ryxer blinked.

    ¡ª I thought you knew.

    ¡ª I lived in the Capital until I was eighteen, then I had to leave to finish me studies. I never heard much about some of the last players who took the places of the masters.

    He nodded, understanding; Then he grimaced because Gwenda had referred to the previous players as masters.

    ¡ª Well, ¡ª He continued ¡ª I was part of the Extess.

    Gwenda just stared at him. She knew that team like the back of her hand. But she had never heard of a Ryxer Vannyer. When she became a rebellious teenager, she stopped going to those games. It was crap anyway. But Kimer still liked it, and Gwenda started going with her when she was 16.

    ¡ª How old are you? ¡ª She asked.

    ¡ª Twenty-eight. ¡ª He replied.

    Gwenda clenched her fists. Great. She was 16 when she started going back to see the games with Kimer in Verssand. Ryxer was 19 then. He could have been a professional player if he was as good as he claimed...

    ¡ª You guys had a stage name, right?

    Vannyer nodded.

    ¡ª D.J Djenevieve was part of that team. ¡ª She continued.

    Ryxer blinked.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª His voice came out lower.

    ¡ª And Johan Yak too.

    Her colleague tilted his head, suspicious. Then he let out a nervous laugh.

    ¡ª How many of us were you buddies with, Matchstone?

    How many of us

    ¡ª All of you, Vannyer. I knew all just by sight, but I slept with only one.

    ¡ª How old were you again?

    ¡ª Sixteen.

    Ryxer blinked again.

    ¡ª I didn¡¯t know you ¡ª He calmly said ¡ª And Johan Yak never mentioned a girl.

    Gwenda took a deep breath.

    ¡ª I asked him to keep it just between us. ¡ª She said.

    ¡ª Alright. ¡ª He said slowly ¡ª Djenevieve was my uncle, I just took his place and out the first two letters to differentiate one name from the other.

    ¡ª You could have used Junior.

    He laughed.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t hassle me. They guys always told me that.

    She smiled slightly.

    Her father always rooted for Djenevieve. He was always there when the player scored a point followed by more. He was the best Gwenda had ever seen when she was little. But over the time, many died, and other trained people took their place. Until only rookies barely 20 years old were playing in place of the old players. Ryxer Vannyer was one of them, taking his uncle¡¯s place.

    It was around the same time that she found Johan Yak enjoying drinks at the bar with some friends. She sat on the other side without caring about the looks, but when she realized that he hadn¡¯t even flinched, Gwenda shifted her eyes to his, and ¨¢tila Killian¡¯s smile undid her.

    But it didn¡¯t last. None of this was supposed to have started, really. Only shit happened afterwards. They spent two years just flirting and bringing pleasure to each other, and the feeling of love had begun to sprout in her chest. In both. She never wanted to admit that she felt something for him until the day of the Labeling. In the same month she turned ¡®8 and her father died. Killian could have died too. She didn¡¯t know if she was happy that he escaped or if she wanted him dead for the lie and the destruction, he caused Gwenda.

    Gwenda closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, a sigh caught in her chest.

    ¡ª Johan Yak had problems.

    ¡ª I know. ¡ª She finished ¡ª I swore it was you, actually. You¡¯re like him in some... aspects.

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    ¡ª We were all alike, but not to the point of being confused.

    Yes, she knew. After three years working with Ryxer, she knew it wasn¡¯t ¨¢tila. At first it was a disaster, she almost wanted to tear his head off, but after observing his feature closely... he was just random guy. But she never spoke to Vannyer again.

    The doubt about it had come back into her head at the beginning of the conversation about being a player. Gods, how tense she had become. However, now everything was understood.

    ¡ª I¡¯m sorry ¡ª He murmured.

    ¡ª He didn¡¯t die, Vannyer.

    Ryxer shrugged.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t think he had anywhere to go, and if he tried to escape from Carsany, he must have died.

    ¡ª Do you want him to be dead that much?

    ¡ª I think he deserved it.

    Gwenda¡¯s muscles collapsed, holding back the wave of anger that threatened to give her the strength to get up and shoot Vannyer in the eyes. A bullet in the middle of his eyes wouldn¡¯t be so bad.

    ¡ª If you were Darcy¡¯s favorite, you would know that ¨¢tila Killian managed to cross the Carsany wall.

    Gwenda¡¯s gaze turned dark over Ryxer, as if he were just a stupid man. But he remained completely still.

    ¡ª What? ¡ª He asked quietly ¡ª When did this happen? How come nobody in Carsany talked about it?

    ¡ª Because he made sure this story didn¡¯t spread. ¡ª She frowned, and anger seemed to consume every bone in her.

    She was irritated by the fact that Darcy had given an agent who knew nothing, who needed Gwenda to give the details. She didn¡¯t deserve such humiliation.

    Gwenda tried to give support:

    ¡ª Come on, Vannyer, think a little harder. ¡ª The words came out stumbling ¡ª Who was on the wall to help him?

    ¡ª I don¡¯t know.

    ¡ª Think, Vannyer. ¡ª She pushed again.

    ¡ª Matchstone. I don¡¯t know.

    ¡ª Who the hell could help Johan Yak escape through the wall?

    Gods, he was slower than Gwenda had thought.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t fucking know.

    ¡ª You knew Johan better than I did. Think. ¡ª Gwenda¡¯s tone must have struck a chord with Vannyer because he suddenly stopped, and nothing came out of his mouth as his expression shifted to something more understanding.

    Ryxer¡¯s gaze lingered on her, and Gwenda didn¡¯t flinch when she realized her colleague had become annoyed.

    ¡ª Your damn boyfriend had to be dead, and you know it as well as I do. And the person who helped him escape knew that, was within every law, knew all the details. There¡¯s no...

    ¡ª Speak, Vannyer. ¡ª Gwenda growled ¡ª Speak who helped ¨¢tila Kilian escape from Carsany.

    Ryxer refused to open his mouth, only swallowed heard and looked away, towards nothing. His forehead was still furrowed. Irritated, Gwenda let him be irritated and confused. But if not now... when would he know that his own father didn¡¯t support the treatment with people like Killian?

    Gwenda dared to speak.

    ¡ª Kilorn Vannyer was friend of Yago Matchstone. ¡ª Ryxer stared at Gwenda as she uttered what she needed to say ¡ª ¨¢tila Killian was like a son to soldier Vannyer. How you didn¡¯t notice that. ¡ª Gwenda shook her head ¡ª I have no idea. But know this, Ryxer Vannyer: ¨¢tila Killian always spoke highly of you, supported you even when you aren¡¯t aware. ¡ª Every memory pierced her chest like a lance coming directly from the past that haunted her day and night. ¡ª If he deserved anything, it was to live in peace knowing he could count on all of us. But we know no one accepted, and that was the main reason for not revealing it. Including you, champion, didn¡¯t accept who he really was. What would your father say about this? About disregarding Killian, his other son? I¡¯m almost sure he would be disappointed to have such a small-minded offspring.

    ¡ª My father would never do such a thing. Killian was always a bastard, always sticking his nose where it didn¡¯t belong. Keep accusing my father, Matchstone, and every drop of your shitty reputation will fall.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t smile. By reputation, Vannyer meant with wealth and life. He could very well start spreading rumors, destroying her career in the arena, and ultimately shutting down her bar. After all, he now knew that Gwenda was involved with an outlaw, and she was protecting him. Killian fled, and Vannyer now knew that, from the words of someone who defended him. D.J Djenevieve was still beloved by the people. But did they still remember him?

    She wouldn¡¯t let Ryxer distort the facts. It was Killian they were talking about.

    ¡ª Kilorn Vannyer helped Johan Yak escape, helped damn Killian escape from Carsany. Because your father knew about ¨¢tila, knew everything. Ryxer, ¡ª Gwenda¡¯s voice began to falter ¡ª your father knew everything ¨¢tila was involved in. You need to believe and understand, you need to help me, Ryxer. My father was involved in this. And he died ¡ª Gwenda swallowed hard as she began to tremble ¡ª because of this. Because of this infernal secret the three of them kept. To protect Killian. I need to know the reason. If he weren¡¯t alive, my father¡¯s death would have been in vain.

    ¡ª I have nothing to do with this. ¡ª He said simply.

    Gwenda reached for her gun and Vannyer reached for his. She squeezed so hard her nerves hurt. And Ryxer was about to draw his gun and point it at the Shooter.

    Ryxer Vannyer doesn¡¯t think. If the explosion on the wall, which killed his father, had something to do with ¨¢tila Killian¡¯s case... if by chance the goal was to kill Kilorn Vannyer and the damn human hired the fairies to break the tracks completely, to blame the mystics.

    Gwenda tightened the barrel of the gun even harder.

    No.  There would be no blood here. Not today.

    She withdrew her hand and curled up her legs, arms hugging her own body. Gwenda trembled and felt her face burning with anger. She wanted to scream.

    ¡ª Killian doesn¡¯t deserve any of what you¡¯re saying ¡ª she said, the memories she thought had gone long ago now returning. She buried her face between her knees.

    ¨¢tila Killian. How many times had she suspected? How many times had she refused to go out with him because she was afraid? But still, that love that involved every flame of the two was there, every beat of her heart was synchronized with his. Every drop of sweat was for him.

    And yet he had lied. Yet Killian hadn¡¯t said anything, just hidden the most important thing. Or else, why hadn¡¯t Yago Matchstone said anything? How were Kilorn Vannyer and Gwenda¡¯s father intertwined?

    This was one of those endless cases, without an answer. She tried, for the three damn years she had returned to the Capital, to think about it. But nothing fit, nothing came to her.

    Perhaps Raux had put Vannyer and her to work together for some reason. After all, both fathers were involved with ¨¢tila. And, putting the pieces together, with the wall.

    Ryxer, without any compassion, said:

    ¡ª Who are you, Gwenda. Killian and you are the same, aren¡¯t you?

    She raised her head to him and stared. She felt like she would explode sooner or later; He still had his hand on the gun, as if he dared not remove. As if he had already figured everything out.

    Then Gwenda clenched her jaw until it hurts.

    Quick as a damn god¡¯s lighting bolt, she reached for her hip and drew her gun, aiming directly at Ryxer¡¯s head.

    He barely had time o to the same, but still did with his body tense. Gwenda moved a little and shot.

    Vannyer groaned in pain, and his gun flew to the side. He shook his hand, as if that could relieve the pain.

    ¡ª Killian and you are the same.

    Gwenda got up still with the gun pointed with not an inch deviated. She walked towards him with a look of pure terror. Gwenda was furious, and she was trying to contain herself from not putting the bullet in Vannyer¡¯s eyes, who now seemed to be thinking of a way to turn the tables.

    ¡ª As much as it seems fun, Ryxer Vannyer ¡ª She began with a hoarse voice ¡ª I would never be like Killian. I¡¯m a human, you bastard. I¡¯m one of you, a figure with nothing who just lives and dies and so on. ¨¢tila Killian is a human, far from being a mystic. You treat them like that because of the laws, because of the wrong influence. As long as you think for others, Ryxer, you won¡¯t be a real man. So start thinking for yourself. And when the time comes that you have some idea about life, you can come talk to me about the case. Until then, remain as quiet as you always have. Maybe you should visit your girlfriend¡¯s grave, and wonder why she killed herself, instead of drawing conclusions about something you clearly don¡¯t understand. At least solver her case, this one case, Vannyer.

    A muscle in his jaw twitched.

    Gwenda knew from the start that he was going to visit her grave even before Darcy assigned them to the same case. She had committed suicide, but the Shooter didn¡¯t know why.

    Her hands trembled as she holstered the gun before heading towards the exit.

    She ignored her boss at the door with the now inert gun by her side. Ignored the two agents tight behind, tense. They made way for her to pass, and she left the room with the heavy weight of that space that only had bad energy.

    She clenched her jaw and stomped up the stairs.

    <hr>

    Gwenda was still slumped in the chair round the table, her hand resting on her forehead, covering her tired face,

    Unfortunately, she attended Rubben¡¯s Sunday games. It was expected that he would be there, but not that he would sit at the same table as her. After all, Gwenda wasn¡¯t even playing, she didn¡¯t know how to play. She was just accompanying Kimer, who cheered every time she was one step ahead of her friends. She never lost money to anyone.

    ¡ª I¡¯m going to crush you cowards! ¡ª She exclaimed amidst laughter at the beginning of the game. Her friends just laughed.

    ¡ª Dream on! ¡ª One of them retorted.

    Gwenda only observed at first, then she grew so tired that she simply tuned out the world around her.

    The argument with Vannyer went from bad to worse. He knew nothing, it was evident on his face. And Gwenda had formed an avalanche for him to be buried under. Everything he once believed ¡ª in his father ¡ª was just another distraction, just another lie. She could see that thought in Ryxer¡¯s expression.

    She never thought she¡¯d need to explain this to anyone someday. About ¨¢tila Killian, about the case involving him. The two of them fled. Gwenda and ¨¢tila fled, there were no denying that.

    Louise was at another table, having as much fun as Gwenda. From what she saw, her friend was intact. There was no sign of mistreatment from the king for not getting Gwenda to sign the paper visible on her body. But if she even saw a bruise on her, she would have no reason to sit still and do nothing.

    Signing the king¡¯s paper and becoming his. That was the Shooter. But if that was the reason the king wanted Gwenda to be his, she was more than willing to leave the arena and not be recognized by anyone anymore. If Vannyer wanted to destroy her reputation, her life in that arena, fine, as long as it got her out of the cold hands of the king, which he practically already had.

    She felt Kimer slump into the chair with a sigh and looked at her with swollen eyes. She was already with her hands clasped behind her head, smiling like a predator to her friends. Kimer licked her teeth and stroked her right canine, she always did that.

    ¡ª You guys¡¯ suck. ¡ª She said.

    ¡ª Yeah, ¡ª One agreed ¡ª Toy ou, we¡¯ll always be suckers.

    Her friend¡¯s hoarse laugh broke the tension in Gwenda¡¯s body, and she stretched her legs and fingers as far she could.

    ¡ª Maybe you guys should train more ¡ª Kimer suggested.

    ¡ª Only if it¡¯s with the devil ¡ª Another said ¡ª Only he can beat you. I feel like you cheat, it¡¯s the only explanation.

    ¡ª Want to take another test?

    ¡ª No. ¡ª Another said with more pressure and got up with a smile on his face ¡ª we¡¯re out of here, see you tomorrow.

    Kimer shrugged.

    ¡ª Up to you guys.

    They grabbed their coats, ready to leave in the night that came so quickly that Gwenda hadn¡¯t even noticed the windows were already impossible to see through.

    ¡ª See you later, Gwen. ¡ª The long-haired one said, and the other quickly followed suit.

    ¡ª See you later.

    ¡ª Until next time, Gwen.

    The last one just nodded.

    ¡ª Bye, guys. ¡ª Gwenda replied.

    The two watched the backs of their friends as they headed for the exit. The man at the table who took care of everything was stashing the money Kimer had earned to exchange it later for coins.

    A table nearby cheered in excitement, and Gwenda turned around. One table over, Louise was clapping her hands and rolling the dice. She was focused, with her mouth open, about to shout, and her eyes wide.

    Gwenda looked away and searched the room for Rubben. When a commotion reached her ears, she didn¡¯t need to turn around to know it was her friend on the other side, probably almost jumping on the table with happiness.

    An intense and penetrating figure appeared in her vision among the players at the table ¡ª what they called ¡®table¡¯s gamers¡¯. He was coming towards her with his eyes completely fixed on hers, the arrogant smile not showing his white teeth as he always had.

    Kimer nudged her.

    ¡ª And then? What did you think?

    ¡ª If I had looked, I would say you cheated.

    Her friend grumbled.

    ¡ª Some support that is.

    Gwenda smirked mockingly at her and grew serious again as she turned back to Rubben, who was getting closer. Two guards appeared behind him, and Gwenda¡¯s body just wanted to get up and run away, but she forced herself to stay as she was. She wouldn¡¯t give in this time; she wouldn¡¯t be weak.

    ¡ª You¡¯re completely screwed, Gwen. ¡ª Kimer murmured quietly with a snicker.

    ¡ª What great support. ¡ª Gwenda repeated.

    Kimer raised an eyebrow.

    ¡ª Hey, I¡¯m on your side. ¡ª She replied.

    The two locked eyes, and Kimer let Gwenda see the message in her bright, dark eyes.

    Gwenda closed her eyes as she felt the man standing next to the table.

    ¡ª I hope you¡¯re enjoying yourself.

    That voice... deadly like the claws of a feline. So hoarse it left her breathless. She had to force herself to remember he was a monster, one of the rotten ones.

    ¡ª I¡¯d be better off. ¡ª Gwenda replied. His eyes gleamed, as if he thought the same of her voice.

    They stared at each other. Rubben still with the arrogant smile and Gwenda with clenched jaw. Then he turned to Kimer, and the Shooter¡¯s blood ran cold.

    ¡ª I see your friend knows what she¡¯s doing.

    Kimer opened her mouth to retort something she might regret.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª Gwenda intervened and refused to look at her friend ¡ª She¡¯s very good. She learned from my father.

    ¡ª Oh, of course. ¡ª He chuckled ¡ª Yago Matchstone taught your friend instead of teaching his own daughter. How could I forget.

    Gwenda felt her fingers tingling to punch his handsome face.

    ¡ª You should know I don¡¯t waste my time with that kind of thing.

    ¡ª Of course. The Shooter just shoots animals to make money. With Yago Matchstone having taught her that. Oh, the relationship between father and daughter. ¡ª Rubben closed hi eyes and seemed to think about it. ¡ª I find it wonderful. ¡ª He purred at last.

    Gwenda couldn¡¯t disagree; The relationship he was referring to was the father teaching Gwenda, at a very young age, to hold a firearm and kill things without feeling bad. It was the relationship of one killer to another.

    Assassin.

    The word began to echo in her head, in every corner of her mind.

    Assassin assassin assassin.

    She shook her head and tried to think of something else.

    ¡ª Nice to see you here, Gwen It means we still have a chance with each other.

    ¡ª It means, Rubben ¡ª Gwenda stood up, and Kimer was already on her feet with the money in her hand. ¡ªThat I¡¯m out of all your schemes and came to have fun with my friend. None of this has anything to do with you.

    The Shooter was trembling as she passed him. Gods, where did she get that courage from? Gwenda just knew that needed to get out of there.

    A strong hand closed around her wrist, and she stopped as a guard stepped in front of her. She grimaced at the well-dressed man before turning back to face Rubben, locking eyes with him. He was a head taller than her, but that was beside the point. What mattered most were his eyes, the color of blue sapphires that had haunted her dreams for nights.

    ¡ª Dear Gwenda. ¡ª He murmured softly ¡ª You can deny it, but that doesn¡¯t change the fact that you¡¯re made to work for me.

    She furrowed her brow.

    ¡ª You¡¯re a piece of shit. ¡ª Gwenda retorted, wrenching her wrist free and pushing against his chest. Rubben barely flinched.

    The guards behind her shifted, but their boss gestured for them not do dare touch her. Gwenda smirked at the situation. They couldn¡¯t touch her. Perhaps because Rubben was an obsessive bastard, or maybe because the contract with Darcy was still intact, and he didn¡¯t want to face the consequences. Not even Rubben could force her into anything, but persuading her wasn¡¯t in the contract, and Gwenda admitted: Rubben was a master of persuasion.

    ¡ª Very well. Touch me again, and we¡¯ll see if Raux will let it slide again.

    He didn¡¯t even flinch at the threat, just looked at her as if she were a corpse. A strand of black hair fell across his face while the rest was swept back.

    ¡ª I still have my ways, Gwen.

    ¡ª Oh, I bet you do ¡ª The smile never left her lips.

    Their breaths mingled.

    ¡ª You know I¡¯m one of the best detectives in the Capital. ¡ª Rubben continued, unabashed, as he took Gwenda¡¯s hand and brought it to his lips ¡ª And I know everything within my reach ¡ª He planted a lazy kiss on her hand ¡ª Your life, despite it not being tied to me anymore, doesn¡¯t stop me from knowing every step you take.

    Gwenda yanked her hand away and threatened to step back. It was his turn to smile.

    ¡ª Perhaps your dear lover can tell me if you¡¯re still the same. Or perhaps... ¡ª He pretended to ponder ¡ª He¡¯s too busy doing something else to be able to speak.

    Gwenda felt the blood drain from her face.

    ¡ª You wouldn¡¯t dare...

    ¡ª Yes, Gwen. I would do anything.

    Gwenda didn¡¯t think before lunging forward, landing a right hook squarely in Rubben¡¯s stomach. The guards shifted behind her once more. But their chief stopped them from doing whatever they had planned to do.

    The detective didn¡¯t even flinch, just clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils in anger.

    ¡ª You won¡¯t lay a finger on him ¡ª Gwenda threatened quietly.

    Rubben just laughed.

    ¡ª If you do, I¡¯ll put a bullet through a place you won¡¯t enjoy and make it come out of your mouth.

    She felt the guards tense up.

    ¡ª You¡¯re claiming Raux¡¯s mannerisms for yourself, and I¡¯m loving it.

    Rubben closed his hand gently around Gwenda¡¯s wrist. She quickly pulled her hand away from his warm touch and took a step back.

    She glanced at Louise behind him. She had a dagger in her hand, ready to tear apart in case something happened that Gwenda couldn¡¯t escape from.

    Kimer wrapped her arms around Gwenda¡¯s waist and pushed her away. Louise discreetly tucked the blade back into her jacket and followed them. Her face was stern, completely different from what Gwenda normally saw in her.

    Rubben¡¯s raspy, faltering laugh was one of the last things she heard.

    ¡ª See you around, Gwen ¡ª He murmured.

    The Shooter touched the gun on her hip. Both to calm herself and to make sure it was still there; She let out a trembling sigh of relief when she knew it was still with her, that Rubben hadn¡¯t taken it.

    The last encounter with him hadn¡¯t been very good, and she had sworn never to carry the gun again. But what if she needed it? So she brought it.

    Rubben had taken her gun in the middle of a verbal argument worse than this one and pointed it at her head, while holding Gwenda¡¯ neck in his other hand o keep her in place. She still remembered his expression. Pure suffering, pain, anger... all of her, for Gwenda.

    I almost killed you.

    That¡¯s what he said when he realized what he done. And then he sent her away, so he could be alone. Gwenda almost certain Rubben had regretted that last decision.

    This life she led when she fled became such a deep pit.

    She was sold. Sold. How the ell did it come to this? She was paid, with money. She was bought. Why, first and foremost, did she accept the contract with Rubben?

    Gwenda wanted to beat herself up three years ago for accepting this foolish in bargain. Beat herself until she bled, teach herself a simple lesson she should have learned from her father. She knew she had no other option, no way to stay alive if she hadn¡¯t accepted. But now she would have preferred to die.

    The Gwenda of today would never accept something like this, something she didn¡¯t know. She should have been like that since she was a child. But Gwenda was stupid enough to think Rubben would save her.

    He saved her, but not in the way she thought he would.

    <hr>

    ¡ª What a shit, Gwen. I thought you¡¯d at least have a bit more intelligence if you showed up there. ¡ª Louise commented after many blocks away from that place.

    ¡ª I did. ¡ª Gwenda replied as she twirled Louise¡¯s dagger between her fingers to calm herself. ¡ª I didn¡¯t dress as Rubben liked.

    ¡ª Dress?! ¡ª Louise seemed irritated. Kimer just rubbed her face ¡ª You don¡¯t know what the hell you¡¯re talking about, do you?

    ¡ª It was you who invited me to go, Louise ¡ª Gwenda pointed the blade at her friend, accusing her.

    Louise placed her open hand on her chest and snatched the dagger from her friend¡¯s hand. She pushed Gwenda back, receiving a warning grunt from the Shooter.

    ¡ª Exactly, I invited you. I f I want you dead, I would have killed you. I¡¯ve never lacked opportunities.

    Because Gwenda put herself at risk by doing that with Rubben. Speaking that way already put her at risk. But he wouldn¡¯t come out unscathed if Gwenda told Darcy. However, she already expected the sermon that she shouldn¡¯t have even stepped inside.

    That¡¯s the fact that had been ingrained in her head: Don¡¯t listen to Louise.

    ¡ª Do you work for Rubben? ¡ª Gwenda asked and didn¡¯t let Louise explode again before finishing: ¡ª You yourself said Rubben wanted my presence at the games, and there I was. He wanted my presence for what, Lou? To persuade me? To corner me?

    ¡ª I don¡¯t work for Rubben, you idiot. I work for the king. I work with the fucking Rubben.

    She already knew.

    ¡ª But you could be working for him too. One ladder leads to another.

    ¡ª I hate being friend with Carvlinea. Always suspecting everything, aren¡¯t you?

    ¡ª That hits me too. ¡ª Kimer said, pointing an accusing finger at Louise.

    ¡ª It was supposed to hit you too. ¡ª She admitted.

    Gwenda sighed.

    ¡ª Alright, forget about it, okay? I have more things to do now.

    ¡ª Where are you going? ¡ª Louise asked. ¡ª I think you need an escort, Gwenda. You¡¯ve been impossible these days.

    She almost recoiled.

    ¡ª It¡¯s none of your business what I do or don¡¯t do, Lou. ¡ª Gwenda felt hurt ¡ª Today is Sunday, my damn day off, I just wanted to rest. If you can leave me alone for the rest of the night, I¡¯d be very grateful.

    Louise scowled at her, but quickly showed remorse.

    The fact was that her father had become obsessed with Gwen¡¯s safety during those times. Until he met Killian and, strangely, that distrust with his daughter disappeared. When her father died in ¨¢tila¡¯s place, that¡¯s when she knew he wasn¡¯t just the guy dating his daughter. They knew each other before, it was obvious. Her father already knew him, and to go in his place to the gallows in that way, maybe he considered him family. The last look her father gave to Gwenda was only love and pride.

    ¡ª Gwen, we¡¯re just trying to help ¡ª Kimer commented.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t need help. ¡ª Gwenda looked into both of their eyes. ¡ª I need answers. If you have them, please tell me. Until another day.

    Then she turned around and let the night swallow her.

    She wouldn¡¯t ask for help in her case, in her personal life. Or even ask for something to not feel lonely anymore.

    There was only one person who could dispel this feeling of loneliness now, at this exact moment. And Gwenda was trembling to know that Rubben knew him. Fear, long and icy, would stay with her for a long time, wandering through every bone.

    <hr>

    Gwenda didn¡¯t care. She was sitting on Trytan¡¯s doorstep. If he was there, she didn¡¯t care either, she just sat and waited. A pizza delivery guy came along the way, and Gwenda offered him more money than was charged, just so he would deliver it to her.

    She had already eaten more than three slices and still wasn¡¯t full, but she wanted to stop eating. Something deep in her mind told her that eating would do her good would take away the pain that corrupted her almost every day. So she ate.

    She even lay down on the ground and looked up at the starry sky with the pizza open beside her. She knew it might be a waste of time. Rubben wouldn¡¯t be stupid enough to go after Trytan today, of all days. Gwenda felt useless, that¡¯s what she thought.

    If only he were home, he would have come out to see what the delay with the pizza was. Or she would have heard some noise if he wasn¡¯t in the back. It was a waste of time.

    Gwenda felt dizzy when she got up again and sat down with a backache. She needed to take a shower because, honestly, she felt completely filthy, exhausted. She rubbed her face and then her neck.

    Alright. She was alone, nothing bothering her, pizza by her side... she could let her mind dwell in the details. The details of ¨¢tila Killian. She still missed the warmth of his skin against hers, his soft grazing her neck at a specific point. Her stomach churned, and she shrunk, burying her face in her hands.

    ¨¢tila Killian, Kilorn Vannyer, and her father, Yagi Matchstone. They were all part of the same deal, that was a fact. When Gwenda returned to the Capital, it didn¡¯t take long for her to become aware of Killian¡¯s case. Rubben somehow knew about her past in the first few days of her working for him. And it didn¡¯t take long to know that spent years thinking he was dead, that her father¡¯s death had been in vain... that Killian had been stupid to go straight into the clutches when he could have gone around. But in the end, he was alive, but she didn¡¯t know if he was well.

    Kilorn Vannyer died in the wall explosion, a man who helped Killian escape, maybe he could be connected to this past. But she didn¡¯t know where the fairies fit in. If it wasn¡¯t them, what the hell were they doing there?

    And the bomb in the sector. That satyr appeared in the story totally randomly. How the hell was a satyr in Carsany without any damn Carvlinea knowing? That showed how good they were at their jobs. Nothing.

    The two explosion cases might be the same, or they might be different; Gwenda hadn¡¯t been able to figure it out yet. She didn¡¯t even know what kind of bomb was used in the sector to cause that destruction. And she didn¡¯t know why the damn fairies were involved, not entirely. It wasn¡¯t her case, but if it were interconnected, Gwenda would automatically be involved.

    It was a question that would never end. The poison was still there in the dormitory, hidden, intact. Not even Ryxer knew where she had kept it.

    Gwenda was leaning against the door when someone opened it quickly, as if angry. She widened her eyes and stepped back, hands in front of her and ready to protect her head in case she was attacked. But it was just Trytan, looking at her with his jaw dropped. His eyes glanced at the pizza beside her, and a gleam passed through them that Gwenda couldn¡¯t decipher.

    She didn¡¯t hide the relief that washed over her face at seeing Trytan still intact.

    ¡ª Did you eat more than half of the pizza I ordered all by yourself? ¡ª He asked first.

    Gwenda turned to the food and closed the box before shrugging briefly.

    ¡ª Maybe?

    Trytan blinked.

    ¡ª How long have you been here?

    ¡ª Um, about... I think... ¡ª Gwenda furrowed her brow ¡ª I¡¯m not sure.

    ¡ª You¡¯re not sure? ¡ª The man with long hair standing in front of her looked at her with wide-open eyes. Gwenda smiled awkwardly ¡ª What¡¯s the reason for being here at night? Do you know you could be mugged? ¡ª Trytan looked around.

    ¡ª Of course, everyone would mug a delinquent eating pizza in front of other people¡¯s houses. ¡ª Gwenda replied, getting up with difficulty, suddenly feeling full. She placed her hand on her abdomen and grimaced. ¡ª I came to make sure you were okay.

    ¡ª Why? ¡ª He asked ore calmly.

    ¡ª Jut because. ¡ª She replied, forming her mouth into a thin line.

    ¡ª Have you been drinking or doing drugs? ¡ª Gwenda tilted her head, shocked.

    ¡ª You¡¯re thinking that of me?

    ¡ª Your state isn¡¯t the best, you have to admit ¡ª Trytan scanned her body ¡ª Did you swap places with a corpse or something?

    ¡ª Very funny. ¡ª Gwenda said, remembering the dead satyr. The food seemed to rise; but she took a deep breath to keep it down.

    Trytan¡¯s hearty laughter reverberated through her body, sending shivers down her spine.

    Gwenda knew she looked awful: tired, with dark circles, unkempt hair, dirty. But not to the point where someone would comment on it. Trytan always found a loophole.

    ¡ª But seriously, what did you come here for?

    ¡ª I thought you¡¯d be happy to see me. Was I wrong?

    ¡ª No, of course not. I¡¯m glad to see you. ¡ª He said quickly ¡ª I¡¯m glad to know you were eating my pizza on my doorstep. That actually made me feel good.

    ¡ª Really? You seemed like you wanted to throttle me.

    ¡ª I was hungry.

    ¡ª Your emotions confuse me.

    Trytan tilted his head and just raised the corner of his lips.

    ¡ª I hate knowing I¡¯m sleeping with a Carvlinea.

    ¡ª And to think I might have drugged myself was something stupid.

    ¡ª Totally ¡ª He agreed. ¡ª The worst part is, I can¡¯t even do drugs. I¡¯ll be taken to the Wind Prison like a atoned puppet.

    ¡ª What a good little joke ¡ª She said.

    He smiled.

    The truth was, if Gwenda saw Trytan drugging himself, she did have the right to take him with her to the sector for explanations. Maybe he was too stoned for such a thing, but even so.

    The Wind Prison is for individuals or creatures who are beyond the norm, experiencing outbursts or being too dangerous that each realm fears what they might cause if they were free. Not everyone knows about this prison.

    Trytan doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s talking about when he mentions the prison. For many, it¡¯ just a place that holds murderers, nothing more. He has never been to that place, but the screams of the prisoners can be heard through the valleys and mountains, each powerful echo extending for miles. Gwenda would never dare to set foot in that place, never offered to take anyone there. Both because there were few she had captured, and because she didn¡¯t know if she could even crawl out of that hellish place.

    It¡¯s the only place in the entire Alphardj that agreed to a truce, where only the most dangerous were imprisoned and the meeting of different species didn¡¯t affect the harmony between them.

    Gwenda has seen dangerous creatures and killed those she could. However, she doesn¡¯t have the necessary training for it, to escape when she¡¯s alone.

    The scar on her back started throbbing, and she clenched her jaw. The drop burned her neck, and Gwenda closed her eyes.

    ¡ª Would you like to come in? Trytan broke the silence with a tone that informed Gwenda that he had started to worry about what was going on in her head. No hint would come out of her mouth about what she was thinking.

    She took a deep breath and smiled anyway at the main in front of her.

    ¡ª I believe we won¡¯t have another moment alone after tonight.

    He raised his chin.

    ¡ª If you say so... ¡ª Trytan made way for her to pass and entered the house.

    Gwenda nodded in thanks and entered. She felt Trytan pick up the pizza from the floor and then followed, closing the door behind her.

    He hurried to the front of her, murmuring:

    ¡ª Don¡¯t mind the mess, was trying to fix a coat. ¡ª As he tossed the food on the table and went to the floor in front of the lit fireplace. The armchairs were positioned the same way she had left them last time here.

    Lines were strewn across the floor, as well as thin endless that were perfectly visible on the white as snow carpet.

    Gwenda stared at Trytan¡¯s temple as he broke a line with his teeth. She licked her lips and took off the black jacket she was wearing.

    Trytan, noticing the movement, turned to her. His eyes sparkled with the fire from the fireplace that warmed the house on a particularly cold night.

    His voice came out sensual as he commented:

    ¡ª Does seeing me sewing turn you on? ¡ª His arrogant smile grew.

    ¡ª Gods, no. ¡ª She stopped and stared at him a long time before continuing: ¡ª Seeing you does.

    Seeing how he acts in different situations, and how he behaves around her and others, seeing the difference in all of that. The blond hair tied in a bun almost at the top of his head, the strands falling gently to the side, just as Trytan did with her, how he took care of Gwenda even if he didn¡¯t notice, even if he didn¡¯t... care.

    Trytan could give her everything, if Gwenda wanted, he could be whoever she wanted. And, gods, she doesn¡¯t know if wanted him to be everything, if she would be able to love him some day. Or it was just the moment what she was feeling.

    Trytan bit his lower lip as he smiled, his eyes giving him away.

    ¡ª You seem a bit nervous. ¡ª He commented and stood up with his eyes locked on hers. ¡ª Should I believe you came to look for me because of that?

    Gwenda almost lost her breath.

    No.

    ¡ª If it¡¯s better for you to bear the idea that I wouldn¡¯t seek you for any other reason. ¡ª She shrugged ¡ª Maybe.

    Trytan wasn¡¯t smiling anymore as he took two steps toward her. Hands in his pants pockets.

    ¡ª There¡¯s no reason to think it¡¯s for any other reason than just to relieve your pain.

    His breath reached Gwenda¡¯s face, and she closed her eyes. It wasn¡¯t. It was for many reasons, including this one, but... she didn¡¯t want to admit that there were others, that she might want to be close to him almost every day.

    ¡ª Doesn¡¯t that ease yours? ¡ª She asked.

    Trytan remained expressionless.

    Gwenda knew he had his own problems, but she never got interested in such things. It wasn¡¯t her business, she shouldn¡¯t know. And so she stayed away from his personal life, from what... whatever he was.

    ¡ª Should it?

    Gwenda didn¡¯t wanted to, but she shrunk back, and her legs weakened.

    Should it? She didn¡¯t know. And she also got confused because she practically felt hurt by that answer. She wanted to ease his pain, but she also wanted to be his in every possible way, she wanted it not to be just for pleasure, but for something more.

    But Trytan never showed interest in that way when he was dating others.

    The Shooter looked down at the ground and threatened to move away from Trytan with a lean backward with her body.

    Another person could be in her place, and it wouldn¡¯t make a difference.

    ¡ª I suppose I¡¯m not doing my job anymore then. ¡ª She stared at him, and Trytan seemed to breath heavily. ¡ª I need to go.

    The lack of his body¡¯s proximity was missed when she picked up her coat and stepped toward the door.

    Letting Trytan see her vulnerability when she was near him was the last thing she wanted. Trytan could be all goo, he could be by her side for many things, but she felt it wouldn¡¯t end well if she accepted it, if she accepted what her body wanted, what her heart commanded her to do. She needed to think with her head, she needed to stay away for both of their sakes.

    Rubben was seething inside, Gwenda knew. And she also knew there would be no escape, it would be the end if Rubben laid hands on Trytan. It wasn¡¯t impossible that her former boss would kill him to get what he wanted, to have Gwenda back in his hands again.

    The Shooter grunted as she grabbed the doorknob forcefully and pulled the door.

    However, a body arrived from her side and stopped her, taking her hand off and closing the door again Gwenda took a long step back, ready to grab her gun with the adrenaline rushing through her.

    She was about to curse but gave up when she saw Trytan¡¯s face expressing terror. His eyes were wide, and his chest rose neither too fast nor too slow, just heavy.

    Gwenda frowned and leaned towards him, ready to ask what happened.

    He reached out to her waist and closed the remaining space before finding her mouth with his. Gwenda held onto his arms tightly, feeling the powerful muscles underneath the thin, almost torn sweatshirt he was wearing. Muscles that were built beginning of his career.

    She let Trytan taste every corner of her mouth as she removed the belt and placed it in a closer place. She couldn¡¯t think much and barely knew where in the house they really were. Still in front of the door? The steps Trytan made her take backward until she collided with a wall said otherwise.

    Gwenda let out a lazy moan with his body pressed against hers, pressing harder. Her hands roamed over Trytan¡¯s chest and moved up to his neck where she always deposited kisses and light bites whenever Trytan wasn¡¯t busy savoring every inch of her body.

    He lifted one of Gwenda¡¯s legs and placed I around his waist. The Shooter pressed her thighs together, and Trytan groaned into her neck.

    As if that shaky sound had freed something in her, Gwenda grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled it up, desperate to feel the warm skin she was already used to.

    Trytan¡¯s hands explored under her tank top, and Gwenda arched her body towards his touch, exposing her neck to him. But Trytan took possession of her mouth, ran his tongue over her teeth, and then moved away enough to take off the sweatshirt.

    Gwenda marveled at the defined body, as if it were the first time she was seeing, touching it. She always saw him like that, always with eyes shining without ever losing the feeling of the first time.

    Trytan¡¯s eyes flamed with Gwenda¡¯s gaze on him, and nothing held him back when he lunged at her again with hi hands going straight for the tank top, which he removed from Gwenda with one motion. Then, he took her lips once again while with one hand he squeezed her waist to keep her against the wall.

    She threw her arms around Trytan¡¯s neck to fully enjoy his mouth, and he opened her legs before pulling her up, Gwenda wrapped her legs around his waist and let herself be taken to some corner of the house.

    Gwenda¡¯s chest was tight, both from anxiety and from extreme desire to feel him, to be sure that nothing would hurt him when she was away occupied with her own things. She wouldn¡¯t let Rubben even lift a finger in his direction. And if he did, she wouldn¡¯t mind hurting him down and making him sure that Gwenda would never be his, even if she had to jump off a roof.

    She knew that, for Rubben, losing her was worse than death. She could threaten to take his own life to keep Trytan safe. She could shoot herself as soon as he saw Trytan¡¯s lifeless body. And then meet him in the afterlife. But that was too much.

    She had never felt something so strong as to put her life at risk to protect someone else, and she hoped never to feel it. Not now, nor ever would be the case.

    Trytan gently placed her on the couch and bit Gwenda¡¯s tense jaw. His teeth brushed lightly as well as his fingers searching for every extension of her body.

    She could lose this. Lose all of this if she didn¡¯t step back, if she didn¡¯t do what needed to be done to keep him safe. Safe from Rubben; She wasn¡¯t thinking about keeping their relationship intact, she wanted Trytan to come out well and alive, even if broken... if only he cared the distance Gwenda was planning to cause.

    She could lose everything with Trytan by stepping back, anyway. But it was an easier way.

    ¡ª What¡¯s wrong?

    Gwenda blinked. She was looking at Trytan, admiring the last traces of him before the end of the night arrived. The last one deceived her, but didn¡¯t use her. Now this one above her at this moment was close to never seeing her again, was watching her with understanding and... love.

    She swallowed hard and spoke as she would his soft hair around her fingers, her voice trembling.

    ¡ª I think... this is important to me You promised me that we would always have a more memorable night then the previous one.

    His smile only widened, his hands still tracing Gwenda¡¯s curves. His eye became hungry when he looked down and brought his mouth to the exposed skin. The fireplace being the only sound in the room besides Gwenda¡¯s gasps and moans.

    It didn¡¯t take long until they were body to body, with no fabric separating the two. The clothes strewn on the floor next to the couch.

    Gwenda was on fire, and she could give everything and receive everything from him and yet that itch in the back of her mind wouldn¡¯t stop until she was sure he would be safe when she wasn¡¯t around.

 11

    The first thing she did was observe Trytan¡¯s face. She stretched slightly so as not to wake him. His arm was over her waist, keeping her close to his body.

    The blond hair, now completely loose, made him more beautiful than anything else. She didn¡¯t hide the admiration in her eyes as she ran her hand over his cheek, caressing it with her thumb. She then moved down to his neck, tossing his hair back and delicately tucking it behind his ear.

    The sunlight streaming through the curtain and illuminating the house indicated that today would be beautiful. And Gwenda should have been at work.

    The Shooter leaned up, sitting on her side. Trytan¡¯s arm descended and stopped on her thighs. Gwenda shivered as the cool air touched her body when she moved away from him and squinted at the brightness as she looked at the curtain.

    She wouldn¡¯t see this light if she were confined o the lower floor of the sector, she would be sulky, completely in a bad mood. She wouldn¡¯t talk to anyone unless they addressed her, wouldn¡¯t look anyone in the eye except Darcy. She would be alone and quiet, as she always was. But that was good, it helped in many things, including her work and her psyche. She could complain to herself that she had no one she could trust with her own body, the place where they could bury her if things went wrong. She had no one she could trust to keep her well besides herself.

    The robust scar on her back already confirmed that. Only she could make a difference in her own life, without depending on anyone.

    The day she got the scar... she almost died because she didn¡¯t feel the pain as she should. She almost died because she didn¡¯t get up from the ground. She still managed to, but she was lamenting everything she had done moments before, she was breaking down in tears and screams, both from the physical pain she didn¡¯t know where it came from and that pain in her mind. In her soul.

    Trytan had promised that Gwenda would forget all her problems when they met, always better than the previous encounter. He had promised this on the day a ugly, horrendous, and enormous scar was made on her back, running from near her left shoulder to her right flank. It was when she had just killed, torn apart, and stabbed mystics. Like bowling, one after the other. Blood covered her body, her boots buried in a reddish darkness. A dark, wine-red lake, not letting her see anything.

    Gwenda had just fallen to her knees and screamed to the filthy hands. The bodies lying beside her and the sword... only half of it was visible, perhaps she had buried the other half in the heart of some mystic along the way. How she survived that day, she hardly knew. It had been almost impossible.

    Rushed to the hospital by the remaining team, but not Darcy, who stayed to help the rest, giving orders upon orders.

    No one had told her anything. No one had ordered her to hold on as she was taken to a place to take care of her wounds. No one cared enough to command her to keep her damn eyes open. Except Trytan.

    At the hospital, Trytan was there. He had barely put on enough clothes at the end of winter, and yet he was by her side holding her hand and telling her to stay with him, not to leave him. Her back was torn apart, that¡¯s what Raux always reminded her of when they were in a discussion about who would go into battle or not.

    Darcy always used the excuse of her back, the scar made by a damn mystic. She didn¡¯t even know who the culprit was, but she hoped they were dead. Raux always said.

    Your back was torn apart with just one damn cut, you had lost a lot of blood. Do you think I¡¯ll let it get to that again? I want you away this time, Matchstone.

    Or the day she practically opened up about what she felt about Gwenda, the first and last time:

    You could¡¯ve died, Gwen. I wasn¡¯t there when you were taken from that carnage, I wasn¡¯t there to hold your hand. I thank the stars every day that I didn¡¯t lose you, because if you were dead... I would bury your body myself and wouldn¡¯t bear to leave it. So, no, you¡¯re not going on that mission because I can¡¯t bear to lose you, I can¡¯t bear the thought of not being by your side when you die. I don¡¯t have eyes in every corner, Gwen.

    Gwenda always kept her distance from Darcy. Gwenda always wanted to do things with just herself, the firearm, and the blades she carried. Because she knew she could, she knew she could handle it. Well, it hadn¡¯t worked out so well that time. From then on, Darcy only took her on missions that weren¡¯t so dangerous, involving mystics or not.

    And Gwenda didn¡¯t know whether to be thankful or not.

    The man lying beside her moved lazily and lightly close his hand on her thigh, sensing that Gwenda was still there.

    She didn¡¯t expect Trytan to be annoyed with her if she left early. Because he knew she had work. But he would be upset to learn that work was just an excuse to leave and abandon him.

    Now she wanted to stay with him, she felt it calling her, begging her to stay with him, to accept what she felt for Trytan. And when she finally accepted it, she needed to distance herself. For his sake, always for his sake.

    Even though she thought that if Rubben hadn¡¯t made the threat in a few words, she wouldn¡¯t be here today, she wouldn¡¯t be feeling all this terror and love for Trytan.

    ¡ª Good morning. ¡ª He said with a smile he couldn¡¯t disguise. But he tried, Gwenda noticed.

    ¡ª Good morning. ¡ª Gwenda replied softly and glanced at Trytan¡¯s tired face.

    He rubbed his forehead with his hand before crossing his arms and propping himself up on his elbows.

    ¡ª Should I say I¡¯m surprised? ¡ª He asked.

    Gwenda pursed her lips and looked at him from under her lashes.

    ¡ª Don¡¯t say anything. ¡ª She replied and moved back to his side, draping her arm over Trytan¡¯s body and kissing his exposed skin.

    He shifted and pulled Gwenda closer. The Shooter nestled her face into his chest and breathed in his scent deeply. Allowing the feeling of relief and joy to wash over her for this moment before everything crumbled.

    She didn¡¯t want to leave there. Not when everything seemed right, true.

    She was about to do something difficult, about to leave behind what she had refused to accept for much longer than she would like to admit.

    And now there, nestled in Trytan¡¯s arms just receiving caresses in her hair, fatigue overtook her again. Just like the chest that shattered into shards. Gwenda squeezed his arm tighter.

    He always stroked Gwenda¡¯s hair because he knew she almost fell asleep with that gesture, because he knew it relieved her and made her forget about the problems.

    Gwenda shuddered in his arms as she remembered the night she had. The delicate kisses she received on the still not completely healed mark, and hat line Trytan usually traced with his finger on her back, making the tension soon turn into nothing but pleasure.

    That was what she wanted, what she had always, somewhere inside her, wanted. But now she needed to leave that behind, and it was the last thing she wanted to do.

    <hr>

    ¡ª Where were you.

    That was the first thing Darcy addressed to Gwenda as soon as the agent entered the sector. Ans he didn¡¯t hide the eye roll. Raux raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, challenging Gwenda. The boss¡¯s crossed arms were already a normal sight and didn¡¯t affect the Shooter anymore.

    ¡ª Doing my thing.

    ¡ª I told you to stay in the sector at night, to sleep here. ¡ª Darcy didn¡¯t wait a second to retort. ¡ª What were you doing out of here, Matchstone?

    ¡ª It¡¯s none of your business, believe me.

    ¡ª Everything involving you is my business. Especially if you¡¯re outside the base, disobeying my orders.

    ¡ª I was busy. I needed to be there last night. ¡ª To make sure he was okay.

    ¡ª There where, Matchstone.

    The two locked eyes. Heads turned in Gwenda¡¯s direction. Some frozen, others tense, and some just watching with indifference. They knew Gwenda was in the wrong here.

    ¡ª Why are you so interested, Raux? ¡ªGwenda asked, narrowing her eyes, doubting her own boss.

    She had to talk to Darcy, get the answers she needed, draw conclusions from there. There were many doubts in Gwenda¡¯s mind about her boss.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t owe you any explanations, agent. Put yourself in your place and never sleep outside until further notice. ¡ª Then she turned her back.

    Gwenda felt like she could finally breathe, lighter. As if only Darcy¡¯s gaze could make her tremble and freeze in place.

    She knew Raux would come with more questions later. The subject wasn¡¯t closed. But by then, Gwenda would already have her answers.

    Gwenda blinked and the agents went back to what they were doing. The conversation picked up, and she just stood there in the middle of the room.

    Today was the last day she met with Trytan. She still couldn¡¯t believe her own decision.

    The Shooter took a deep breath and grabbed an apple from the basket on her desk that she used before Darcy confined her downstairs. Normally, this basket appears every Monday, and since her desk is almost in the middle of the area, they position it there for anyone who wants to grab some.

    She descended the stairs to the lower floor and headed towards a door. She prayed she hadn¡¯t lost the key and thanked when she felt it in her pants pocket. Gwenda opened the door with a click and stepped inside.

    The elf was sprawled on the floor, hunched over. He didn¡¯t even lift his head to look at her.

    ¡ª Are you okay? ¡ª Gwenda dared to ask, her forehead creased.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª He replied, dryly.

    The Shooter raised a corner of her lip.

    ¡ªYou didn¡¯t bring me food last night, how can I be okay? ¡ª He didn¡¯t seem to be joking. It was more of a warning for Gwenda to be more careful about it.

    ¡ª Right.

    The North elf stood up with a jerk and opened his mouth to speak. But Gwenda stopped him by throwing the apple between the bars. He caught it with both hands and his eyes gleamed before biting into it without waiting for Gwenda¡¯s consent. Not that he should wait for such a thing.

    ¡ª Is there no typical food from the capital that I should try?

    ¡ª When you can see the books from the public library, I¡¯ll bring you something like that. Until then, be content to answer my questions. With truthful answers.

    Gwenda paused at the door. The elf took another bite of the apple, the sound of his teeth cutting into a piece was the only thing between the two.

    She gave up waiting to see if he had understood and left, closing and locking the door.

    Maybe Gwenda should reconsider taking an elf to the public library. Or it was a good disguise, with dark lenses o disguise the light eyes and not attract attention. Or she could bring the books here. She would have to ask what exactly he would like to read, or maybe he was like Gwenda: never knowing what he wanted to read and understand until he saw the title of the books himself. But the Shooter didn¡¯t have time for that anymore. The studies where over and she was more than good, especially because she had competitions in the arena. These two jobs took all her time, all the time she once had.

    And by studies, Gwenda means her own, what she seeks to understand on her own. What she needs to understand to unravel the mysteries that have been around for too long.

    Apart from these personal problems with Rubben that now threatened to take all her concentration away from these things. If Darcy were alone with Gwenda when she arrived a few minutes ago, she would have to conduct her years of training so that she would obey when the boss advanced. The outcome wouldn¡¯t be very pleasing; Or maybe they wouldn¡¯t even get to the end to know.

    Her head throbbed as she walked down the hallway. First day of work in the week... a beautiful day of hatred, it always was that.

    Gwenda could almost believe that Vannyer had found some answers, but at the moment, she wasn''t willing to entertain that notion. She just wanted to make some progress today with all this mess they called a case.

    She would summon Darcy today to discuss everything. But Gwenda would wait to see if Raux didn''t already plan to meet with her to demand the explanations she had every right to demand. After all, Gwenda legally belonged to her; she shouldn''t have disobeyed. But she didn''t blame herself; it had been worth it.

    Gwenda relaxed as she remembered Trytan, at least physically. She couldn''t say whether he would be okay in any other way from now on. Or the next time he wanted to call Gwenda.

    One thing she hoped for but was ridiculous to expect was that Trytan would send a letter or try to meet her, something like that. If he didn''t, Gwenda would be puzzled, and fear would gnaw at her.

    If Trytan didn''t send anything, if he didn''t look for Gwenda. The Gunner might as well go mad and go after him to see if he was still alive, even if it was in secret, without him knowing she had been there. Gwenda could stay in the shadows in complete silence. As she was trained by the same man who fed her.

    Rubben was one step away from destroying Gwenda''s life, destroying everything. And she could repay the favor with just one thought and the obedience of her body...

    ¡ª It looks like a ferret attacked you.

    Gwenda lifted her head and met Vannyer''s brown eyes.

    It was hard to resist the urge to run her hand through her hair to smooth down the strands that were sticking up.

    ¡ª Mind your own food, Vannyer, ¡ª she replied and went straight to yesterday''s shopping bag.

    ¡ª I am minding. And, particularly, yours too, since I bought food for two weeks. For both of us, ¡ª he tossed a sealed package of instant noodles to Gwenda, and she just blinked. ¡ª You''re welcome.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes and went straight to the pot shelf. She poured the food and added water. Then she positioned it on the wood stove and left it there before going to her corner.

    It was already noon; she had spent the morning at Trytan''s house, just idling. Just enjoying the last few hours with him.

    Raux had every right to call Gwenda''s attention.

    ¡ª What did you do this morning? ¡ª Gwenda asked, observing the papers scattered on the table.

    ¡ª I did some research on past files, ¡ª he shook his head. ¡ª Besides a terrible incident with a team of mystics and humans trying to invade Carsany... nothing of much value.

    Ah. Ah.

    The incident with the Black Dynasty squad ¡ª as they called themselves. Humans and mystics were in this together. The leader was smart, observant, knew how to stay one step ahead.

    Of course, they managed to invade Carsany. They recruited humans who wanted to destroy the wall and live freely. They all wanted to live among everyone, as a single community.

    They claimed never to have killed anyone, but some wall soldiers were killed by arrows directly in the neck. The lies and murders were one of the reasons that got them arrested.

    It took six months to finally apprehend them. They were rebels, they deserved death.

    But their leader was too precious to be killed. They had hidden in the shadows and recruited many beings in this idiotic dream of overthrowing the kingdom''s division. Even knowing that perhaps they wouldn''t be able to, they accepted with hope... which later turned into a big insignificant mess.

    There was nothing more after that.

    The leader was a mystic, the only one who remained alive and imprisoned. But the only one who managed to escape from one of Alphardj''s isolated prisons.

    ¡ª What did you do with the file? ¡ª Gwenda got up from the thin mattress. ¡ª Is it here?

    Ryxer pointed to the table, a clipboard with some sheets already turned over.

    Gwenda read the report again. No, she just skimmed over it, didn''t have time for it now, she was hungry.

    She looked at the sheets below, searching for the leader''s name, the name of the bastard who almost made Sector 3 lose its usefulness because she never found him.

    Arth Cheack, the leader of the rebel squad. The last rebellion, until these days.

    Arth Cheack - Fey leader of a rebellion against the Wall of Carsany

    One century and eight decades old

    No relatives involved ¨C deceased.

    Lives with his younger sister of one century, two decades, and one year in Pandemous, Telomeron

    18 soldier deaths by primary order

    Inactive underground base

    Second-degree burn scars on hands and arms

    Antagonist number > 90.90.900.04-8

    Directed to prison > Northwest Delgado

    Equipped name > Firearm - K23/Black Crow; Min-Hatan27; Plactax-60. Magic.

    Target > No permanent damage

    Target 2* > -----

    Objective > Destroy the wall.

    Use of advanced technology > No

    Gwenda blinked and bit her tongue.

    After that outburst, the rebels quieted down, realizing that they might not be capable of reaching the height of their leader.

    The last thing written on that document was that Arth Cheack escaped from prison. It was circled, indicating it was something very important. It definitely was.

    He had escaped last year. Six months being hunted, and then six months in prison. A smart move, Gwenda would say. Chances of him returning to finish the job... almost none. He could have used that almost a year of freedom to gather a more powerful team. But in the meantime, Carsany was already preparing for the next rebellion. Whether Arth Cheack was the leader or not.

    Primary order meant that the order of assassination came directly from him, the leader. The base they had, which was discovered, was inactive. They forbade anyone from passing through, even the king if they could, although everyone knew it didn''t work that way, even if they were just trying to preserve his safety by prohibiting it.

    Everyone in the agency knew that Arth Cheack burned his hands and arms while trying to save a member of his rebellion. A human girl who got trapped between wooden pillars in a place that was set on fire because they discovered her secret.

    The leader pulled her out. Or rather, he pulled her body out. She was already dead as soon as she stepped out of that place. Then he made sure the wounds remained as scars, as if to remind himself of that day, of what he had lost. To remind himself of his failure. As if the human girl was important to him. Gwenda found it impossible to believe they had any kind of relationship, but she had her doubts.

    ¡ª I never found out who captured him. The squad defended him so well it made Raux jealous. ¡ª Ryxer said as he removed the instant noodle pot from Gwenda and placed it elsewhere to prevent it from burning. ¡ª I think the agent who made the report must have left or something. Raux told me to stay out of it.

    Gwenda barely heard what her colleague said as she looked at the name of the rebellion''s leader. A drumbeat after another in her head, painless but irritating.

    ¡ª Vannyer. ¡ª She felt him turn to her ¡ª Where are the old wall files? ¡ª She asked.

    ¡ª I put some back on shelf T4-3. Others are here, just look for them.

    Gwenda let the clipboard fall on the table and went in search of other scattered cases in the area.

    She remembered them all. Even though she barely got any involving the wall, she knew all the details. She spent a long time just rummaging through these files so that if she ever needed to, she would be aware of every act already done. Except for those from other sectors that most of the time became rivals for a mere second when, basically, they stole a case. Whether they arrived first or not, Gwenda already knew more than anyone about what happened, so she felt humiliated when she didn''t get the damn case, especially when it didn''t go to her sector.

    ¡ª The coordinates of one of their attacks show a curve in the East. It was defective, but it''s still the wall we know. ¡ª He said.

    Gwenda almost made a face at the way he referred to it. As if the wall was something very important to him. Indeed, it was, but Ryxer made it seem like it was a source of life. Disdain for the mystics was evident in that sentence, so well expressed that it almost made her want to soil him with the nausea she felt.

    ¡ª The underground attacks were the ones that caused the most damage, Vannyer. Forget about those that barely opened a hole.

    ¡ª Under...? What do you mean?

    Gwenda went to hand him the clipboard when she felt him coming towards her, but Ryxer almost snatched it from her hand and hastily scanned through it, looking for information.

    The Shooter went to the wood-burning stove and put the pot back. Then she grabbed a plate and a ladle full of holes and served herself, letting the waterfall.

    ¡ª It doesn''t mention anything about underground attacks.

    ¡ª You don''t need it written to know what happened.

    ¡ª For you.

    ¡ª I sought out the answers, could have done the same.

    ¡ª The difference is you always know everything. Even if the case isn''t yours.

    ¡ª I take advantage of opportunities to find out.

    ¡ª Tell me how. ¡ª An order.

    No. A request.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª She responded immediately.

    Vannyer let out a muffled laugh.

    Gwenda picked up the cutlery and headed to a side of the table that was almost empty due to the amount of clipboards and papers scattered around.

    Ryxer continued rummaging through the files, and Gwenda pulled the one about the rebellion closer. She wanted to see who else was involved. She wanted to see the name of the one considered Arth Cheack''s right-hand man.

    It wasn''t very relevant, as Gwenda couldn''t remember.

    The satyr and Arth Cheack seemed to be the guiltiest. But who was in first? Perhaps Arth...

    Someone knocked on the door, and Gwenda automatically turned with an angry frown. The face of a bearded man appeared. She struggled not to grimace when she recognized him.

    ¡ª What I got from the fairies. ¡ª He extended a paper to Gwenda, who practically snatched it from the man who stole her place in the interrogation.

    He shouldn''t, but she blamed him.

    ¡ª Don''t expect much. ¡ª He continued ¡ª They¡¯re difficult.

    ¡ª I imagine you don''t plan on giving up. ¡ª she retorted.

    The scar that cut through his eyebrow wrinkled as he mocked Gwenda with a smirk.

    ¡ª No, agent. If you have any complaints, I suggest you talk to the boss. But I doubt he''ll listen to you.

    With boss, he referred to the general.

    ¡ª Why don''t you go back to the trash you came from. ¡ª Gwenda positioned herself to get up from the chair when Vannyer rushed to say:

    ¡ª Matchstone is just irritated. She hasn''t eaten yet.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes. To her surprise, the new interrogator just laughed.

    ¡ª Then you should help her eat before you end up being the meal.

    The Shooter ignited with anger.

    The bearded man left without saying goodbye, and doubts swirled in Gwenda''s head. How the hell did he extract information from the fairies? She didn''t even know if it was really important, but still. The whole sheet was filled.

    When she turned back with the intention of eating, she noticed a muscle in Ryxer''s jaw tense up. He kept his eyes on the table, as if avoiding looking into hers.

    ¡ª What''s wrong?

    ¡ª Everyone thinks you''re an animal, practically. As if no one can contain you.

    ¡ª And that... bothers you?

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª he looked up at her, and Gwenda arched an eyebrow. ¡ª It bothers me a lot to know that, in a society like ours, women like you are outside femininity. It''s really a shame, considering you''re an excellent and beautiful woman. ¡ª Ryxer smiled.

    Gwenda looked at him expressionlessly.

    ¡ª You''ll pray for me to save you someday, and I''ll turn my back because you don''t deserve my pity. I''ll make you eat dirt until you vomit your guts out.

    Vannyer opened a predatory smile.

    ¡ª That won''t be a problem, Matchstone. I spent my childhood eating dirt. ¡ª he added.

    She closed her eyes and shook her head before continuing to eat.

    ¡ª What did you manage to get from the elf? ¡ª Ryxer asked, now with the pathetic detective mask on again as he rummaged through the papers.

    Nothing.

    ¡ª That he''s not the culprit. ¡ª Gwenda replied.

    Ryxer turned abruptly to her.

    ¡ª Matchstone, you only went there once to ask questions.

    ¡ª And? ¡ª she put more noodles in her mouth. ¡ª If you want him to be the culprit or whatever, go get answers from him yourself. See it with your own eyes.

    ¡ª I was planning on doing that next week.

    Gwenda glanced at him sideways.

    ¡ª Why? Are you too busy this week?

    He opened a mocking smile.

    ¡ª Let''s just say your pale friend sees me as a threat.

    Gwenda stifled a laugh knowing she was to blame for that.

    ¡ª Don''t expect me to solve this problem for you.

    ¡ª It''s better this way. ¡ª he replied and went to the snack shelf.

    Gwenda focused back on the rebellion case files.

    Looking at all this was such a psychological cost for her that she almost gave up as soon as she set her eyes on that phrase, on that specific word.

    Victims.

    You were a victim.

    Gwenda sighed.

    It''s raining, Gwen.

    It''s raining.

    Get up, Gwenda.

    There was only her name there. Just an M on the victims'' line, enough for Darcy to know who it was about.

    Because only she had been captured and imprisoned underground for five months without seeing the sunlight or the moonlight. Only her name was written in Darcy''s handwriting.

    Gwenda hadn''t even bothered to do that, so Raux saw an opportunity and put the initial of her last name there.

    So no one would know, and at the same time, for the boss to be aware.

    She knew about the underground attacks because she witnessed them, because she was there on the days when the explosions of pure magic took over everything. Ears bleeding, heart racing, and all she could think was death, death. Death for her. She wanted out.

    That rebellion left Gwenda suspicious of herself. She didn''t even trust herself.

    When the sectors finally managed to find them and put an end to it, Gwenda was in the midst of the civil war, and she carried with her a moribund scar for each one.

    She didn''t need to tell Darcy to keep quiet about the fact that Gwenda was a very valuable victim, almost killed by Arth Cheack. Harassed and tortured with words, with just damn words. Her psyche entered into a conflict that is being experienced only by Gwenda until today. The leader of the rebellion always looked at her with indifference, but he kept staring, paralyzed. As if he could extract some information just by staring at her.

    Gwenda shuddered and decided to set aside that clipboard for a while. At least until she could eat, as the appetite had left her body even before the bearded interrogator appeared.

    Those were the worst months of last year. Not just because of all the shit that happened down there, but because Rubben was involved in a huge madness of finding Gwenda. Even if she wasn''t his anymore.

    A lot happened in these three years since she returned to the Capital. Much more than she would like to remember.

    ¡ª I''m not hungry. ¡ª she said and dragged the chair back with a deafening sound. ¡ª Do you want it? Or have you eaten already?

    Vannyer looked at her almost untouched plate and blinked before diverting his eyes back to her.

    ¡ª I''ve already eaten.

    Then she got up with a sigh and took the plate. She wouldn''t throw it away, but she wouldn''t leave it there for the cockroaches either.

    She went straight to the exit and walked down the long, stuffy corridor with trembling hands.

    <hr>

    ¡ª I know that Northern elves are healthy. ¡ª She pushed the plate towards the mystic sitting on the mattress ¡ª But this is the only thing at the moment that can keep you strong for the rest of the day.

    He grunted as he picked up the plate and observed the food, turning it so much that Gwenda thought it would fall to the ground. She wouldn''t mind going in there and strangling him if he wasted it like that.

    ¡ª I imagine this slop isn''t a typical dish.

    ¡ª This slop is delicious. Just try it. ¡ª she retorted.

    The Northern Elf seemed to roll his eyes.

    ¡ª It''s either this or you go hungry.

    ¡ª How fun, I just wanted something edible instead. Are you sure this isn''t poison? It looks like the gruel they give in prisons.

    ¡ª Prison gruel doesn''t have this color. They''re white and slimy. ¡ª she said, narrowing her eyes. ¡ª What prison have you been to?

    ¡ª Port of Vale Junipter, and you?

    The Elf didn''t seem to think when he asked that, as Gwenda was the one who sent beings like him to those prisons.

    However, Gwenda took a deep breath and replied:

    ¡ª Guanvalee Campus.

    The mystic slowly turned to her.

    ¡ª Why?

    ¡ª I''m the one asking the questions here.

    ¡ª It doesn''t matter. What were you doing in an elven prison?

    The elf pushed the plate aside and leaned forward, paying attention.

    Gwenda just lifted the corners of her lips and tilted her head.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡ª I was strolling around. It was an unjust cause.

    ¡ª We are the fairest beings in Alphardj. ¡ª he replied ¡ª What were you doing there?

    ¡ª Strolling. ¡ª Gwenda almost growled.

    ¡ª What did you do to get arrested?

    Gwenda opened her mouth, but then gave up. She asks the questions, the elf answers. This doesn''t need to be remembered, let alone discussed with a mystic of the same species who imprisoned her.

    ¡ª I remembered I need to do something. See you later. ¡ª and she got up, heading towards the door.

    ¡ª You need to tell me what you were doing in Banesy. Or better yet, how you got there. How the hell did you get out of Carsany. And how did you even climb the cliff of Banesy?

    He wanted to know so he could do the same, so he could know how to do such a thing and come out unscathed. But the truth is that Gwenda wasn''t sure how she did that. She always claimed it was luck.

    ¡ª Hey, are you really going back?

    She heard a noise and then a curse behind her, and then turned around.

    The elf ran his hand through his hair as he looked at the food spilled on the floor. He had gotten up quickly with the intention of reaching the bars. She couldn''t contain the anger that possessed her body. But she managed to hold back the millions of curses that threatened to fly out of her mouth.

    ¡ª Idiot. ¡ª Gwenda muttered and then left the compartment, slamming the door hard.

    She''d go without food, simple. The elf would go without food tonight and maybe only eat the next day, at night. Maybe she should teach him to eat what''s given, but Gwenda thought he already knew he should enjoy the food since he was so thin. Apparently, he''s as arrogant as she imagined. And idiotic.

    Northern elves eat more fruits than they could count. They never eat anything that doesn''t come from the earth, where they can plant and know it''s natural. Meat is something that only a few eat, even if it''s from animals they themselves raise.

    Today was one disaster after another.

    She stomped up the stairs. She knew she wouldn''t be able to avoid a body, so she put her hand on his waist and pushed as she turned. The person muttered something that Gwenda didn''t care about.

    Darcy turned to the Shooter, stopping talking to some other agent.

    ¡ª I need to talk to you.

    The boss stared at her, as if this idea was stupid. Summoning Raux for a conversation that might not even be important to her. But for Gwenda it could change something in this endless search.

    She turned to the agent and nodded. He stepped away.

    ¡ª What do you want?

    ¡ª Answers.

    Darcy didn''t wait long to respond, although she swept the agent''s face with her eyes.

    ¡ª You''re in search of them, aren''t you?

    ¡ª That''s why I came to talk to you. ¡ª she retorted, but then continued before her boss told her to get lost thinking that somehow, she could be accused.

    ¡ª Why did you put Vannyer as my colleague for this case. Specifically for this case. ¡ª She spoke softly, as if it were something confidential. Well, maybe it was. Maybe what Darcy was about to say now was confidential.

    Gwenda held back the anxiety that formed from the hope that arose in her.

    ¡ª Because the two of you needed to work together.

    ¡ª Ryxer Vannyer just said that I''m a wild animal. ¡ª practically ¡ª And you told him to protect me. Why. ¡ª Gwenda didn''t know if she was demanding or asking.

    Raux spoke in the same tone as the agent.

    ¡ª Because you''re Gwenda Matchstone, daughter of Yago Matchstone. ¡ª The mention of her father''s name made her swallow hard ¡ª If anyone dares to touch you, Ryxer can protect you, at least to some extent.

    Anger hit her. She knew her father had become an outlaw, just as he had once been someone to admire.

    ¡ª To some extent could be death. ¡ª Darcy didn''t soften her gaze. She knew that. ¡ª Vannyer''s father worked with mine. And you know. Otherwise, I wouldn''t be working with Ryxer.

    ¡ª They not only worked together, Matchstone. They were friends.

    ¡ª But they worked for the same cause. I know my father and know what he fought for.

    ¡ª I''m not your enemy right now, Gwen.

    ¡ª I know you''re not. ¡ª She replied immediately. As if to rid herself of the fear that reverberated through her body. The fear of Darcy returning Gwenda with a simple snap of her fingers.

    ¡ª Listen. ¡ª The boss started and moved closer, challenging Gwenda ¡ª I put Vannyer and you on this case because I needed my best agents on it. There''s no reason to compare with your parents.

    ¡ª How do you know our parents worked together?

    The truth was that few knew about this, and Gwenda didn''t remember Darcy ever mentioning it.

    ¡ª I knew Yago Matchstone.

    ¡ª Knew how.

    Darcy refused to open her mouth.

    Although Raux could command Gwenda, making her feel small, there were moments when the Shooter herself was intimidating.

    But then the boss''s eyes turned dark.

    ¡ª Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder ¡ª Gwenda noticed heads turning towards her and felt the color draining from her face ¡ª You will follow my orders before I take you off the case. Agent Vannyer is by your side to assist you, and you will accept it without complaints. If you ever doubted your own boss, I believe you''re dumber than when you were with Rubben.

    Gwenda took a step back. It was a threat. Why return with Rubben if she didn''t like where Darcy put her, in this case alongside Vannyer.

    ¡ª I don''t want distractions, stay focused on your tasks. I don''t want a relaxed agent. So, put yourself in your place. I won''t hesitate to kick you out of here if you prove to be a woman who can''t follow orders.

    Gwenda blinked. She was anything but relaxed, and Raux was one of the first to be aware of it.

    ¡ª Be content in your place, Matchstone. You and Vannyer working together have nothing to do with your parents. Don''t mess with the past and focus on the present. ¡ª Raux seemed to think for a moment ¡ª It won''t be long, Gwen.

    Gwenda froze at her boss''s tone of voice. She knew. She had snooped around Darcy''s papers. It wasn''t long before the debt had been repaid.

    Raux was saving up some amounts she received, and it was only a matter of time before it matched what she spent on Gwenda. The Shooter didn''t doubt that the boss was taking money from her salary, as if Gwenda were paying her.

    ¡ª Please. ¡ª Gwenda pleaded without thinking.

    Raux shook her head.

    ¡ª Do your job with Vannyer, Matchstone. ¡ª the boss spoke with a understanding that almost made Gwenda fall to her knees. Then Darcy turned away from her, leaving a pale Gwenda in the middle of the sector.

    Of course, Gwenda used her money when Darcy couldn''t use her own for some things. She was always helping Raux, but never gave the money for her debt. But the boss took it, she knew that.

    ¡ª Darcy. ¡ª Gwenda called out and turned to her, her hair falling in front of her face with the movement. Raux turned with her forehead slightly furrowed, returning to normal ¡ª How much do you want?

    The boss blinked.

    ¡ª If you''re thinking...

    ¡ª How much do you want. A million fractions?

    The people around tensed up. Just like Darcy, who looked her up and down.

    ¡ª You don''t have all that money.

    ¡ª I can get it.

    ¡ª No, you can''t.

    ¡ª Darcy, I have to get it.

    ¡ª You won''t get it. ¡ª Raux swallowed hard ¡ª And I won''t accept it.

    Gwenda lost it all. And the ground seemed to leave her feet when her knees weakened and everything spun.

    Why? Why wouldn''t Darcy accept it?

    ¡ª Why? ¡ª She whispered. A plea.

    ¡ª I don''t want you tied to me.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth.

    ¡ª But you want me tied to someone, apparently. Tied to Rubben.

    ¡ª Enough. ¡ª Darcy growled.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª She growled back ¡ª I begged you to take me away from him! I begged you to keep me away from that guy.

    ¡ª That''s exactly what I did, Matchstone. Until the debt is paid off, that''s what I''ll do.

    ¡ª I wonder how different you two are.

    Anger was evident on Darcy''s face.

    ¡ª What do you mean?

    ¡ª You''ll hand me over to him in the end. Raux, I have no power against him outside of your hands. Know, Raux, that with me by his side, Sector 3 will be brought down.

    ¡ª I wish I had your self-esteem. ¡ª Someone commented, and Gwenda didn''t think before grabbing the gun and aiming.

    The Shooter heard Darcy shout a no, but Gwenda felt a greater impulse and pulled the damn trigger.

    Everyone looked towards where the bullet had lodged, including Gwenda. She turned to the side and observed the damage she had done to a turned-off lantern hanging on the wall, next to a head.

    Another test of her blind aim.

    The Shooter lowered her arm with its weight, unable to bear the scared face of the agent.

    The barrel of a gun touched her head, and she closed her eyes.

    ¡ª Give me your gun. ¡ª Raux ordered.

    Gwenda obeyed, brushing her fingers against her boss''s.

    ¡ª You''ll go until the end of the month and the first of next year without the gun. And because of this, you''ll be working here inside, not in the field.

    Office work. How great.

    Gwenda opened her eyes and was met with a beautiful face, blue eyes, and the red of the hair shining.

    ¡ª Darcy Jovani Raux! ¡ª The judge shouted.

    Raux twisted her own wrist and freed herself from the handcuffs. The first blow was the elbow in the face of a guard holding her, and the punch on the other made her wrist return to normal with a snap.

    Darcy let out a cruel laugh...

    Gwenda blinked.

    ¡ª Understood?

    The boss was in front of her, not in a courtroom, not being held by guards and dirty from head to toe with blood and mud in a suit so similar to the present one.

    ¡ª Yes.

    Raux took the gun from her head and holstered it.

    She didn''t respond when the redhead turned around and went to her desk.

    Gwenda''s breathing became heavier.

    The Shooter ran for the stairs, avoiding looking back, avoiding looking at the sun, at the clear path, at... the life she was leaving behind at the moment. Even if it wasn''t going to last.

    <hr>

    She could have hit if she wanted to. She could have killed the agent who mocked her. She knew his face, knew his features. She could hunt him down until only ashes remained.

    It was a mockery as if he already knew her, just like everyone else did.

    Yes, Sector 3 will be brought down if Rubben lays hands on Gwenda again. Once the debt is paid off, he won''t hesitate to go after Raux. Taking her sector to protect Gwenda''s contract with him. And maybe Rubben will boast too much and do more than just destroy Raux with his teeth. There will come a time when he will be a general commanding all sectors, and Gwenda didn''t doubt that possibility.

    Gwenda shuddered, not even wanting to think about it.

    Darcy may not want to return Gwenda, and so she won''t. But after everything passes, when the debt is no longer an obstacle for Rubben. Nothing can stop him from getting what he wants. Accepting the money Gwenda offers him is also not an option for him.

    Vannyer seemed anxious when Gwenda arrived and she just looked at him through her lashes. He didn''t take long to ask:

    ¡ª What happened?

    Nothing. Wasn¡¯t there, so screw it.

    ¡ª A loss of control.

    ¡ª Whose?

    Gwenda restrained herself from rolling her eyes.

    ¡ª From the person you think is a beast without control.

    He tilted his head.

    ¡ª I never said that.

    ¡ª But you think it.

    Ryxer grunted and opened his mouth, but Gwenda interrupted him with an open hand, telling him to shut up.

    ¡ª I don''t care what you think of me, that''s not the point. I''m in a battlefield with myself, let me fight in silence, Vannyer. Let me be who I''m becoming.

    Ryxer didn''t say anything else and just narrowed his eyes.

    The Shooter headed to her mattress. Gods, she needed a nice shower. She wanted to be at her house, but unfortunately, this dirty bathroom between the tiles was all she had. Maybe if she negotiated with Darcy about personal hygiene, she could go home and then come back in less than an hour.

    Gwenda crouched down and began to search for suitable clothes for today.

    ¡ª You didn''t even eat properly. ¡ª Vannyer commented ¡ª I suggest you eat to hold on until tonight.

    ¡ª I''m fine.

    ¡ª You must be irritated because you''re hungry.

    ¡ª I''m not hungry, Vannyer.

    And she really wasn''t. Her stomach felt like it was burning, something devouring her from the inside out. She almost always felt this when she ate. She wondered if it was because she ate too fast, or because she ate too much. But then she decreased both and still continued. It was a pain that didn''t let her relax, didn''t let her feel like herself for a while. It wasn''t as bad as the pain when she bled every month as if it were a curse, but it lasted long enough to become unbearable and want to claw at her own skin to make it stop.

    She took a deep breath and stood up with a grimace of anger and pain. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her coworker''s gaze on her hip, where the gun was less than ten minutes ago. She was already missing that extra weight that always comforted her.

    She would spend her day today searching. And the whole week. And then one more. And then the end of the month. And then New Year''s Eve. And then... her birthday.

    No. On the contrary. Her birthday and then New Year''s Eve.

    The last day of the year, when she turned another year older, and the next day was already a new beginning.

    She didn''t celebrate her birthday. At least not since her father passed away. Gwenda didn''t celebrate anything, just went to the lake and threw a Vulvra Flower, the only flower that dies slowly when touching lava, born from the cracks in the volcanoes and mysteriously in the flowerbed at the back of her house.

    Her father taught her about the flower, how it was used to heal serious wounds, taught her how to prepare a tea with it. He taught everything.

    And he taught how to plant so it would grow in the soil. But she had never dared to do such a thing.

    Gwenda quickly undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor and stepping into the shower. She turned on the water forcefully. The first drops were the most shocking. Gwenda gasped with the cold, but continued underneath, welcoming it with open arms and letting the cold remove her bad feelings.

    She swallowed hard and waited until the water warmed up.

    For a long three minutes, nothing happened, so she decided to shower anyway. She quickly soaped up and washed her hair.

    The pain didn''t subside for even a moment, but the tension caused by the cold water seemed to distract her from the burning sensation in her stomach.

    She only became aware of the madness inside her when she couldn''t hold the food down anymore. She rushed out of the shower with it still running and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet.

    <hr>

    For god. Vannyer was almost giving up on continuing with the research when he heard Gwenda for the fifth time in the same two minutes.

    Focusing with his colleague seeming to be slowly dying was disturbing and completely impossible.

    He couldn''t tell if she was vomiting in the shower or in the toilet since the shower was on. Gwenda vomited again, and Ryxer closed his eyes, his right leg swinging restlessly. He didn''t know whether to call Darcy or handle it himself. Perhaps it wasn''t very smart to call the boss after Gwenda lost her gun, from what he had noticed. And the only person who could take the gun from someone was Darcy.

    It wasn''t on her hip, and the first question he asked himself was: how would Gwenda participate in the arena competitions? They used the arena''s weapons, which were allowed by the king, but Gwenda always used her own.

    Ryxer remembered when the Shooter was accused of stealing because she refused to switch weapons. She showed immediately who they were doubting, who she was. Just as Vannyer realized, the people realized. She wasn''t called the Shooter for a trivial reason.

    And now she was there. Behind the bathroom door, vomiting her guts out for some reason. She hadn''t even eaten half of the ramen Ryxer bought. At the moment, he felt insulted and guilty. He bought it for her hoping she would like it. Everybody liked that, for heaven''s sake...

    But now it seemed like Gwenda had drunk until she dropped dead, until she couldn''t think anymore.

    The woman inside the bathroom vomited again, and Vannyer cursed before getting up from the chair with a scrape. To show that he was going, that he was close to entering there and helping her.

    He stopped inches away and thought carefully before asking:

    ¡ª Are you okay?

    Idiot. Of course, she wasn''t okay.

    He shook his head.

    ¡ª I''m coming in. ¡ª He said and put his hand on the doorknob.

    Gwenda seemed to mutter a no, but another wave of nausea prevented her from pronouncing the entire word.

    ¡ª My god, Gwenda. ¡ª Her name came out as a plea from his lips. But he tried to ignore this small detail when he opened the door and set his eyes on her bare back.

    The scar that followed every breath of the Shooter was there, vivid.

    Ryxer''s chin dropped. He swallowed hard. Blinking. What the hell. He didn''t know exactly what he should do.

    Vannyer cursed quietly and approached her with a step before shivering at Gwenda''s hoarse voice.

    ¡ª Get out. ¡ª An order a plea an order a plea.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª He replied, pushing the door closed with his foot and crouching down beside her. A short and quick response, so he wouldn''t be stubborn enough to deny the help he was offering.

    But what could he do besides staying by her side and holding her wet hair and the dirty strands from the front that were bothering her.

    Ryxer Vannyer made an effort not to pass his eyes over what was exposed of the Shooter, even though an incandescent blush took over his face.

    With gentleness, Vannyer pulled her hair back as Gwenda vomited once again, without caring about getting dirty, without caring about the consequences that would come later. When he removed the last strand, Gwenda grabbed the edge of the toilet with her hands as she emptied the contents out once more, and then seemed to want to claw the porcelain with her nails. Something twisted inside Ryxer, and he held her hand, letting her squeeze it to hold back whatever was threatening to spill out of Gwenda. He didn''t want to see her break her already broken nails like this, didn''t want to see her suffering in silence.

    His colleague didn''t refuse his hand, and Ryxer focused on her white-knuckled grip. Vannyer gritted his teeth and squeezed back to show... what? That he was there with her? That he wanted to help her? Would Gwenda even care about that?

    He looked away and realized that Gwenda had closed her eyes and held her breath, perhaps trying to help herself control the war inside her that flew out with every despicable passing second over the toilet. Her knees seemed shaky, barely able to support her. And when she sat down slowly, with trembling hands and trembling, Ryxer didn''t mind continuing to hold her hand, even though Gwenda had already let go.

    He stretched and closed the lid before flushing. Gwenda just rested her head and stayed. Facing the opposite side, toward the shower, Vannyer had a full view of her torn back with a single scar that ran through its entire length. All the backs that he had imagined had once been completely smooth and soft to the point of driving anyone crazy. He gritted his teeth.

    Just by looking at Gwenda''s neck, he could see that natural glow, and he refrained from touching, from tasting her skin at this exact moment.

    Vannyer shook his head and turned his attention to the shower with the water still on. Perhaps he should turn it off, or leave it like that so no one curious shows up here uninvited.

    He swallowed hard.

    ¡ª How are you?

    Gwenda shuddered, as if remembering that he was there by her side, still holding her hair and hand, accepting the strength she was spending to stay strong. Because Ryxer could very well see the weakness she was feeling now.

    The Shooter didn''t reply, and just shrank back.

    He didn''t look at her one last time. He didn''t swallow hard to see a woman feared by many lying face down with the toilet for support. He didn''t even try to find out why she was like this.

    Raux was his best hope. And with that, he didn''t know if it was Gwenda''s hope or his at the moment. Perhaps both.

    <hr>

    The two ignored each other for the rest of the day. Just the way she wanted it.

    Facing Vannyer had been harder than she had imagined. The scorching gaze, filled with pity and contempt, seemed to be glued to her even when he was distracted with the matters they needed to conclude.

    Gwenda sat on the mattress until her legs ached while she searched for information. She had already gathered many things and needed to act. But without her gun, it would be difficult to even step outside the sector, so she was confined there completely for two months. That was the part that made her irritated and unable to get up for anything. But hunger was the only thing that made her stand up, even though she was trembling from not having eaten properly all day.

    Vannyer couldn''t bring himself to look at her, apparently. Not even when she approached and attempted a single eye contact. But she had to admit that she felt that urge to tear his cute face apart, yet she subdued that bloodthirsty darkness inside her and locked it away in a box.

    Gwenda ate something and went to visit the Northern Elf. She couldn''t help but give a slight smile when she saw the food that had been previously spilled on the floor, now probably inside the elf or in the bathroom trash.

    She wiped the smile away as she remembered that she had told herself he would go without food because of the mess he made. But she decided to have a kind heart at least today, since she had left someone disturbed and didn''t want to do the same with another.

    So, she brought washed lettuce, carrots, an apple, and a piece of bread to the elf. He lifted the corner of his mouth in gratitude and attacked the food with his teeth and slightly pointed canines, a bit smaller than those of the fey.

    She sat on the floor, ignoring the high bench right beside her.

    ¡ª I believe you must be happier now. ¡ª Gwenda commented.

    The elf simply nodded twice while biting into the apple, then spoke with his mouth full:

    ¡ª I must admit that your slop was actually good. But still, I prefer this.

    Yes, Gwenda knew.

    The Northern Elf furrowed his brow and glanced at her sideways. The crunching sound as he bit into the apple calmed Gwenda''s pounding heart, and she couldn''t say why.

    ¡ª Who did this to you? ¡ª he asked, and when Gwenda looked puzzled, he explained: ¡ª You look destroyed, tired. Did that man beat you up?

    If it weren''t for the slight amusement in his eyes, Gwenda would have burst out laughing. But maybe not even then, since her body begged her to stay quiet, not to reveal anything.

    ¡ª Gods. ¡ª she murmured. ¡ª Of course not.

    The mystic shrugged.

    ¡ª Just my assumptions. ¡ª and he stuffed a lettuce leaf into his mouth.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª He also has a contemptible view of you.

    Once again, a shrug from him.

    ¡ª That was to be expected. And I suppose it''s not different with you.

    She felt a silent and ancient blow hitting her, like a harpoon capturing a fish unaware of the threat.

    Gwenda shook her head. They were talking about Vannyer, the man who held her hair so she could get everything out. Every force went along with the nausea that circulated in her and then rose. It was as if she had been turned upside down and stayed there for hours.

    That thought dispelled any alert sense that affirmed itself every intact second. She rested her head against the wall.

    ¡ª I am the least of your worries.

    ¡ª Oh, really? ¡ª he seemed to challenge her with that tone. ¡ª Are there others out there worse than you?

    Worse than you.

    ¡ª You don''t know me. ¡ª she shot back.

    ¡ª Saw enough.

    When she pushed him into the room where Ryxer was. Her coworker''s pale face. When Gwenda removed that bullet from him without even flinching at the blood that filled her fingers. When Gwenda pondered killing him right then and there to end the pain, even though he could be saved...

    She tried to fool herself into thinking she could kill him to spare him from that pain, but she knew it was her instinct screaming at her to eliminate the mystic. It was a fleeting pain; if she took his life, it would be unfair, it would be... she had no words... dishonorable? To whom? To both. But if that were the case, she was no longer an honorable woman. So there wasn''t much reason to fight except if she didn''t even know if she ever was in her life.

    Those were difficult years. Difficult choices.

    ¡ª I came here to ask questions...

    ¡ª You came here to bring me dinner but stayed to ask whatever you have to ask. ¡ª he bit into the apple, and this time Gwenda flinched at the sound.

    ¡ª I suppose that''s enough until the next day''s dinner. ¡ª she said.

    The elf looked at her sideways.

    Her threat to leave him without breakfast and lunch hung in the air between them, and his eyes narrowed.

    ¡ª Do it. Ask your questions. You still owe me a trip to the library and a good restaurant.

    ¡ª Maybe when you''re more friendly.

    The elf opened his mouth to protest, but Gwenda stopped him. It would be harder than she thought. As arrogant and defensive of his own ideas as a royal elf.

    ¡ª The incident at the wall has opened up opportunities for mystics to enter our kingdom. How did you get in, elf. ¡ª Gwenda demanded to know.

    The mystic blinked and licked his pale lips.

    ¡ª I got in the best way I could find.

    ¡ª What are you doing outside of Banesy?

    ¡ª I''ve already said: seeking knowledge.

    ¡ª No. I want to know why you would venture into Carsany just for that. Infiltrating this kingdom is not one of the wisest things to do; you took a step in the wrong direction. ¡ª Gwenda blinked, just to shake off this curiosity that suddenly sprouted in her ¡ª How old are you? ¡ª she asked again.

    She would never really ask a question because she knew that didn''t need to be one. It had to be something solid, something that would extract from the elf everything she wanted to know today. Questions would be left to ask later, when she knew she should.

    ¡ª Ninety-six. ¡ª he answered.

    He gives his age but doesn''t give his name. Fine.

    ¡ª Who are you?

    ¡ª Do you really want to know? ¡ª he raised his eyebrows with amusement ¡ª I thought we agreed that Northern Elf would be just fine. ¡ª the elf seemed to purr at her.

    It wasn''t his name she wanted to know now, and the elf had already understood.

    Gwenda forced herself to maintain an unshaken expression, as if that simple gesture from a mystic didn''t strip away any power she had from her own mind.

    Every vein screamed for her to advance on that smooth, unblemished neck, without a single scar. Her instincts surged against the skin of the Shooter herself. As soon as she blinked, this chaos tensed, contained within some dark place, but outside the gate of her mind. Because if she opened it... if she dared to open that gate she created to keep herself locked and restrained...

    ¡ª Who are you? ¡ª she demanded again.

    The elf scanned every inch of her body, as if he also felt this difference in the air that made her spine so tense it hurt.

    ¡ª I believe that is not of much relevance. ¡ª when Gwenda did nothing but stare at him with a cold and calculating expression, he continued, a little more shaken: ¡ª I am nobody, just a Northern Elf wanting to uncover the history of things that only Carsany knows.

    ¡ª The history of Carsany. ¡ª Gwenda concluded.

    The mystic slowly nodded without taking his eyes off hers.

    ¡ª Why?

    The elf looked away, and Gwenda noticed a hesitation, but she waited patiently like a predator waiting for the right moment to attack and tear apart, if it could capture.

    ¡ª I needed a distraction.

    She allowed a small laugh to escape from within her.

    ¡ª Didn''t have enough distractions in your own realm? I guess the females prefer the muscular and all-powerful fey, don''t they?

    The elf didn''t meet her gaze as she thought he would. He just swallowed hard and stared at the ground right in front of him.

    ¡ª I want the truth. ¡ª a submerged voice of power and authority came from her.

    ¡ª The truth. ¡ª he repeated, savoring the words.

    The elf crossed his legs and placed the plate of food in front of him before turning to face Gwenda. The Shooter crossed her own legs and leaned forward, elbows on her knees and hands keeping each other company in front of her. She furrowed her brow slightly.

    ¡ª As you may know: the books of Carsany have immense power in their words. Even though the minority have been written by one of us, elves, fey, witches, wizards... normally by wizards, they are human but you are so proud as to treat them as aberrations...

    ¡ª Continue. ¡ª again, that authoritative voice.

    The elf grimaced.

    ¡ª If you''re wondering if I came here to get dark secrets from you and take them to someone superior to me... like the king. ¡ª he almost didn''t utter the last word, as if he wanted to avoid it at all costs, as if he felt remorse. Gwenda felt it too for the king himself ¡ª You are mistaken. I am nobody''s lapdog. ¡ª He smiled sarcastically ¡ª No one would be stupid enough to send me straight to Carsany alone and unarmed.

    ¡ª You didn''t have money?

    The elf turned to Gwenda. She knew his pride could affect anything he would say in his defense. She just needed a slip-up.

    ¡ª No, girl. ¡ª his voice came out bitter ¡ª I didn''t.

    Gwenda softened her expression and lifted her chin, holding back the long sigh she wanted to let out.

    ¡ª Why did you come alone?

    ¡ª Didn''t want anyone on my tail.

    ¡ª Why?

    ¡ª Because it would be a pain to put up with the babbling of someone like me.

    ¡ª I figured you two couldn''t stand each other.

    The elf grunted, but Gwenda continued:

    ¡ª Was there any other reason you left your home? ¡ª she wanted to know, something he might want or not want to answer.

    A deeper and more painful desire ran through his energy, Gwenda could see from here the eyelids under the long fringe, falling over his eyes.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª he simply answered with the most self-assured tone possible that seemed to find.

    She narrowed her eyes. She knew she had to leave this only with him, this personal haunting with him. Just as she had never told hers and only piled up more than she could bear.

    Her chest tightened, but soon bitterness took over it.

    ¡ª I came through the sea. ¡ª he blurted out.

    Gwenda lifted her chin and only then realized she had lowered it.

    ¡ª A pirate crew was leaving Banesy after raiding for a month. I took that chance and got on the boat before they saw me.

    Gwenda laughed, despite the knot it created in her stomach.

    ¡ª And they were blind? What a wonderful story. It would scare a child to know that a pirate didn''t see an unknown person step onto his ship. Didn''t feel it.

    ¡ª I threatened the captain and offered everything I could to get myself out of that realm and bring me here safely.

    ¡ª I suppose you made friends.

    The elf rolled his eyes.

    ¡ª You said you didn''t have money. What exactly did you offer him and his crew thirsty for death? ¡ª Gwenda''s tone came out with a sharp amusement that made her shrink with regret. ¡ª Did you infiltrate by sea and bribe the guards too? ¡ª she mocked.

    ¡ª I killed them. ¡ª the words seemed heavy on his tongue.

    Gwenda remained motionless, but her expression was neutral.

    ¡ª I killed everyone who looked at me and attacked me.

    The place grew tense, like death lurking in the mystic''s cell, a certain death coming directly from Gwenda.

    ¡ª With what weapons?

    ¡ª None.

    ¡ª How did you kill them?

    ¡ª Ancient techniques.

    She blinked.

    As ancient as what, she wanted to ask, but she held back and buried that question deep for the right time.

    ¡ª First, I found a way to be among pirates. And what pirates want most is gold. I didn''t have enough money for myself, but I gave everything I had to the captain. Who was more than happy to help me.

    ¡ª They had just finished plundering. And if they were in Banesy, I don''t believe it was a small thing.

    ¡ª Their gold runs out quickly, a few extra coins are always welcome.

    Gwenda bit her lip.

    ¡ª You must think the same as them. So you spend like them. ¡ª she smiled ¡ª It was good not to have money, I imagine. Better than spending it on a bunch of things and then carrying the weight on your shoulders that you could have been more careful.

    The two just stared at each other for a few minutes that seemed to last twenty seconds.

    Ancient techniques. Bribing pirates. Safety to Carsany. Gold is always welcome. The captain was happy to help him.

    Was he just happy? Or was he honored to help an elf.

    The Shooter leaned back against the wall as she thought about where this would lead, about what was under her nose. But she couldn''t ask, couldn''t open a wound in the elf that could affect her plans with the interrogation.

    At least it was a wound? Gwenda didn''t know, and she wouldn''t risk it.

    ¡ª You said you threatened the captain. ¡ª she spoke with a sigh. She was getting tired.

    The elf nodded slowly as he played with the food in front of him with his index finger, as if Gwenda had taken away his appetite.

    ¡ª I pointed a gun at his head, between his eyes. ¡ª the elf blinked and Gwenda was almost certain he was seeing the scene again, boasting, or just regretting. ¡ª After the crew cornered me and he showed me his silver human canines, that''s when I realized my stupidity. ¡ª the Northern Elf groaned as he leaned back and leaned against the wall, spreading his legs, one on each side of the plate. ¡ª And then I offered my gold.

    Damn stupidity. Shit.

    Gwenda didn''t let anything show as she just listened. It was hard work not to open her mouth, but that''s how she kept it. Quiet and indifferent.

    ¡ª They took me to the shores of Carsany, I killed the guards, soldiers who were there keeping an eye out for any intruders... ¡ª he shrugged. ¡ª An easy and wide walk.

    No mystic ventured on the coast. The magic was weak. No, there was no magic there. Some even claimed that half-breeds could become human due to the missing weight in the body, that nucleus that differentiated the peoples.

    Furthermore, the guards were trained from a young age, they didn''t usually fail. The elf made them fail. And by the way he mentioned more than once, it wasn''t a difficult job.

    Her tongue tingled in her mouth to speak. Gwenda took a deep breath silently. Then, another day.

    ¡ª The pile of bodies on the coast. ¡ª she murmured to herself. The elf nodded slowly, hesitantly. As if he thought Gwenda would attack his neck. His throat bobbed.

    It was him who left that pile. Almost no blood was staining the armor, considering that there were many piled up as if they were bricks, even if it wasn''t a beautiful sight to see.

    This case had gone to sector 9, Jurian''s. Gwenda had to control all that evil inside her, that chaos devouring her with humiliation and anger so that it wouldn''t advance. She would make them hand the case over to her. All in a verbal form, which was already formed in her head at the same moment. Gwenda restrained herself and forced herself to remain uninterested when she received a warning look from Darcy and curious looks from Jurian and his boss, who seemed to laugh at the Shooter''s face with just that weird blink of an eye.

    By Gwenda''s calculations, they never solved the case and she couldn''t help but let out a hoarse and detestable laugh that made the elf turn to her with a raised eyebrow.

    ¡ª I wonder if the agents on this case are idiots or if you''re a genius.

    The hint of a smile appeared on the elf''s face and then he looked away at his own hands.

    Regretful? Triumphant? Gwenda supposed that the ancient techniques were nothing but death with hands, in specific places, scratches that could take a piece of bone, piercing through tissues and veins, breaking the neck with just one kick. That was because he was an elf, she didn''t even want to imagine a fey doing that with almost hundreds of soldiers.

    Gwenda couldn''t help but think that maybe she had suppressed his energy, that she might be to blame for this, for him being like this now.

    But nothing changes the fact that the culprit of the soldiers'' deaths on the coastal was the elf in front of her, behind the bars that it was easy to put him in.

    She had looked too much at what was explicit in the expression and the wilted body that she didn''t pay attention to what he probably was capable of. Gwenda mentally cursed herself as she glanced over the mystic.

    He is an elf, you fool.

    Gwenda cleared her throat and commented as she got up with a grimace:

    ¡ª See you tomorrow.

    ¡ª At breakfast. ¡ª he completed.

    Gwenda stopped at the door with her hand on the doorknob and turned with amusement.

    The mystic''s eyes gleamed, waiting for a response from Gwenda, one he would like.

    There was much more hidden in this story of an elf who defeated the guards on the coast of Carsany. Of the elf who endured that lack of magic. In the arena, the wound healed as it should for an elf, Gwenda noticed.

    <hr>

    ¡ª I hope the interrogation with the elf is worth it ¡ª Darcy fired as soon as she collided with Gwenda in the hallway as she exited the room where the mystic was.

    Barely had she closed the door to muffle the sound and noticed him turning his head towards them, still seated on the mattress. Gwenda shot a warning look at him as well as a comforting one, then closed the door.

    Gwenda took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, bending under the weight of exhaustion, before responding:

    ¡ª I''m going at my own pace, in parallel with his. ¡ª when the boss did nothing, completely still, waiting for more, Gwenda hurriedly added: ¡ª It''s the most I can do for now. There''s still a lot to be discussed and studied, I can''t rush the process.

    ¡ª This is starting to look like therapy with the elf. And as far as I know, you''re not one of the best therapists. ¡ª Darcy didn''t even smile, as if she were speaking seriously.

    Gwenda gave her a forced smile.

    ¡ª I''m saving that side of me. If you want, we can talk about something that''s bothering you. ¡ª She leaned against the door and tilted her head. ¡ª Boss.

    Raux narrowed her eyes.

    ¡ª The only disturbing thing is the fact that you and Vannyer are goofing around and disobeying my orders.

    Gwenda tried not to think about the tenderness Darcy had shown her when she put her under the cold water, always there to comfort the Shooter, the woman who refuses help for easy things and sometimes seeks it with wounded pride.

    The boss''s expression was very different from hours ago and Gwenda just felt her throat close with anxiety, as if she felt good looking at Raux''s personality and wanted one like it.

    ¡ª Vannyer must be more lost than a satyr looking for a nymph in the middle of nowhere. ¡ª Gwenda said.

    ¡ª At least he informed me about some things. What you did was bring a mystic into my sector and you''re still taking too long to get answers.

    Gwenda thanked that Darcy''s cutting words didn''t pass through the metal door and the tension dissipated.

    Not caring much, the Shooter shrugged to push away that urge to touch the gun that wasn''t on her hip.

    Darcy''s irritated gaze said a lot.

    ¡ª This elf can help us get a lot of things, Raux. Just give me the time I need, give me that time you asked for me to handle the case. When you think I''m far from finding out, ¡ª Gwenda didn''t want to, but clenched her jaw, refusing to finish the sentence. But she continued: ¡ª you can give it to someone else.

    ¡ª The agents are panicking because there''s a mystic in here, Matchstone. ¡ª Darcy''s voice grew thicker, more potent, being the boss she must be every day ¡ª I''m trying not to go in there and make the elf disappear.

    ¡ª The agents are weak, let them panic. ¡ª Gwenda said ¡ª If they can''t bear that I''m in full control and that they don''t have the duty to enter that compartment ¡ª she pointed to the door next to it ¡ª then find new agents who can live with it. Live with my decisions.

    Darcy''s eyes turned into pure living flames in a sea of ice.

    ¡ª You''re entering a danger zone, Matchstone. ¡ª Darcy, with her arms crossed showing power and her voice calculated so that Gwenda felt a sharp knife in her back, spoke calmly: ¡ª If you dare address me in this way again, you''re off the case. ¡ª Gwenda blinked ¡ª If you even screw up, you''ll clean it up and get out of the case as quickly as possible. I choose my agents and you''re here, in front of me. ¡ª Gwenda felt a wave of anger mixed with fear rise through her body ¡ª You might not be. Act accordingly, agent.

    Gwenda knew she was being annoying by speaking to Darcy like this. But the biggest curiosity about it is that Raux would never, in a million years, speak so... calmly ¡ª considering her temperament ¡ª to anyone else. Only Gwenda had that luck, she realized over time.

    At first, she thought it was because Darcy felt sorry, and Gwenda was willing to take that from her boss. She realized it had nothing to do with it, but she also got confused.

    The way Darcy treats the other agents is completely different from how she treats Gwenda.

    When someone pisses her off... or rather, nobody dares to do such a thing, only Gwenda, because she''s the only one who doesn''t receive the reprimand like the others, lethal with just words.

    In the first few times she noticed Raux holding back from punching Gwenda in the face, it was very clear. Now she didn''t know if her boss had learned to control it or if she simply got so used to it that she didn''t notice the difference. It hadn''t been so many years since she joined this department, but Darcy and Gwenda had a bond that affirmed those slips of the tongue to protect each other. Gwenda had been proud of that many times, but Raux seemed like a warm wall, with nothing on the other side, neutral.

    Gwenda found herself thinking that she acted like this with Raux to get rid of that habit of treating her differently. Damn it, she''s the Shooter. Sometimes it seems like Darcy thinks she''ll break her if she acts in a more rude way.

    She couldn''t notice anything about Darcy''s behavior, if she acted differently with her for some reason. Maybe it''s Rubben, the trauma Gwenda went through. Maybe it''s the months she was contained underground. She couldn''t say. There were so many times with this kind of thing, so many terrors.

    ¡ª Don''t destroy what you''re building, Matchstone. ¡ª It was the last thing the boss said before turning her back and going up the stairs.

    Her suit was dusty, but nothing more than that. Maybe they had gone on a mission today and Gwenda was so busy thinking and thinking that she hadn''t noticed.

    That anguish of thinking she hadn''t served for anything in a fight rose in her chest and remained there. With gritted teeth, she returned to the dorm where Vannyer was waiting for her, pretending to sleep. Even though she found it funny, even though she took a deep breath to laugh at this totally visible pretense, she couldn''t. Gwenda remained with her body stiff and her hands clenched.

    Every muscle screamed to go for the gun, grab it, and shoot somewhere. Her fingers screamed to be broken against a wall.

    When she extinguished the only lamp burning and lay down, Gwenda kept her eyes open in the darkness until she was calm, until everything healed in the eternal silence where not even a light entered. A complete nothingness.

    Her insides struggled for a while longer until it ceased. But that piece of bad path walked inside her chest darkened, and Gwenda fell asleep.

 12

    ¡ª Have you ever heard of Rangers? ¡ª Kimer asked from the couch as she glanced curiously at the words in the book.

    Gwenda was on her way to the library to pick up some books she had ordered there and ran into her friends along the way. She was almost fainting from hunger when an elderly woman passed by them offering food, and she took all five loaves from the tray. The woman just smiled understandingly, she was there for that. Now Gwenda was devouring the penultimate loaf while searching for a book on the shelf.

    ¡ª Don''t even get me started. ¡ª Louise commented ¡ª The king is crazy about them.

    ¡ª Why? ¡ª Gwenda found herself asking suddenly, unintentionally. She blinked.

    Louise shrugged.

    ¡ª Who knows.

    ¡ª Rangers are the guardians of the Infernal Beasts. ¡ª the Shooter explained ¡ª Extinct.

    Kimer laughed.

    ¡ª Everything''s extinct nowadays. Interesting.

    Gwenda let out a snort mixed with a laugh. She had to agree. Not even dragons have been seen anymore.

    If there are no Rangers, there are no guardians. If there are no guardians, there are no Infernal Beasts. If there are no Infernal Beasts... there are no dragons.

    ¡ª Did the king find anything about them?

    The friend shook her head and her white streaks swayed in front of her face.

    ¡ª He''s completely frustrated.

    Gwenda raised her eyebrows.

    ¡ª Do you know who made the guardians go extinct? ¡ª Kimer and Louise looked up at Gwenda.

    She found the right book and took it off the shelf. Holding the bread in her mouth and the other in her hand, she flipped through until she found the page where she had stopped one day. She still remembered. Gods, she still knew which page she was on the day everything around her started burning. Her surroundings were hot and in flames.

    Gwenda swallowed hard and took the bread out of her mouth to continue:

    ¡ª Just as being blamed for all the bad things on this continent and... maybe not in the whole world, humans were the ones who destroyed the Guardian Palace. I''d say it wasn''t very smart, considering that the Infernal Beasts were released into the world. ¡ª Gwenda scoffed ¡ª Not all of them were found. Probably a new species was created, no one knows. It could be living in the depths of Fahar.

    Kimer made a strange sound and Gwenda looked at her.

    ¡ª Fahar is far from being a place where an Infernal Beast would dwell.

    The Shooter gave her a smug smile, wondering how she was so sure.

    ¡ª I think these creatures will show up, sooner or later. I also don''t expect the king to find anything. ¡ª Louise turned to Gwenda, with a look of questioning and interest ¡ª Much less to use it for evil if he finds any trace.

    ¡ª That was one of the dumbest sentences I''ve ever heard. ¡ª Gwenda shot back and pushed a chair away from the table, sitting down. ¡ª If I didn''t live in Carsany since I was born, I would still believe that he would have the courage to put his hands where he shouldn''t. It''s the man wearing a crown in Carsany that we''re talking about.

    ¡ª You don''t live in that castle day and night, Gwen. ¡ª Louise became more serious when addressing her friend.

    ¡ª Exactly. ¡ª She agreed ¡ª I''m not in the same foul claws as yours.

    ¡ª Your bloody mark suggests otherwise. Don''t fool yourself, Gwenda.

    Gwenda looked her up and down. It wasn''t rare for the two of them to spar with words and their humiliating meanings. Louise was the kind of woman tough and gentle at the same time. When necessary, her demeanor became as rigid as stone, only the gentle and wild waves of a sea could mold.

    She wondered if the king treated the Shooter like a pawn. And if he liked it, the feeling. But Gwenda already had answers to that. But her past and her lineage put her in a lost, slow, and cowardly position. She was old, feeling late to act.

    She could play the same game in return, but she had been doing it for a long time. She already treated him like the dying marauder he was. The only one she met in her life, after his father. A genetic aberration.

    ¡ª Whatever. ¡ª she muttered and turned to Kimer and Louise ¡ª What else do you know about Rangers?

    Louise rolled her eyes in boredom.

    Gwenda clenched her teeth and grabbed another book from the shelf.

    ¡ª If we go after this information, we might be one step ahead of the king.

    Louise sighed.

    ¡ª Gwen, he won''t start a war if he finds the answers he''s looking for.

    ¡ª That''s the point. He might not, but someone else, another creature might. It could be us.

    ¡ª What? ¡ª Kimer spoke up.

    ¡ª It''s an option. ¡ª Gwenda continued as she pulled the chair closer.

    ¡ª No, it''s not an option, Gwen. ¡ª Louise put her hands between her thighs.

    ¡ª We can start a fight against the king, a rebellion. It wouldn''t be surprising to anyone if the Carvlineas rebelled someday. They deal with this every day, they know how it works.

    The two friends stared at Gwenda as if she were a stranger suggesting something utterly ridiculous.

    ¡ª You must agree with me that he''s not the best king Carsany has ever had. He won''t be missed.

    ¡ª My vote is no. ¡ª Kimer said.

    ¡ª No, Gwen. ¡ª Louise reinforced ¡ª I don''t even know if you''re telling the truth. But considering your status in all of this, your ideas have gone from bad to worse.

    ¡ª It was instinct, Gwen. There''s nothing to do but study them. ¡ª Kimer closed the book in her lap tightly and set it aside.

    Indeed, it was strange to even mention that, considering the whereabouts of the guardians: zero, non-existent, with a 1% chance of return.

    Gwenda looked from one to the other.

    It was true. Every word that came out of her mouth was true, the purest and brightest. It had been an option, but now that she received denials for it, she would have to figure it out on her own or not even start scheming.

    But what the hell was she asking for? Louise worked for the sovereign right beside him, almost like his right hand, and Kimer served him as a Carvlinea. In other words, both were within the law and never had a reason to doubt their own king, she couldn''t ask that of them. But Gwenda, the Shooter, carried the hatred for the sovereigns of Carsany in her blood, day after day. It was funny that Kimer and Louise didn''t see it, didn''t care. Or would they have supported her in something.

    She had to admit that this idea came to light, and that she would be able to do it, slowly and patiently. After all, she was being invited to go to the castle and stay there. She could gut the royalty if she wanted.

    Gwenda stopped flipping through the book and, slowly, looked at Lou.

    ¡ª If I want to find out something about this, I can go look for it myself. ¡ª the friend said and slouched against the back of the couch. ¡ª That''s not why we came here.

    ¡ª Why were you coming here? ¡ª Gwenda realized she hadn''t asked that until she actually asked it.

    ¡ª My boss needed a book because she lost hers around the sector and couldn''t find the reserve at home. And with her condition, I offered to fetch this thing.

    Kimer didn''t usually read. Or rather, she hated it. It wasn''t expected to hear a better praise for books coming from her other than "thing."

    ¡ª What book?

    ¡ª Beauty in ancient arts.

    Gwenda recognized it without a second thought, but didn''t let anything show.

    ¡ª I guess you wouldn''t even know where to start looking.

    Kimer formed her mouth into a thin line and shook her head slowly.

    Gwenda tilted her head.

    ¡ª Shelf A5, row 2-24.

    Kimer widened her eyes and hurried off the couch.

    ¡ª Before I forget... ¡ª she commented before slipping away between the corridors straight to the stairs to the upper floor.

    Gwenda toyed with the edge of the book leaf in her lap.

    ¡ª Beauty in ancient arts. ¡ª Louise savored the words and winked. ¡ª I don''t think I''ve ever heard of it.

    ¡ª It''s about... ¡ª things. ¡ª wind.

    ¡ª Wind?

    ¡ª Wind. ¡ª Gwenda agreed and glanced away to the title of the book she was holding.

    Rangers. Nothing more, nothing less than well-trained and successful guardians, with the Intact Palace now completely destroyed.

    That''s what history says. What the books suggested. But Gwenda knew they could be altered. She knew there was more than one story, in all parts of the continent and the world. No story was the same, books told differently and Gwenda almost fell into disgrace to get them. To know the truth.

    Until today she has doubts about what might have happened at certain times. She didn''t know if it was one of the Infernal Beasts that escaped and wreaked havoc on Carsany, if a ranger let the creature escape, or if a malicious fey went there and destroyed the five guardians who were lying in wait in that... prison for beasts. She only knew that the guardians died. And thus the war began. One of many triggers.

    First, the guardians attacked Carsany, blaming them for these deaths. The smell of human was everywhere, they said. They claimed and collected all the evidence to prove it. Humans denied it but didn''t leave it blank, they wanted revenge and so they did. They captured and tortured the animals of each Ranger, then the guardians themselves.

    It was an exaggerated revenge, Gwenda would say. But she couldn''t do anything. At that time it was every man for himself. The problem is that the story is confusing.

    It was foolish to think that a human could defeat five rangers. Not because he was a human ¡ª humans could also be rangers ¡ª but because defeating five guardians was not for the faint of heart. Of the five who were there, one of them could be an elf, an orc, another could be a human, a half-fey... they could be anything. The subspecies allowed anyone. Each one was of a different race.

    So no, a human couldn''t win without getting broken... unless he died along with them. But the story doesn''t say if he remained alive, men and women say that. And Gwenda didn''t believe it.

    If it was a human, she was more than willing to go after to at least find out his name and about his life. It would be difficult, she knew, but she would still venture into what she needed to get where she wanted.

    It''s been almost a century, but every nerve of hers said it was possible to find information. Even more so if it were a fey.

    ¡ª Are you going to keep an eye on the king? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    Louise was cleaning her nails when she replied:

    ¡ª I don''t know.

    Gwenda knew that if she had been smarter, she would have kept that desire to overthrow Hendrix''s reign to herself. Kimer and Louise could more easily accept learning about rangers without an obstacle they would obviously recoil from.

    ¡ª I''m not stupid, Lou. ¡ª she said. ¡ª I just want to understand what H wants from me.

    ¡ª Why do you think rangers have anything to do with you? ¡ª the friend asked.

    ¡ª You know where I''m going with this.

    Louise looked at Gwenda.

    ¡ª No, I don''t know.

    Gwenda studied Louise from head to toe and raised an eyebrow before fixing her eyes on the book in her lap, trying to focus on some new word or information she didn''t know.

    Kimer and Louise didn''t know about all of Gwenda''s life, especially her mother''s. Only Darcy Raux had all the information about Gwenda, making it possible to know more about the Shooter''s life than she herself did.

    The three stayed in the library until lunchtime and then returned to their respective areas, except for Louise, who went to the castle. Kimer took the book to her boss, and Gwenda took three more for herself. One more after this incredible conversation she had with her friends. Later, they would meet again.

    She had thanked herself for feeding the elf earlier today... it was more like an owner taking care of her pet. And now she had to bring lunch.

    She decided she would eat her food and then take him a new one, not leftovers. She regretted giving him the instant noodles, but at least the elf weakly admitted it wasn''t just any slop.

    <hr>

    It was going into the department and not coming out anymore. Gwenda sighed.

    She was almost sure she wouldn''t leave there anytime soon. She had a lot to do, research case after case, piece by piece. She asked Darcy for a bulletin board so she could connect the dots as soon as she arrived. The boss gave her two days to get one, and Gwenda didn''t question why she couldn''t just go out and buy it right away. But she found it strange that Raux didn''t say something like: figure it out. Simple and quick. Because normally that''s what Darcy would respond. Dry and unenthusiastic. Serious and completely lost in work. Raux could very well protect Gwenda from what she didn''t see, so she accepted this offer that she would look for the bulletin board for her and moved on with her heart pounding.

    ¡ª I was here thinking about how the interrogator didn''t help at all. ¡ª Ryxer grunted and threw the paper on the table before taking a huge sip of his tea.

    Gwenda frowned and picked up the paper. She hadn''t stopped to look yet, but now that Vannyer mentioned it...

    She scanned the words written in cursive letters so close together and stretched upwards that she had to squint her eyes. Gwenda was annoyed by the handwriting and couldn''t tell if it was hunger manifesting at the wrong time that helped the restlessness.

    ¡ª They weren''t the ones who put the magic in the bomb. ¡ª Gwenda commented as she tried to read without skipping a syllable. ¡ª They were willing to die for it, for the plan to be completed. They knew they might not escape, but still tried at the request of the one they made the deal with. This deal consisted of... ¡ª she blinked three times in a row and moved the paper further away, then brought it closer again. ¡ª Taking the bomb, implanting it, and letting the other do the rest. All for... the story to move faster. ¡ª and down in the bottom left corner of the paper, it was written: ¡ª Successfully executed.

    Gwenda lowered her arm and stared into space. She felt Vannyer''s eyes running over her body, as if she were on display. A warm flush filled her cheeks, and it was so embarrassing that she knew she got even redder because of it. She looked to the opposite side and spoke:

    ¡ª The explosion in the sector had nothing to do with the one at the wall. If the plan was completed... then it was completed. They shouldn''t know about the sector. ¡ª Gwenda turned to Ryxer, who was watching her attentively and with something more like... she didn''t know what that meant. ¡ª So that the story moves faster. It wasn''t just about opening a hole in the wall for the magic to enter, it was so that something else could pass through. Magic was just a bonus for the mystics who were here inside. Because if the creature that invaded the kingdom left no traces, it means it must have entered through one of the underground tunnels, which means it knew. It means it''s from Carsany or found out from someone here. And if magic was put in the bomb, we know it''s a mystic. But now, how long has it been in Carsany? How long has a mystic been out there, free, hopping between houses without being discovered? How long has he been planning this? Arth Cheack would never use those tunnels again, but he could very well have sold the information, so they could execute this plan perfectly. And... ¡ª Gwenda stopped to catch her breath ¡ª Sweet Sister. ¡ª she walked to the middle of the room and clasped her hands behind her head. ¡ª He can bring the entire army of Telomeron or even the entire Alphardj to knock down our wall. He''s been going from inside the wall to outside all this time, and we haven''t seen a damn thing.

    ¡ª The tunnels were protected. ¡ª Vannyer''s voice came out sharp yet concerned.

    ¡ª But to what extent? ¡ª she turned over to Ryxer on her stomach. Probably now she was red with anger. ¡ª Would a fey be stopped? With magic or not, would a fey be stopped?

    If on the coast the North Elf managed to decimate the guards and turn them into a pile of bodies... anything could happen with a piece of the wall missing, anything... oh, shit.

    ¡ª The tunnels. ¡ª Gwenda hurried to go to the table and gather the papers ¡ª We''re going to the tunnels, now.

    ¡ª If something had happened, we would have been informed. ¡ª Vannyer stood up and leaned over the table. Gwenda did the same.

    ¡ª Are you sure? So you think they would find it important enough to tell us that the guards of an inactive and rotten tunnel were killed? Blood, Vannyer, we need to know if there was blood. Finding out something that might not make a difference to them is a pretty reasonable reason not to tell us. Especially when they think they know it has nothing to do with our case.

    ¡ª The tunnels lead straight to the wall, it''s relevant.

    ¡ª I know. ¡ª Gwenda growled and stepped back again. ¡ª They''re idiots. You... ¡ª she stared at him ¡ª Do you understand where this information puts us? Do you understand the conflict? There''s a fucked up mystic walking around Carsany for decades or more eras, we don''t know. How long has he been planning this? And for what? To start a war and make us mere humans, mortals, like flea-bitten strays who bow down to mysticism? Or maybe revenge? And their revenge is not exactly one we should let our guard down for even a second.

    And about the poison... if the sector 6 case has nothing to do with the wall, the poison has already been spread to the rebels. And why did the rebellions suddenly start weeks after the wall was blown up, and on top of that with a type of poison capable of decomposing the body in seconds.

    When it was spread, or maybe even sold, the rebels saw a way not to be caught and tortured. A way that saved them from the consequences. Gwenda just hoped civilians wouldn''t find out about it.

    Satyrs aren''t that smart, they wouldn''t come close to planning something that big, but they''d take risks. Which leaves Gwenda wondering if there aren''t more rebel satyrs in Carsany. But the fairies worked with only one person, from what Gwenda found out during her last interrogation. And that person may have hired rebels to make the explosion in the sector just another distraction. And there wouldn''t be a shortage of satyrs to carry out such a plan.

    There was only one rebel who managed to escape the explosion without needing to use that poison. They just needed to assemble a team and look for him. The Shooter would talk to Darcy about this later.

    Gwenda rushed to the documents of the previous cases involving satyrs, after the wall exploded. With trembling hands, she brought them to the table and opened the folder, spreading the documents around.

    A large number of papers were on the table, and Gwenda held her breath unintentionally. Satyrs weren''t seen in Carsany like this before the wall case.

    Gwenda Matchstone understood that they were subordinates or simply hired to take risks here. There were many willing.

    Satyrs, nymphs, fairies... all interconnected.

    Gwenda ran her hand over her face.

    Vannyer dared to take a step to the side to get away from the table, to approach her.

    ¡ª Calm down, damn it...

    ¡ª No. Vannyer... damn it. ¡ª she rubbed her forehead. ¡ª He''s in Carsany, I know he is. ¡ª she went to a shelf of old, dusty books and picked up one about the geography of Carsany and opened it with a swift motion. Without caring about the dust or mold, she grabbed a map and closed the book. ¡ª And we''ll find him while we uncover his indecent plan.

    She didn''t know how she could still breathe, how she could move. She knew she was only standing because of the instincts that warned her where to go, what to do. Maybe she would stay inside the sector for the rest of her life until they captured the mystic. Because she knew, gods, she knew and felt everything, she felt she would be the victim in this shit, she would be the damned victim.

    Gwenda could very well see those heavy, muffled steps entering their room now and landing their vivid, death-filled eyes on hers. The Shooter looked at the door and felt the color drain from her face. Then she advanced and closed it, with a lock and all. When she turned back to the table, she noticed Vannyer''s gaze bouncing between the door and her. If he thought she was crazy, he better not say anything about it, not to her or anyone else. She was fine with how things were going on in her head, she didn''t need a remedy that could even dull her reasoning.

    ¡ª Here. ¡ª She pointed to a point on the wall on the east side ¡ª The explosion. The tunnel is 100 meters away. The bomb literally destroyed up to 95 meters, the rest gradually eased off. At meter 100, everything remained intact, the only one that suffered no damage.

    Vannyer approached by her side and Gwenda diverted her eyes to the warm body there and tensed.

    ¡ª And how the hell did the fairies manage to escape.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡ª The same magic that contained the bomb for a while could be used to keep the explosion out of the protection bubble against them. ¡ª said Gwenda ¡ª But I don''t know if that''s possible.

    ¡ª I thought you were an expert in these things.

    ¡ª I am. But I don''t know what mystic it was. ¡ª Gwenda stepped back more to contain herself from punching him in the nose. ¡ª Fairies are fast, thanks to their folding wings. They''re all born with them folded, shrunk, and already with the shape of the folds. If a place is folded wrong, they may very well not fly anymore and maybe even have pain forever. I didn''t test the fairies'' wings, I had no time, we don''t know what happened properly when it exploded, at least not with them. They may very well have flown the 95 meters away and fallen into a trap on their own. Or they were thrown by the explosion and caught. After all, falling into a trap on the ground, fairy and ground isn''t a very good combination. ¡ª Gwenda sighed ¡ª I hope that bearded one still goes to interrogate them.

    ¡ª Ah, he''ll go. ¡ª Ryxer seemed to chuckle, and Gwenda looked at him ¡ª What?

    She swept his face. From the chin and jaw up to the thick eyebrows and hazel eyes. They were beautiful, more so than her father''s, which were green like the grass in their backyard when Gwenda hadn''t yet fled.

    She pursed her lips into a thin line and glanced at Vannyer''s. She felt and saw the difference in him. Gwenda averted her gaze to the map and straightened up.

    ¡ª Pray that Darcy knows of something that happened in the tunnel near the days of the explosion, where it all began. ¡ª Gwenda let out a long sigh and took three steps back before heading to the kitchen area to search for food. Damn gods, she was so hungry she could devour a whole chicken.

    Gwenda made instant noodles since she had plenty, and one wouldn''t be missed.

    She needed to speak with Darcy. Ask the elf for more things, answers. Go to the arena. Head to the tunnel where the entrance was. And then meet with Louise and Kimer again to discuss ranger matters.

    Didn''t want to entertain the thought that perhaps her trip to the tunnels would be denied, now that she was stuck in an office Carvlinea role and lacked a weapon to defend herself. But she would still try, she would press Raux to go there, even if it meant taking the whole sector, which would probably happen.

    Gwenda felt the food rise back up when she had eaten half of what was on the plate. So she set it aside and went in search of a carrot. She washed and peeled the parts she wanted before eating, tearing off pieces with her teeth.

    Knew she might not have consumed even half of her bowl of noodles, but she felt it was enough.

    Ryxer Vannyer might have seen her eat quickly and stored what was left in a pot, leaving it on the counter, but he didn''t comment and simply continued studying the map.

    ¡ª Let''s go. ¡ª Vannyer didn''t take long to comply, and Gwenda was still munching on the carrot as she ascended the steps.

    Arth Cheack may have provided the information about Carsany to a newcomer, he may have sold that information, hired someone. He may have done anything. But also not be guilty of it. He might be at home now with his two children, lying on the couch and smiling at the sister he once left alone to pursue the idea of ??making Alphardj a united continent.

    Gwenda didn''t think of anyone else besides Arth Cheack who had this crazy idea, so she wouldn''t consider removing him from her mind, even when she knew that anyone else could have leaked this information.

    <hr>

    ¡ª Do you know when they died? ¡ª Gwenda asked Darcy beside her.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª The boss replied, then turned to another agent. ¡ª What did you find?

    The Shooter observed the tunnel entrance while listening to the response.

    ¡ª Just bones. I mean, no magic or anything that could have killed them. They''ve been dead for a while; I can''t find out much. There are no signs of fights or bullets around, I can confirm that.

    Gwenda closed her eyes and asked:

    ¡ª How did they not find this earlier?

    ¡ª No one else came here to find out. Usually, it was the guards themselves who came to warn us of something. And since this didn''t happen frequently, we found this delay normal ¡ª The detective replied, and Gwenda squinted at him.

    ¡ª Even after all these peculiar cases. ¡ª She muttered to herself, irritated by the oversight of trained people. The only job was to worry about secret exits like this, and there they were, searching what should have been intact no matter what.

    They stood still, looking at the bones strewn in front of the entrance. Not together, but also not too far apart.

    The guards had a base near the city and took turns. Half must have died, and the other when they returned to watch. But no signs of fighting.

    The rebel in the sector explosion drank a type of poison that made human flesh decompose in a matter of seconds. The bones were the only things left intact.

    It couldn''t have been that long.

    No signs of struggle. Not a single scratch.

    ¡ª What''s the likelihood they were drugged? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    ¡ª To end up dead like this? ¡ª The agent asked and shook his head ¡ª Almost none.

    ¡ª And poisoned?

    ¡ª If they were poisoned... I can''t say.

    ¡ª How long do you think they''ve been dead?

    ¡ª Long enough for the flesh to completely decompose.

    ¡ª And that means a year.

    ¡ª A little longer.

    Gwenda observed the bones.

    The wall explosion occurred weeks ago, this shit is impossible. It was clearly a poison. That exact current poison.

    She sighed. Her boss said:

    ¡ª I''ll let you guys talk about decomposing bodies and see if anyone found anything around here.

    Darcy moved away toward the tunnel, descending further down the small hill to where the agents and detectives were studying the bones.

    They were in a huge hole in the ground big enough to fit Darcy''s entire research team and some combat agents, where the round, smelly, old tunnel was positioned with pure dirt around it. No trees in sight up there, it was a grassy desert until you reached the city, a completely open area with no signs of life.

    This was one of the many reasons why nobody ventured here, especially a mystic lost in the kingdom. Who could easily be seen. And may the gods save him if they saw him.

    ¡ª Carsany''s army would be the most feared by Alphardj ¡ª pondered Gwenda, shifting her gaze to the weapons on the belts of the agents scouring the area. ¡ª The guards on watch were taken by surprise. The mystic entered through the tunnel, indeed, unless he was capable of annihilating firearm users trained to keep their eyes open and with splendid reflexes. We know that not even mystics can go that far when we have firearms. There was no fight, no bloodshed. We were attacked from behind by an intruder who knew the secret passages. And who knows how long he has been entering and leaving this kingdom.

    Silence followed, the gears in her mind were moving, leading from a mediocre idea to a more elaborate one. A cycle.

    But she realized she was saying this to herself and no one else.

    ¡ª So... ¡ª Gwenda closed her eyes and prepared for whatever came out of the mouth of the agent beside her ¡ª Have you and Vannyer found out anything else?

    ¡ª That''s none of your business. ¡ª She replied, returning to the real world where most were jerks ¡ª Anyone can betray anyone.

    The agent chuckled.

    ¡ª Including you.

    Gwenda gave a small smile and didn''t turn when she replied:

    ¡ª Good thing I took on this case, then.

    ¡ª How are you and Vannyer? ¡ª She couldn''t ignore the playful tone in his voice. ¡ª I heard he helped you on an occasion a few days ago.

    Gwenda narrowed her expression.

    ¡ª That''s none of your business.

    Ryxer must not have been discreet at all when he went to call Darcy.

    ¡ª I bet you two are getting along great.

    She turned around without saying another word, but someone bumped into her. She quickly pushed Vannyer''s chest and watched him stagger backward. Gwenda grimaced at him.

    ¡ª Sorry. ¡ª Ryxer rolled his eyes at the agent beside her, who was watching closely before facing Gwenda again. ¡ª I need to talk to you.

    The Shooter lifted her chin and looked at the agent who didn''t even know his name before pointing to Ryxer.

    ¡ª Goodbye and good luck.

    She and Vannyer stepped away, and Gwenda felt Ryxer''s frustration beside her, as if he couldn''t believe such a thing. Her companion didn''t even know where to put his hands, which wandered from his pockets to his hips, then back to his pockets and then behind his back.

    ¡ª What''s your problem? ¡ª Gwenda gave him a little push.

    ¡ª What did that guy want?

    Gwenda rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª Not the time for that. What do you want, Vannyer?

    He approached.

    ¡ª There''s been a theft.

    ¡ª Where. ¡ª She demanded to know, putting her hand on her hip, but then closed it into a fist for not having her gun.

    ¡ª Well. It''s kind of funny because this had never happened before. Bruce called Darcy a few...

    ¡ª Bruce?! ¡ª Gwenda dug her nails into her skin.

    ¡ª Ryxer replied quietly and put his hands in his pants pockets.

    ¡ª What was stolen from my bar? What did my cousin say?

    ¡ª Nothing of much value, from what he said.

    ¡ª Everything is of value, Vannyer. There was a damn theft at my place. Did they catch the culprit?

    Ryxer opened his mouth to speak, and Gwenda hurriedly planted her feet on the ground to keep from running away and leaving all this behind. Because she couldn''t.

    ¡ª Matchstone. ¡ª Vannyer and she turned to Darcy at the same time. ¡ª Your motel was robbed, and Bruce is already dealing with it. Now, I want you to tell me what you think about this incident with the guards. Quickly. ¡ª The boss stepped away, and Gwenda saw it as a cue to follow her.

    The Shooter grunted and did so, standing about a meter away.

    No, it had never occurred to Gwenda that her dive could be robbed, mainly because her cousin was there all the time, always keeping his eyes open and ready for anything. It wasn''t for nothing that she left him to take care of the place. After all, he was just drinking and screwing around with anyone out there. Gwenda basically saved him by finding a job worth the money she''s paying him.

    ¡ª On the day of the sector 6 explosion, I found one of the vials with poison. ¡ª Darcy turned to her with a furrowed brow. ¡ª It may have been the same thing that killed them. Considering that the bones look... reasonable, I''d say poison was more likely. The flesh decomposes the exact moment the content is ingested.

    ¡ª So, the guards were poisoned. ¡ª The boss concluded.

    Gwenda wasn''t sure what she was doing, but she agreed.

    ¡ª Which means he''s still out there. ¡ª Gwenda huffed.

    It wasn''t the satyr, much less the elf locked behind bars in the sector.

    ¡ª He who?

    ¡ª The mystic. The fairies made a deal with someone, and their only job was to plant the bomb. He left no traces, which shows he wasn''t nearby at the time. He went through the tunnel, and some time before, he must have gotten rid of the guards. The bomb only expanded 95 meters, the magic used was significant and entirely planned. Marking an area for a weak bomb to explode like that... it has to be a powerful creature. The tunnel is 100 meters from the exploded site, calculated with great care not to destroy his only path.

    Gwenda had to take a deep breath.

    ¡ª He''s in Carsany. And not for a short time. Making a hole in the wall was precisely to make lost mystics here rebel, like the satyr we found in the sector 6 explosion.

    It was Darcy''s turn to take a deep breath and tilt her head before facing the detectives still gathering information at the tunnel entrance.

    ¡ª So we need to find this mystic.

    Gwenda licked her lips and bit her lower one before agreeing and looking down at her own feet. She knew she should do this. She knew Darcy would send Gwenda to do this.

    ¡ª I''ll reinforce the defenses at Silent Towers and contact the general to request support from the other sectors. What''s left for us is to hope they support, especially sector 9.

    ¡ª Denying an order from the general is not really their style.

    ¡ª No, but denying that we''re getting close definitely is. They would be capable of letting the mystic escape to put us in a bottomless pit.

    The two watched the detectives work while exchanging doubts and collecting samples that Gwenda didn''t even know what they were for or why they were needed, but she never commented on it. It was their job.

    So that was it. Going after a mystic that she judged to be powerful, more than Arth Cheack. She couldn''t say if he was as cunning as him, but she could clear that up later. She just prayed it wasn''t Arth himself.

    If the sector 6 explosion had nothing to do with the wall''s explosion... well, that case wasn''t hers; she didn''t know what they had already found or who was trying to find out.

    But she would speak up about finding the fugitive on the day of the explosion if sector 6 didn''t.

    ¡ª Listen. ¡ª the chief began. ¡ª Don''t tell anyone about the poison or anything else you found out. Much less that I''m reinforcing defenses; the general will keep it secret if I ask. ¡ª she looked at the agent beside her, standing erect with her hands clasped behind her back. ¡ª I don''t want this information in the wrong hands, especially if this mystic finds out. So be careful, Gwen. You''re one of the few who know about this; if they find out this secret, they might come after you or anyone else who knows. Stay out of trouble and let things move forward. Live your life and uncover the case without fear or regrets.

    Gwenda''s heart raced inside her chest, but she still agreed. She would solve this case, and she had already walked halfway. Vannyer was there to help, but not to be trusted.

    Without fear, without regrets. Darcy''s motto, which she always uttered when she felt that something was going to happen, that could happen. If they laid their hands on Gwenda for finding out more than she should, nothing and no one could help her. The mystic might as well not be working alone. Just like Arth, who gathered more humans than his own kind.

    It was almost impossible for the creature to be working alone to invade Carsany and bring magic to this area, but that''s what the fairies said. The rebels drank the poison, but that didn''t mean they were working together. The sector exploded almost a month later, the tunnel guards died almost on the same day as the wall ¡ª or so Gwenda assumed. This poison may have been discovered by the rebels or given, and now the rebellions will appear more frequently, whether they want to or not.

    The fairies said they were working with only one, but she couldn''t say if that someone told them they were working alone. What remained to think was that she really had no idea if the rebels had anything to do with the wall explosion, back to square one on that. However, again, she forced herself to remember that it wasn''t her case.

    Gwenda sighed. There was still a lot to think about. And she needed to know from the people if there was any news about a substance that could make human flesh decompose so quickly. Because if there was... if it was being sold out there or if the recipe was exposed... she couldn''t count how many deaths there would be just in the Capital. They needed to find the fugitive rebel.

    Without fear, without regrets. Sometimes Gwenda thought that Raux said this more to herself than to Gwenda. As if she wanted to get rid of the past that seemed to corrode her chief.

    One step at a time, Gwenda told herself. One step at a time until she could ask Raux about it.

    One step, and then another.

    <hr>

    It didn''t take long to be at Pantaneous Taurus, standing at the counter waiting for each employee''s forms. No drinks, no deviations. She was there for a reason and would move forward.

    Gwenda had left that smelly hole in the middle of nowhere when Darcy retreated back to the sector. The Shooter hurried to grab Crep¨²sculo and run to the bar.

    Her cousin welcomed her joyfully, even though he looked pale from what had happened, or perhaps afraid of what Gwenda would do to him. But she wouldn''t do anything she might regret later.

    A man sat abruptly on the stool next to hers, rubbed his oily face with his huge beard, and locked eyes with Gwenda. The Shooter simply glanced at him from the corner of her eye, standing like a delicate statue while he looked like a brute made of muscles and fat.

    A bartender dropped the towel on the inner counter and went to serve the man next to Gwenda, who ordered the most famous drink in the bar.

    Gwenda took a deep breath and continued to wait while listening to shouts and laughter from men and women. Feet pounding on the wooden floor as they danced to the sound of the harmonica right in the middle of the room, where there was a large enough space for it.

    The upper floor was only near the windows, tables, and chairs only at the ends, and Gwenda had a view of what was happening upstairs. The attendants seemed like madmen rushing to deliver such requests. And now with Gwenda here, they became more tense.

    Bruce appeared at the back door, and Gwenda only followed his movements until he reached her and threw the forms on the counter.

    ¡ª They have nothing to do with this. ¡ª Bruce commented.

    ¡ª Say that when I find the bastard.

    The cousin smiled as if he wouldn''t let this chance to taunt Gwenda pass.

    ¡ª You''ll scare them away someday.

    ¡ª As long as they need the money, I''m sure they''ll stay. ¡ª She replied.

    After all, she hardly ever showed up at the bar to the point of scaring them away.

    ¡ª Tell me what was stolen ¡ª Gwenda demanded as she looked at the old papers.

    Bruce sighed.

    ¡ª What else could be stolen in a bar besides drinks?

    ¡ª And the weapons? ¡ª Gwenda ignored him.

    ¡ª Which ones?

    ¡ª The ones on display.

    ¡ª I took a look, but... maybe one is missing.

    Gwenda looked at her cousin.

    ¡ª Which one?

    ¡ª That dagger that shines like a rainbow.

    ¡ª Son of a bitch. ¡ª Gwenda muttered.

    Bruce smiled and raised his eyebrows.

    ¡ª Who have you been spending your days with, cousin?

    ¡ª Next to the scum.

    The cousin laughed.

    ¡ª Can you bring me information by the end of the week? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    ¡ª Yes, just don''t expect too much. I''m not like you.

    Gwenda raised an eyebrow.

    ¡ª I want information about the theft and some things he might have left behind. Any hint of who it might be. If you suspect someone, don''t be afraid to ask direct questions. Investigate, Bruce. Your job wasn''t done with much duty in hand, so now you''ll finish it.

    The cousin just glanced at Gwenda''s face and licked the inside of his cheek.

    ¡ª Fine ¡ª He agreed.

    ¡ª Great ¡ª Gwenda stood up. ¡ª I didn''t want to leave this with you, you know that.

    He agreed. He knew that Gwenda didn''t like to burden others when she could handle it herself. But she was too busy with other things that she found herself with no choice. And leaving it to her cousin was better than anyone else. In fact, Bruce understood and would be happy to serve for something else, Gwenda knew.

    She was used to solving everything on her own. Giving someone something she was involved in wasn''t something that happened frequently. And it wasn''t Gwenda''s ego shouting, but rather the fear of not being in control and letting others get hurt in her place.

    ¡ª I know, Gwen. ¡ª Bruce murmured and gave Gwenda a welcoming smile.

    The Shooter returned a small smile back, silently telling Bruce to take care.

    And then she left the bar, prepared to return in two days, at the end of the month.

    <hr>

    In the library with Kimer and waiting for Louise to show up at the agreed-upon location earlier today, Gwenda was staring at a book, her forehead slightly furrowed with concentration and her left foot tapping impatiently.

    The green armchair was already old, and Gwenda''s butt was hurting in the spot where many people had already sat and sunk.

    The book was the biography of a mage who became a ranger. Starlina Kilviane climbed mountains and protected more Infernal Beast nests than Gwenda could count. The mage lived in every corner of Alphardj, always traveling and seeking work in nests. She didn''t like the Untouched Palace and kept her distance, but she had been careful not to mention such a place. Well, Gwenda repeated a thousand times in her head, now they know, and it''s destroyed.

    The Untouched Palace was where they trained, where newcomers were sent to live their dream. When they were proficient enough in all categories, they could leave the place and do as Starlina Kilviane did, or they could go on a mission and return to the palace. After all, their place was always there; they could come back anytime or any year, and not a piece of furniture in their dormitory would have been moved.

    ¡ª Sorry for the delay ¡ª Louise said, running up to them and throwing herself on the couch.

    Gwenda saw Kimer close the book momentarily and look at her friend. The Shooter saw this as a warning to do the same, and she looked at a Louise almost breathless from the run.

    ¡ª You arrived right on time ¡ª Gwenda said and closed the book.

    Louise frowned and moistened her lips with her tongue before replying,

    ¡ª I arrived half an hour late.

    ¡ª I scheduled half an hour early for this reason. ¡ª She replied and set the book aside.

    Her hair was still wet as she leaned back to support her back on the armchair. She had come out of the shower with steam following her, and she hadn''t had time to dry her hair properly. She wanted to arrive before them, specifically before Kimer, so she could look for the right books and have them ready when they arrived.

    Louise had a habit of being late, and Gwenda already anticipated this in almost every encounter. When she thought she had to schedule earlier, she did. When she was almost sure her friend wouldn''t be late, she scheduled at a specific time of day, the right moment. She almost always missed with her assumptions, so she decided to schedule half an hour early for almost every encounter involving Louise.

    It wasn''t much expected for her friend to be late to come to the castle. Gwenda wondered if talking to her on the way in the streets wasn''t delaying her from meeting the king.

    ¡ª Before we start. ¡ª Kimer asked ¡ª I''d like to ask a few things, if you don''t mind, of course

    She was facing Gwenda, and the Shooter just stared at her with the best expression of boredom she could muster, not in the mood to improve now and hoping that her friends would help with her mood today.

    ¡ª Yes? ¡ª Kimer gave a sideways glance to Louise, and from the corner of her eye, Gwenda saw her friend on the couch sit up straight.

    ¡ª What''s been going on with you?

    Gwenda blinked and remained neutral.

    ¡ª What?

    ¡ª You''ve seemed shaken lately. Has something happened?

    ¡ª I''m always shaken. ¡ª Gwenda hated the words that came out of her mouth.

    Kimer shrugged.

    ¡ª You know you can count on us.

    Gwenda turned to Lou this time, who was cleaning her nails with a sadness stamped on her face. ¡ª ¡ª Why are we talking about this? ¡ª She asked ¡ª It''s normal.

    ¡ª Yes, and it''s not only affecting you, Gwen. ¡ª Lou intervened. ¡ª It''s draining the energy of the people around you.

    Gwenda laughed.

    ¡ª So this is about how my behavior and energy are affecting you guys.

    ¡ª It''s about you ¡ª Said Lou, and Gwenda opened her mouth in a smile to speak but was interrupted. ¡ª Your behavior is ruining you, you know? Have you looked in the mirror?

    For a moment, the Shooter couldn''t decipher if it was sarcasm or not. But then she caught Louise scanning Gwenda''s dark circles and her seemingly thinner body.

    ¡ª You''re worrying about the wrong person, Lou. ¡ª Gwenda let the tone come out gently.

    ¡ª Am I?

    The two locked eyes, and Gwenda clenched her teeth until it hurt.

    ¡ª Alright. ¡ª Kimer intervened slowly and carefully ¡ª How about we continue with the research on the rangers? Hum? ¡ª She added when neither responded.

    Neither of them went through what Gwenda went through; their lives were normal to a certain extent. And by normal, Gwenda meant they were treated well and did well. Gwenda lost everything at 18, and that was the end.

    Darkness walks hand in hand with the past that haunts even the roots of her sanity.

    ¡ª We can start by searching for something about the first rangers in the books here ¡ª Kimer said, reaching for a stack and taking the top one.

    Lou glanced away from Gwenda to see her friend open the book. Gwenda took advantage and did the same before speaking:

    ¡ª Rangers are creatures like elves, and a little more. They''re always alert, and even a fish jumping in a river is dangerous. They have an animal by their side, and the most common ones are wolves, owls, eagles, hawks, mice, and cats ¡ª Gwenda swallowed hard and closed her eyes ¡ª There''s a story saying it was a man who was the first ranger, having a connection with the animal. What was soon called a witch and ended up no longer being human by society ¡ª She would say, pathetic ¡ª They''ve always been on the winning side, always seeking good. They gained more and more respect as the number of rangers increased. This man was one of the guardians of the Infernal Beast nests. His companions laughed at him when he communicated with his cat, as if it were just a joke ¡ª One of the Infernal Beasts was released, and only he survived. He began building a new nation that allowed any other and thus grew, taking on the title of guardians. And the only ones who dared to approach those nests again. Until that day.

    Until that day when someone attacked and ended five rangers, releasing the beasts.

    ¡ª The war of five centuries ago destroyed many rangers, but they recovered. And then their damned home was found, and another war began, but only with Carsany and the ranger nation; the rest of the continent allowed them to enter our kingdom and plunder everything, slit the throats of innocents until they grew tired. Until, somehow, the humans won and prevented the guardians from even being what they were destined to be, and thus they were extinguished.

    It was a brief history because more things were involved. But her throat tightened, just as her stomach churned at the mere thought of what she was saying. She didn''t want to think about it anymore. And worst of all, this story was the purest truth, which left Gwenda upside down.

    ¡ª A good story to tell to grandchildren. ¡ª Kimer commented. Gwenda looked into Louise''s eyes. Grandchildren, children... for anyone interested in knowing. ¡ª Here it says they could run faster than an elf saving their own life. ¡ª Kimer raised her head from the book to look at Gwenda, impressed. ¡ª Do you believe that?

    Gwenda nodded slowly.

    ¡ª They were great at what they did. Be thankful you''re finally here, and not in the years when these beasts tormented anyone who was alone. ¡ª she said, snapping her fingers.

    ¡ª So, were they completely extinct? ¡ª Lou asked. Gwenda nodded and adjusted herself in the chair to try to get comfortable.

    ¡ª Both the Infernal Beasts and the rangers. ¡ª she said.

    ¡ª Now that''s a massacre. ¡ª Kimer said, with a surprised look and raised eyebrows. Gwenda tried not to be shaken by the comment, but obviously her heart faltered at the memory of her mother. She cleared her throat.

    ¡ª If the king finds anything about the rangers ¡ª Gwenda asked Lou ¡ª could you bring me that information?

    Her friend gave Gwenda a sidelong glance, but then agreed.

    And so the research would begin.

    If King H has ill intentions towards the rangers, Gwenda would be the first to find out and know that the blame for all those deaths may have been at the hands of a human. Her mother''s death may have been by Carsany, just like her father''s was.

    Gwenda still saw his face when he told her to flee for the last time.

    Lying on the platform with the rope swinging above, ready to be put around his neck, her father jerked his head up abruptly and looked at her, the greenest eyes she had ever seen wide open, sweaty, body tense with heavy breaths coming out of his mouth, brown curls stuck to his forehead and temples.

    And then the whisper on the wind.

    Run.

 13

    Gwenda had just come out of the bathroom after brushing her teeth and washing her face when she saw Vannyer frying an egg on the wood stove, shirtless.

    The Shooter simply tilted her head to the side as she observed the agent''s back, so smooth and bronzed that she felt envious.

    The muscles moved as he moved the frying pan and spatula. His back was broad and well-defined, as if it had been shaped by a delicate and soft hand.

    Then Ryxer turned to Gwenda and froze. They both stared at each other for a while.

    ¡ª I thought you had already left ¡ª he said.

    Gwenda snapped back to reality and went to one of her suitcases.

    ¡ª Where to? ¡ª she asked.

    Vannyer hurried to take the egg out of the frying pan and put it on a plate before going to his things and searching for a shirt.

    He was already putting it on when he said:

    ¡ª I don''t know, you go to every place that comes to mind.

    Gwenda couldn''t help but let out a chuckle.

    It wasn''t unexpected that Vannyer wouldn''t overhear Gwenda in the bathroom when he started frying an egg and humming softly.

    As if he had read Gwen''s thoughts, his face flushed as he sat at the table with a fork in hand.

    ¡ª I have a proposition ¡ª she commented more to break the awkward atmosphere.

    He didn''t look at her or say anything before starting to eat, so she continued:

    ¡ª Let''s search for the fugitive from the explosion of Sector 6. We need to ask him some questions.

    Ryxer glanced up at her.

    ¡ª I don''t recall us getting assigned that case. ¡ª the irony was apparent.

    Gwenda clicked her tongue.

    ¡ª If you help me find him, I''ll cooperate with you and...

    ¡ª I don''t need anything from you. ¡ª Ryxer interrupted.

    The Shooter simply watched the agent eat. Of course, he needed her. He specifically needed her, and she was asking for his help right now.

    ¡ª Fine, then I''ll do it alone. ¡ª she warned and focused on her suitcase again, looking for clothes to wear and taking off the nightgown she had on for sleep.

    Gwenda heard Ryxer''s sigh and the light thud of his fist on the table, as if he had just let his arm fall. Then she turned to him.

    Vannyer was watching her, trying to find any flaw or lie in the Shooter''s gaze. She just made sure he saw what he wanted.

    ¡ª Alright. ¡ª he muttered ¡ª I''ll help you. ¡ª and went back to eating.

    ¡ª Great.

    ¡ª But it''s not like I''m happy to do this.

    ¡ª That''s okay ¡ª she replied, not really caring about his opinion.

    ¡ª And I won''t cover for you if anyone finds out we''re deviating from protocol.

    Gwenda almost laughed.

    ¡ª Alright.

    She heard his chair scrape as he grabbed the last piece of clothing.

    ¡ª I won''t hesitate to turn you in if anyone questions what we''re doing.

    Gwenda ignored him and went back to the bathroom without looking back. She closed the door, and silence welcomed her with open arms.

    She wouldn''t wait to see how long it would take for Sector 6 to capture the fugitive; she would go after him herself if necessary.

    But first, she needed to know who he was. And that was in Kimer''s sector, the documents of all the rebels who participated in that rebellion. And that Gwenda could handle.

    The truth is, she doesn''t know why she asked for Vannyer''s help. Maybe she just wanted company, and even if it wasn''t the best, he knew about the case and understood why Gwenda wanted to ask questions.

    She needed to know about the poison, how the rebels got it, and who gave it to them. With that, she could unravel who the mysterious mystic was and then start her search specifically for him.

    And if she encountered a satyr along the way, she wouldn''t hesitate to capture him.

    So she started to change quickly to begin her search.

    <hr>

    Tomorrow would be the last day of the year, Gwenda''s birthday, and she wasn''t in the mood to celebrate the occasion as she had done in the past. Despite Raux urging her to rest and stop working.

    No, Gwenda wouldn''t stop, not even on New Year''s. She was determined to spend both dates searching for the fugitive.

    As far as she knew, everyone had died. Either by the poison or by the explosion that left several bodies in pieces, limbs separated and destroyed. But only one of them remained alive and with enough strength to fight and flee, without spending a drop of poison, Gwenda supposed, or he would be dead.

    And so she began to pray that he hadn''t ingested it and decomposed in seconds. She tried to guess if he hadn''t poisoned himself just to avoid being pursued, but she didn''t think he was that stupid.

    ¡ª Here, ¡ª Kimer said, slamming the clipboard with all the papers on the counter in front of Gwenda, who set aside the bottle with the drink and began to search for a living body among all the dead ones. ¡ª I hope this helps.

    ¡ª It will help a lot. ¡ª said the Shooter as she hurriedly scanned each piece of information. ¡ª If you allow me, I''ll take the status of the live rebel and bring it back tomorrow morning.

    ¡ª If my boss doesn''t snoop around in these documents... no problem.

    Gwenda didn''t laugh or anything of the sort, she just continued searching with a plan forming rapidly in her head.

    Then she finally found it, the information about the live rebel. Blond with light brown eyes, 20 years old, and without the label around his neck. Nowhere to be found.

    Gwenda took the paper and handed the clipboard back to Kimer.

    ¡ª Here we go ¡ª murmured Gwenda, smiling at the document.

    She waited for Kimer to finish the morning''s work, and the two of them left the bar together, chatting about cases and what Kimer had been up to in her sector. Just following orders, as her friend said.

    ¡ª And what did she find about the book ¡®The Beauty in Ancient Arts''? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    Just by the name, the Shooter thought it might have something to do with the ancient fighting techniques of the elf, but the book said nothing about that. It was more focused on inner peace. As far as Gwenda knew and from the information she had looked up in the books, the supposed ancient techniques were brutal and based on violence, completely different when it came to inner peace.

    Kimer shrugged.

    ¡ª She must be relishing every word. After all, she has her advantages when it comes to that.

    ¡ª Did you have any contact with Sector 9 after the explosion? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    ¡ª Their boss called us for a meeting ¡ª Kimer shook her head in denial. ¡ª They left me out, I don''t know what it might have been about.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes. She didn''t really like the boss of Sector 9, she never had. Her short, dry hair tied in a ponytail almost all the time was so horrible that Gwenda felt like approaching her from behind and cutting it with a dagger, making it so short that she wouldn''t be able to make any hairstyles at all.

    The wrinkled face always wrinkled even more when Gwenda appeared in her sight. And the Shooter always smiled so pathetically friendly that it made the woman turn red with anger.

    She was the oldest boss of all the sectors, and the most relaxed one who didn''t know how to do her job right.

    Gwenda was grateful not to be completely allied with Sector 9, but rather with 6. Although 9 always got the majority of the cases and always solved half of them. Gwenda would solve them all, even if it took a long time. The point was not to give up, and that was the difference between them. 9 always ended up giving up, and the case was forgotten at some point, maybe even shredded and thrown away.

    The young woman huffed, irritated just thinking that they didn''t hand her the majority of the cases just because of what happened in the past. One day, Gwenda promised herself, her sector would advance and make 9 suffer the consequences of mocking Raux and everything Sector 3 stood for.

    The problem between Sector 9''s boss and Darcy wasn''t her concern, but Gwenda already knew. She had always been on Darcy Raux''s side and had agreed to get back at 9 along with the boss when the time was right. But in the end, Raux''s entire sector should do it, for being humiliated by 9.

    Kimer and Gwenda arrived in front of the Shooter''s sector at the moment when most agents were entering after lunch and Darcy was saying good afternoon to everyone as she tried to leave.

    Ryxer passed by Gwenda, and both of them stared at each other until he entered and gave up on eye contact.

    Kimer tapped her arm and let out a sensual murmur.

    ¡ª Is that your colleague? ¡ª she made a face as if she were admiring him.

    Gwenda just rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something that would make her friend not comment on it, but someone shouted beside her:

    ¡ª Watch out! ¡ª And pulled her by the arms away from the road.

    A cart passed by at an unauthorized speed in the middle of the city. The shouts of women and men around were heard with perfect clarity.

    But as soon as Gwenda laid eyes on the people in the cart, the world shattered into pieces. Everything happened in slow motion, and Gwenda felt her heart pounding fiercely in her chest and ears.

    Trytan had wide eyes, his blond hair flying freely as he held on to avoid being thrown out.

    Gwenda''s mind became confused, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn''t look away and figure out who the other three men in the cart were.

    ¡ª Go! ¡ª someone shouted, and the sound entered her ears muffled.

    Suddenly everything returned to normal, and Kimer was in front of her, calling for Gwenda and trying to make her stop thinking so much and concentrate.

    Her hands were still on her arms, so Gwenda shook them off and shook her head. But another pair of hands closed on her shoulders and shook her. Gwenda was about to curse, irritated, but gave up when she realized it was Darcy. She almost shrank. She would have regretted it so much...

    ¡ª Matchstone! What are you still doing standing there?! ¡ª Shouted the boss and turned her before pushing the agent in some direction.

    Gwenda noticed what was happening and started running towards the stable. The commotion was intense, and the sound of horses was gradually increasing.

    The Shooter entered the stable and headed for Twilight''s stall. But as soon as she arrived, she saw the horseman finishing saddling up. Then he turned to her and muttered:

    ¡ª What would you do without me, huh?

    Both clenched their fists and bumped them against each other, a way for Gwenda to thank him and encourage him.

    She mounted her horse, and he swiftly exited the stall. Gwenda shouted for everyone to move out of the way and dodged other horses that were still being saddled by their respective owners. Many were already leaving along with Gwenda, racing towards the road, yelling for civilians to stay away and stick close to buildings and houses.

    The horseman was tasked with saddling Gwenda''s horse first, the fastest among all, in case of a sudden conflict. Then he could help the others.

    That was his job, and in seconds, everything was ready. They would never find someone else capable of doing it as well as he did. And Gwenda was glad that she was the one who needed this treatment the most. Formerly, Gwenda used to ride bareback to save time.

    At first, it was difficult for Twilight to get used to Paulo, the horseman. He was a docile and calm horse, unlike Gwenda. But Paulo himself said he couldn''t saddle a horse he didn''t know, so in the first few weeks he was working in the stable, it was just to get to know the horses, especially Twilight. And that irritated Gwenda, the fact that Paulo wasn''t good enough and couldn''t do his job. She talked to him several times, but Paulo couldn''t get his own idea out of his head.

    So she forced the horseman to do his job right, but when she needed Twilight, Paulo was still saddling him. She vaguely remembers all the times she pushed the saddle off the horse and mounted bareback before taking off.

    But other than that, when she apologized for the way she treated him all that time, they started to understand each other, and everything fell into place. Gwenda understood how he worked and that he needed time, until it started to have some effect after all those months just getting to know Twilight.

    They became great friends, even though she never had time to meet him. And when she made an opening between jobs, there was no shortage of topics to discuss.

    Now she was chasing after another man she tried to forget a few days ago. She was still shouting for civilians to stay in the corners while Twilight and the other horses bolted through the entrance, kicking up dust. The cart was getting closer, and the Shooter didn''t really know what she would do without her weapon, but she would figure it out, she always did.

    There was a beige sheet at the men''s feet, with something underneath that Gwenda began to suspect.

    Please don''t let it be a body. She prayed.

    The sound of the horses'' hooves on the ground reminded her that she needed to change Twilight''s horseshoe as soon as they returned, to be ready for the next conflict.

    Gwenda always tried to stay focused and not let anything shake her when it came to the job she was paid to do. But at the moment, she just wanted to understand what was happening and why Trytan. Why that man.

    The road began to bend slightly to the right, and Gwenda was now close. Trytan looked pale as he tried to catch Gwenda''s gaze, but she refused to look at him.

    Twilight approached closer, and one of the men shuffled in place, searching for something under the sheet at his feet. Gwenda furrowed her brow, wondering once again what the hell that was.

    The Shooter then looked at Trytan when she was close enough to jump and land inside. He shook his head slowly, and Gwenda''s chest tightened.

    The man who had crouched down stood up and positioned himself in the truck bed, now with a gun in hand pointing directly at Gwenda''s heart. Her breath caught, and she heard Trytan shout a no before getting up and lunging at the man with the gun.

    The cart abruptly veered to the left instead of continuing straight, and a shot rang out. Gwenda only felt the bullet burying itself in her shoulder and grunted before reaching to try to stem the bleeding. She managed to pull the reins in time, but Twilight knew exactly what to do and turned sharply.

    Trytan was almost thrown out of the cart, but he landed sitting with his eyes on Gwenda again, a silent apology about to escape his lips, but then the other man shouted some curse and punched him in the face. Gwenda refused to flinch for Trytan.

    The cart rolled over a stone, and the standing man stumbled over whatever was under the sheet and fell backward, hitting his back on the bench where he had been sitting initially.

    Gwenda bit her tongue hard and kicked Twilight''s flank with her heels. The horse responded with the fastest speed, his breath keeping pace with the movements. The Shooter took her hand off her shoulder to focus and placed her feet on the horse''s back.

    Trytan''s nose was bleeding, and he tried to wipe it with the sleeve of his white shirt, without much success.

    His colleagues were behind and getting closer with her, but still remained so far away...

    Twilight shifted slowly to the right side of the cart, but they began closing it towards the civilians, and Gwenda needed to act fast.

    So she jumped into the truck bed, changing the direction of the blow from the man who shot at her and punching his face with her uninjured arm. Then she directed his head with her hands straight into her knee.

    Gwenda felt the man''s nose break and then kicked him out of the cart, staggering and almost numb. He fell, and Gwenda turned to the other two men who hadn''t gotten up from their respective seats.

    Gwenda blinked.

    Both were dead. Blood was dripping from their shirts.

    Both had been shot through the heart at some point Gwenda hadn''t noticed.

    A shiver ran down her spine, and she looked away from Trytan while still standing. He seemed more lost than Gwenda when she looked at him again after seeing what had happened to his friends. The sparkle in his eyes began to dim as Gwenda thought he was apologizing for something foolish and meaningless.

    ¡ª Bend down ¡ª She murmured over all the commotion.

    But he didn''t, and a tear rolled down Trytan''s face.

    Gwenda froze, and her heart beat faster.

    He lowered his head, or rather, slumped forward. His arm outside the truck bed was beating to the rhythm of the cart''s sway.

    Gwenda felt dizzy seeing the blood on Trytan''s back as his body began to slide into the middle of the truck bed, falling.

    The scene around her whitened, followed by a curse, her vision blurred as she quickly went to Trytan and held his body so he wouldn''t fall onto the sheet. Gwenda broke the arrow in his back and held his face.

    His eyes were lifeless. His face no longer had any color. And his tears dried in the wind.

    With a quick glance, she realized that the coachman was dead, leaning back and shaking with the cart''s movement.

    It was just them there.

    Trytan and Gwenda in the same cart. She and the man she once thought would be her future. She and the man who didn''t say goodbye. The man who, in the end, didn''t call her one last time.

    And, again, she felt like a loser.

    Her throat closed and ached with the choked-up sob, Gwenda blinked to ward off the wave of pain and shock that hit her. She put his arm inside the truck bed, holding his intertwined fingers tightly with hers and pressed against her body, for a moment she swore that none of this had happened.

    She rested her forehead against his while holding his nape, pleading for anything Trytan could do to show that it wasn''t the end, but deep down, she knew.

    The cart''s horses gradually slowed down, and her colleagues commanded them to stop. Gwenda didn''t care about anything, trying to pull Trytan towards her and hug him amid loneliness and mourning.

    Mourning for lost love. Mourning for the life lost and taken right in front of her.

    And when the cart stopped, when the silence seemed to hit her, Gwenda knew he was gone.

    It was just her there.

    Alone.

    Again.

 14

    ¡ª Hey. ¡ª Whispered Darcy, and Ryxer leaned towards her ¡ª Did you see agent Matchstone?

    He shook his head. Raux just took a deep breath as she watched people placing flowers on Trytan''s lavish coffin.

    The boss didn''t want to let Gwenda do this, spending a fortune on Trytan''s funeral. But when it was herself, it was done. Matchstone didn''t waste time, at least not when it came to people she knew and liked with something more.

    It was Ryxer and Darcy''s turn, and the two approached.

    Vannyer said some prayer that Raux didn''t understand, but she remained quiet as she looked at the tombstone and did the math. Only 24, one year younger than Gwenda Matchstone.

    An unrecognizable tightness settled in her chest, and she tossed the white rose onto the coffin, stopping next to Ryxer''s daisy bouquet.

    When she realized it, she was already turning around and leaving the area full of sad and tearful people she didn''t even know their faces. Darcy took off the black gloves and held them until she reached her horse. When she turned back, Ryxer was coming, slow and with his hands in his pants pockets, his head down. Darcy could see the sadness and confusion in Ryxer.

    She sighed and mounted the horse in one swift motion. She had gone to the funeral in attire, not that she was dishonoring anything by doing so, but she couldn''t abandon her uniform. At least not when deaths occurred and more danger lurked around day and night, something no one ever commented on.

    One of the agents reported what happened when Gwenda caught up with them and got into the back of the wagon. But Raux knew that not even those around were aware of everything, only Gwenda. So much so that she arrived with her shoulder injured and caring little about such an event.

    The boss only knew that now they had another case to solve. The arrows were in the sector, and Gwenda didn''t even have the courage to look at them when she left them on Darcy''s desk. She could see that it would be left for her, but Raux was too busy with other things that could destroy Gwenda''s sanity, specifically hers. And Darcy wasn''t prepared for that. She needed to give it to someone else and move on with her plans.

    After losing everything, being forced into so many things, and still being a victim of Arth Cheack, Gwenda had changed into something petrified. And Darcy blamed herself because Matchstone was already with her when Arth tore her apart, she belonged to Raux at that time. Besides, she took Gwenda''s gun and didn''t return it at a necessary moment. Guilt was an accumulative feeling.

    ¡ª Agent Vannyer. ¡ª Darcy called, and he raised his head to look at her as he arrived on his horse behind the boss. ¡ª You''ll take this case. ¡ª And she saw him look away again at his mount ¡ª Don''t inform Gwenda. ¡ª Raux wished she hadn''t seen the agent''s expression when he closed his eyes ¡ª Let''s go.

    Darcy tapped the horse''s flank, and they started to move away from the disturbing silence, always with a vigilant eye.

    <hr>

    The sunset came quickly, as did the heavy clouds.

    Gwenda had been staring at the tombstone for hours. When distant relatives and friends left, she emerged from the hidden tree and went there reluctantly. Perhaps because she didn''t deserve to be at the funeral and didn''t want anyone to start doubting her presence, then expel her as if she were a plague.

    But alone there now, things circulated with a little more peace. Her mind still said she was to blame for his death.

    Arrived late.

    Too proud.

    But what Gwenda knew was that she could hunt down and tear apart the one who murdered Trytan and the rest of the people in the wagon, and that feeling wouldn''t dissipate. She had felt this way before, and nothing she did made a difference.

    In fact, the previous king died of something foolish or perhaps simply old age; it wasn''t Gwenda who killed him. She still doesn''t know what vengeance is, its taste. Because she never had the chance to destroy those who destroyed her life and diminished her. Arth Cheack is free, the king died for a cause she thought was natural. ¨¢tila Killian remained alive out of Gwenda''s mercy not to exterminate him just because he lied about who he was. And because of that, her father was dead.

    And now she was face to face with the one who took Trytan''s life. Facing the truth and the carnage. The hunt was not yet over, and Gwenda would feel what vengeance is with her own hands.

    When the Shooter left the site to return to her despicable corner of Carvlinea, the rain and lightning had already started.

    She found a spot on some rooftop in the city, next to a chimney, and stayed there quietly. Sitting with her knees tucked to her chest and her face sore from the tears that were already mingling with the raindrops, Gwenda stared into nothingness, empty and with nothing to declare.

    <hr>

    Her colleagues were working in their respective places when she arrived drenched from head to toe, drops trickling down her body.

    If it weren''t for the lanterns on the wall and the distant lightning, everything would be dark and gloomy, just like Gwenda.

    She didn''t care about the trail she left behind as she passed in front of everyone and descended the stairs with a slow, dragging pace, tired.

    She passed by the place where the Northern elf was confined and remembered she hadn''t given him any food. Laziness crawled over her body, and she ignored the fact that there was a damn mystic locked behind bars that she should keep alive. Or she could finish the job once and for all. After all, he wasn''t the culprit.

    But the agent didn''t turn back and finally entered the room where Ryxer was. She barely looked at him but noticed he stopped eating quickly when Matchstone entered and seemed to be searching for something in her.

    Gwenda didn''t care as she entered the bathroom and locked herself inside. Let Ryxer think whatever he wanted; she wasn''t in the mood for conversation or anything else related to physical or visual contact. This was fine.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    The gate in her mind was locked, not attempting to open. Maybe because she was tired, because she knew Gwenda would resist. But this time, she didn''t want to resist; she didn''t want to keep the madness just for herself and locked away with twelve weird keys. She wanted to feel the chaos she would unleash.

    But nothing happened. And that was annoying.

    Open up now. She doubted. Do it.

    Gwenda looked at herself in the mirror, her face swollen and displaying her exhaustion. Cheeks and eyes irritated.

    She wouldn''t leave there anytime soon; she didn''t want to see Vannyer''s pitying look, which seemed to spread over her body as soon as she passed through the door.

    She sighed and swallowed hard, observing herself. The wet hair dripped over her bare shoulders, over the bandage on her shoulder.

    Gwenda had arrived at the sector disoriented, her vision blurred. And when she finally stepped out of the wagon following the body that was taken from there, Darcy grabbed her before she could crash to the ground. The boss took her inside and started shouting orders to other agents.

    The Shooter was so absorbed in her thoughts and conclusions about what happened that she only dug her fingers into the shoulder wound and removed the bullet with a grimace and a grunt. But when she tried to get up, swaying and muttering things about Trytan, Darcy stopped her and pushed her back onto the couch, and then the process began.

    They removed her suit and tended to her wound, cleaning and bandaging it to finish. Not to mention that sticky, cold stuff they put in the wound, stopping the bleeding.

    She admitted she never thought something like this would happen. A body in that sheet. Trytan was about to do something; Gwenda never thought he would have all that courage and foolishness.

    The Shooter took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door, only to come face to face with a Ryxer playing with his food with the fork, not very hungry.

    She walked out and went to her corner, leaning against the wall and sliding down to sit on the mattress. When she shivered from Vannyer''s penetrating gaze that never wavered from her, Gwenda said:

    ¡ª He was rooting for you.

    Her voice came out hoarse and bitter.

    Gwenda turned her gaze to Ryxer. He was motionless, tense. He affirmed slowly, understanding.

    ¡ª He was there at every game, you were his idol. ¡ª She let the word come out with a contemptuous taste. Gwenda held back tears as her eyes welled up ¡ª He said he wanted to meet you.

    Vannyer frowned, and Gwenda turned away.

    All this time, and Gwenda didn''t know that Ryxer Vannyer was D.J Djenevieve. And when she found out, she could have still taken Trytan to meet him. But no, she was too proud and selfish to grant this wish that burned in his heart every time he watched the games in the past.

    Not that she cared back then; she was with ¨¢tila. Trytan was just a friend, understanding and welcoming in difficult times, but he was someone to Gwenda. Nods of acknowledgment from him always appeared when he saw her on the roads with her friends or Killian.

    In the end, she could have said that now D.J Djenevieve had been working with her for a long time and she hadn''t recognized him. In fact, it wasn''t him she was interested in at that time, even though she knew him by name.

    Trytan would have laughed and mocked her before hugging her and kissing her. She knew exactly how Trytan reacted to things like that... to almost everything.

    ¡ª If it makes you feel better, ¡ª Ryxer said ¡ª I would have denied knowing him.

    Gwenda felt the blood run cold through her body and turned to him. She absorbed the words and his gaze on hers.

    If Trytan were alive, and Ryxer refused to appear to him... would Gwenda have cared? Would she have forced Vannyer to fulfill his wish? Or wouldn''t she care what Trytan wanted and just let him dream.

    The most obvious thing would be to find this adoration thing stupid and ignore it. But now, even if she wanted to, she had nothing she could do to ensure Trytan would at least get a handshake from D.J Djenevieve.

    She felt guilty and ungrateful.

    Gwenda groaned at herself and rested her head against the wall.

    ¡ª It doesn''t matter. ¡ª She said, her voice choked, and her eyes trembled. She just felt a tear roll down her cheek.

    The Shooter twisted her hands in front of each other, her arms resting on her knees. The knot in her stomach tightened, and she could swear she would throw up everything right now.

    Vannyer pushed the chair back, making an irritating noise that sent shivers down Gwenda''s spine. He took two seconds, as if reconsidering what he was going to do, then stood up and approached the Shooter.

    Her back tensed, and that anguish spread through her spine. Gwen was more upright than she could manage when Ryxer sat next to her.

    His arm brushed against hers, and another shiver ran through her. Gwenda shuddered.

    ¡ª You''re freezing. ¡ª Ryxer commented beside her.

    She knew. It was cold outside, and Gwenda was all wet.

    The two stared at the opposite wall, waiting for something that Gwenda didn''t quite understand. Her thoughts were more focused on Trytan''s body inside the black coffin with shiny golden straps, exactly like his father''s.

    ¡ª I saw your flowers. ¡ª Gwenda commented softly.

    Vannyer sighed, perhaps a little relieved.

    ¡ª How do you know they were mine. ¡ª It wasn''t exactly a question.

    Tears streamed from the Shooter''s eyes, and she looked at her own hands before letting the weight of her head fall to the left side. As soon as she touched Ryxer''s shoulder, exhaustion caught her off guard. Her legs slid forward and stretched out, arms drooping between them.

    She didn''t want to say she had been watching from afar, didn''t want to show that she was there when Darcy and Ryxer left earlier.

    So she simply said:

    ¡ª They were next to Darcy''s rose.

    They were the only ones there anyway, tossed about. Gwenda didn''t want to stay to see what would happen after the rain spoiled the flowers.

    Ryxer let out a snort that sounded more like a laugh.

    ¡ª How do you know it was Darcy''s rose.

    Gwenda swallowed hard and closed her eyes.

    ¡ª It''s the same as the one she used at my parents'' funeral.

    The agent beside her fell silent and exhaled before resting his head against the wall and relaxing.

    The truth was, Darcy had left a rose at her father''s funeral, and when Gwenda appeared at her mother''s grave the next day, the same beautiful rose was there, recently placed. Darcy Raux still leaves her roses at both graves, showing that the memory of both is still cherished.

    Gwenda simply let Vannyer''s breathing movements calm her own as she rested her head on his shoulder. She had no more strength.

    And so she remained until sleep covered her like a warm blanket.

 15

    She woke up to the light coming from upstairs, not to mention the one from the small window above the bathroom.

    Gwenda felt a weight on her head, as if it were another pressing hers against something hard. But she realized it was Vannyer, his head slumped over hers.

    The Shooter placed her hand on top, gripping his hair, and pushed it upwards, getting out from underneath and letting his head fall back. But when she moved away from his body, Ryxer started to slowly fall to her side.

    Gwenda cursed as she pushed him back, looked around, and let him go again. He fell, and the Shooter quickly got out from under him, allowing him to lie on the mattress.

    But before falling completely, Ryxer woke up with wide, tired eyes. Gwenda watched as he ran his hand over his face and through his unruly short hair while stretching and grimacing.

    Gwenda just laughed and moved away to the food counters.

    <hr>

    Darcy tossed the documents on the same table where they had laid the satyr''s body. The armory room''s table.

    ¡ª There are reports from civilians claiming they saw him wearing a tunic, besides the bow and quiver of arrows. He wasn''t in uniform, just regular clothes. ¡ª The boss leaned on the table, biting her lower lip, her brow furrowed.

    ¡ª Was there any symbol on the tunic? ¡ª Gwenda asked. She never left out that question, knowing all the symbols that have existed for years.

    ¡ª They said they saw a wave at the edge of the fabric, but they''re not sure. One of them said the tunic''s color was dark green, almost black. ¡ª She shook her head ¡ª Nothing else. Tell me the first thing that comes to your mind, the one who jumps from building to building easily.

    Gwenda stared at the documents of the dead from the carriage and almost swallowed hard. Arth Cheack. But he doesn''t wear tunics.

    ¡ª The henchmen of Rubben. ¡ª She replied.

    Darcy tilted her head to the side, reasoning while still biting her lip.

    ¡ª There was a body in the carriage. ¡ª The Shooter commented ¡ª Did they find out who it was? Can I take a look? ¡ª She asked the two questions quickly.

    Darcy nodded and stepped away from the table. Gwenda followed. They turned down corridors about five times before she got irritated by the delay.

    The boss greeted everyone who approached her with a good morning and stopped for a moment to sign a clipboard for a criminal one of Gwenda''s colleagues managed to capture. When they continued walking, the Shooter fist-bumped him and smiled weakly.

    Gwenda had eaten an apple and gone straight to the bathroom this morning. After taking a relaxing shower and brushing her teeth, she took three deep breaths before heading out to look for Darcy.

    They arrived at the laboratory where they were conducting experiments with the recently found poison. Only Darcy and the scientists could enter this area.

    Raux removed the sheet from the face of a body on some sort of stretcher, and Gwenda approached before narrowing her eyes.

    He was blond, and a scar ran lightly along his chin. The Shooter frowned and looked at Darcy.

    ¡ª Where''s the tag?

    ¡ª It wasn''t labeled ¡ª Darcy replied.

    Gwenda froze and automatically brought her hand below her collarbone. She started to wear clothes that exposed her shoulders and the tag more frequently. She couldn''t avoid wearing the uniform when necessary, but the king seemed to understand that.

    ¡ª I want to see the eye color ¡ª Gwenda requested.

    Darcy nodded to someone with her chin, and he quickly complied, opening one of the man''s eyes with his gloved hand, using his thumb and index finger. Gwenda almost grimaced at how the woman cared little whether it was a dead man for who knows how long, and she opened his eye naturally.

    The Shooter felt her heart shaking her body so fast that it began to beat. The color drained from her face.

    ¡ª Gwen? ¡ª Darcy called.

    She took a barely noticeable step back but bumped into another stretcher. Apologies escaped her lips unintentionally, and Raux just dismissed the scientist with a nod, and the woman covered the man''s face again.

    ¡ª It''s the fugitive from the sector 6 explosion ¡ª Gwenda said.

    The boss furrowed her brow.

    ¡ª How do you know about that? ¡ª She asked.

    ¡ª I have this man''s document. My intention was to arrest him and get answers about the poison, how they obtained it.

    ¡ª No, wait. Gwenda... ¡ª Darcy tried to hold the Shooter''s shoulders, but she grabbed the boss¡¯s wrists and lowered her arms. Maybe she was going to say that this case wasn''t hers and blah blah blah. But Gwenda didn''t care.

    ¡ª Are you sure there isn''t another fugitive out there? There must be more fugitives.

    ¡ª No, they were all killed.

    And with that sentence, the way Darcy said it, so convinced, made Gwenda lose hope as if the temperature in her body was dropping too fast.

    ¡ª Great. ¡ª She muttered, unwillingly showing her irritation ¡ª Just wonderful.

    Gwenda turned on her heel with an eye roll and headed for the door.

    ¡ª Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder. ¡ª She stopped halfway upon hearing the boss ¡ª We need to talk.

    She turned to Raux, the boss still standing among the bodies. She hadn''t followed Gwenda; she would never stoop so low. People followed her around, not the other way around.

    The Shooter opened her arms as if inviting her to a confrontation.

    ¡ª I''m all ears. ¡ª and let her arms drop and hit her body.

    Raux approached slowly with her hands behind her back.

    ¡ª I assume Ryxer Vannyer is just there for show.

    Gwenda''s mouth twitched slightly, wanting to smile at the comment. But she said:

    ¡ª He hasn''t given me any feedback. I don''t know what he''s still expecting.

    ¡ª Vannyer is better in the field, I admit. ¡ª Darcy crossed her arms ¡ª What I''m trying to say is, they offered me an agent to help with the case...

    ¡ª They offered you? Really? ¡ª Gwenda asked rhetorically.

    ¡ª Focus, Matchstone. Sector 6 is giving you a bigger opportunity, more help. He''s the best detective in the sector.

    ¡ª I heard the lead agent was dead.

    On the day of the explosion. That friend of Jurian''s.

    ¡ª The one who worked only in the field. ¡ª Darcy replied ¡ª The man who carries a gun on each thigh is the one with fewer neurons.

    ¡ª And the woman who carries a gun on each thigh is the one who is more astute.

    Darcy gave a smirk.

    ¡ª Good to see you''ve evolved.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth, annoyed.

    ¡ª So what now? ¡ª Gwenda asked sarcastically ¡ª Are they going to send an agent to help me with the case and then...

    ¡ª To help us.

    Gwenda shifted her weight from one leg to the other, ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek, and looked Darcy up and down.

    Darcy could refer to the case as a whole, as herself, but Gwenda couldn''t? Another type of Raux''s annoyance.

    ¡ª Then what happens once we find out who gets the credit? ¡ª She continued ¡ª Boss, we''re halfway there already. Don''t you find it strange that they''re sending their best detective to help solve a high-risk case? If he''s that good, this search will be quicker, and then we know he''ll steal the case from us at the end of this whole game.

    ¡ª Game? ¡ª the boss seemed offended, so much so that she raised her eyebrows and blinked several times. Gwenda just licked her lips and clicked her tongue, slightly regretful. ¡ª You want the credit, then take it. Make it count, Matchstone. Earn it.

    Darcy walked past Gwenda and out the door. The Shooter muttered under her breath and followed her.

    ¡ª That''s not what I was talking about...

    ¡ª I don''t want an argument, I have work to do. ¡ª Gwenda realized, she was almost running back to where they came from ¡ª And so do you. ¡ª she added ¡ª The sector 6 agent arrives tomorrow.

    Gwenda huffed and stopped running at Darcy''s slow pace.

    ¡ª Whatever. ¡ª She said, running her hands through her hair before starting to walk slowly, ¡ª Good job. ¡ª She muttered finally.

    On New Year''s Day. The first day of the year and a new face would appear. Cool.

    <hr>

    It was her birthday, and she was alone at the back of the stable with a bottle, gazing at the rain that had appeared again. Paulo had left, as the boss had allowed, and Gwenda wondered how she could do that when everything was going wrong. She had come here initially to spend time with the stableman, but she was mistaken to think that Darcy would make him work on the last day of the year, especially when he had a daughter waiting to see her father after a month.

    Paulo was young, almost the same age as Gwenda, and he already had his life sorted out. Everything going according to plan. Unlike the Shooter, who still lamented losses and blamed herself for almost everything, besides getting tangled in the past and cruel events even for mystics.

    But she liked to think that now she was physically fine, somewhat healthy. She had always admired the talent she had for moving around the city and engaging in deadly activities without any injury. But she knew there was a limit, and she couldn''t abuse it. The consequences of exceeding what she was truly capable of could jeopardize not only her life but also her experience working as a Carvlinea.

    And she used this ease everywhere. Including in the competition among all the sectors. If everyone is good at competing cases, why couldn''t they schedule a competition to test their skills? This only got everyone more excited, considering that the other three Carvlineas from Mar¨ªmbea participate in all competitions, and even the Lord enjoys it and accompanies them on a trip to Besendall, the capital.

    Gwenda had received many boos that she loved. She always smiled to herself because she knew it was the only way opponents would come to terms with the fact that Gwenda was great at what she did.

    But now, in this state and in complete disarray, the Shooter was wondering if she could win another competition. Last year, sector 3 couldn''t participate. And that was Gwenda''s fault, as she was trapped in Arth Cheack''s hideout. So the competition didn''t happen.

    This year, things unfolded slowly, and Gwenda didn''t really know why it hadn''t happened. She just knew she didn''t want to participate; she was still recovering. But she kept telling Darcy they shouldn''t miss the competition because of her, but the boss always said: we need you anyway, why take the risk? Or else: everything is happening too fast, and we''re working too hard, we need to be alert for new cases.

    And so Gwenda gave up trying to convince her they should participate in the competition. Without sector 3, it wasn''t the same, so two years passed without tasting victory or defeat. But this defeat haunted the Shooter since the day she fled from Arth Cheack. Always feeling like she was about to self-destruct, and when she shook and trembled from the violence caused by the floating thoughts, Gwenda screamed until she lost her voice.

    Before this nightmare, Gwenda was taught to lose that excess bravery, and so it happened.

    She called it bravery.

    Her master called it self-destruction.

    When Yago Matchstone died, Gwenda ran and left everything behind, infiltrated the forest, and prayed there were no guards behind her. With her father''s warning to flee, something meant something, and a light turned on in the midst of the darkness that began to take shape.

    ¨¢tila Killian was with her, by her side always. But Gwenda was so scared and apprehensive that she didn''t even speak to him, and trembled when accepting his help when they made physical contact. Not because of who he was and what he belonged to. No, that wasn''t important to her, she couldn''t care less.

    Pirate or not, ¨¢tila Killian was her father''s murderer, and Gwenda was willing to step back and be caught by guards or soldiers, whatever her father was ordering her to flee.

    But ¨¢tila wouldn''t let her. He held her hand all the way, so tight she thought she would lose her fingers. When Gwenda just wanted to turn back and flee from Killian, the pirate held her shoulders and made her face him with all the hatred coagulated in her gaze.

    He yelled at her. Each word was different from a curse. Each word was an encouragement to keep running and leave everything behind, to continue life with him and be part of a new story.

    When they crossed the wall with the help of Kilorn Vannyer, they ran until their legs started to fail, until Gwenda''s knee bent by instinct and exhaustion.

    After catching their breath, she had already cried and screamed at Killian about what he once said he was. A lie.

    ¨¢tila Killian said it was a lie when they met, and Gwenda just laughed and got closer to feel the warmth of his body, thinking it was all a joke and a kind of weird flirtation.

    She was warned, and yet she fell into ¨¢tila Killian''s favor.

    And now she blamed herself.

    <hr>

    She grunted so forcefully that she felt her vocal cords fail and threw the glass bottle, which flew and shattered at the entrance of the stable. Gwenda always won in the throwing competitions among the Carvlineas.

    Some horses stirred, as did she.

    ¡ª Fuck that the world isn''t the same anymore ¡ª She commented loudly ¡ª Fuck that deaths happen. ¡ª She felt a bit groggy and continued softly ¡ª Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.

    She didn''t want to know anything else; she was ready to fall to the side and revel in the hard, dirty ground for the rest of the day and night. It was her birthday; she could do what she wanted.

    Gwenda raised her arm, hand clenched.

    ¡ª A toast to 26 years and all the rest. May this year be full of positive energies and irrational daydreams. ¡ª She said, observing the glass shards ahead; a lightning bolt exploded in the sky, and two seconds later, thunder reverberated through her body.

    But her eyes didn''t leave the scattered glass. The bottle was there, not in her hand.

    She let her arm fall back, hitting her thigh.

    A knot in her stomach began to take shape, and Gwenda prepared for the avalanche of liquid that would come out of her in moments.

    ¡ª I saw you focused on papers almost an hour ago. ¡ª A voice said at the stable entrance. Gwenda narrowed her eyes, trying to guess who it was, or at least to remember when someone had appeared there. ¡ª And now you''re sprawled out like a weakling.

    She opened her arms, or at least tried to, and gave the best smile she could manage.

    ¡ª I''m here. ¡ª She said, her voice muffled.

    The person walked over, getting closer and closer. And then the shape of the face began to take form, but it still wasn''t enough.

    Gwenda smiled again.

    If it weren''t for his leather jacket, she wouldn''t know for sure who the owner of that masculine voice was, not before he touched her and did whatever he wanted with her, since she was drunk. But the truth was, she wouldn''t mind if he touched her now.

    ¡ª Vannyer. ¡ª She murmured with a tone of welcome to the alcohol camp. ¡ª What brings my friend here?

    He sat beside her with a sigh and adjusted himself before holding Gwenda and straightening her against the wall, which was so crooked it could easily be mistaken for a thrown corpse.

    Ryxer didn''t reply. He just kept looking out of the stable, into the rain, with Gwenda''s arm over one of his stretched-out legs.

    She leaned forward and looked at his face with a grimace that anyone could identify as how drunk and out of it she was. Vannyer didn''t even pay attention and remained motionless.

    Gwenda leaned back. She hit her head against the wall so hard that Vannyer flared his nostrils, trying to avoid turning around and cursing her to be more careful. A grunt of discomfort escaped her, just.

    Then Gwenda raised her arm and tapped his other cheek twice. A little laugh escaped her, and she let her arm fall on Vannyer''s leg again.

    In his head, he could still go back in there and tidy up Gwenda''s appearance. Maybe a bath or two, plus brushing her teeth at least five times before leaving the bathroom.

    But Ryxer wasn''t in a position to do that; he should just sit there and wait for Matchstone to feel better enough to at least walk.

    Gwenda started humming beside him, moving her foot from side to side slowly and looking around as if searching for something to distract herself. Apart from the endless dramatic sighs she was making and grumbles about not wanting to stand still.

    But if she could get up, she would have done it already.

    She seemed to gather the air to confess, softly:

    ¡ª Did you know I once wanted to fly? ¡ª She admitted.

    Vannyer didn''t want to, but he gave a little smile.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡ª I was on the roof of a church. ¡ª Gwenda opened her arms like wings up to Ryxer''s chin; the agent held them gently and lowered them enough in case she hit harder and broke his nose. ¡ª But for some reason, I didn''t do it.

    Ryxer became serious. He had understood the message.

    He turned to her, his eyes betraying a glimmer of pity. But he refused to feel anything about it; Gwenda wouldn''t want that. So Vannyer smiled when she turned to him with an expression of someone less worried and happy.

    Her light brown eyes sparkled with the stable lamps and the outside brightness, even though there wasn''t much with all the still heavy clouds ready to burst.

    ¡ª It seemed so simple at that moment, easy to execute ¡ª She whispered, as if afraid someone else might hear ¡ª Just flap the wings I didn''t have, but that I would get on my own at some point. Just try to fly without them and see how far I''d get.

    She just wouldn''t go through the floor. Vannyer thought.

    This Gwenda was so different from the one he usually saw as soon as he woke up and kept the same face throughout the day. But here and now, Gwenda was showing her other personality. Not because of alcohol, but just being carefree, saying things that seemed nonsensical.

    She was drunk, but Ryxer could see who the Shooter once was. Long before Arth Cheack, long before he met her. Vannyer saw how Gwenda was before losing her father.

    Many people showed their true forms through drink. And Gwenda was a child.

    Shy and playful. Opens her mouth without realizing she''s talking. Eyes wide open since he arrived here, unlike what he saw in Gwenda in the sector corridors when they were low and frightening.

    As clueless about true life as a child. Alcohol awakened what Gwenda had once been, only deeper into her personality.

    If she were the same as before her father died, she would still say she was responsible and mature. But if she drank, that would dissipate, like now. That was how Gwenda got when she was drunk, if she wasn''t just another normal young woman with a pleasant personality.

    He wondered if her humor was as dubious as it is now. Maybe in the past, Gwenda wasn''t so sarcastic to the point of involving death. In the end, Ryxer didn''t know if there was still any salvation for what Gwenda was, her old personality.

    He admits he should have known her even when she was dating Johan Iak, her old friend named ¨¢tila Killian, but Vannyer never cared enough to pay attention, although he thought Gwenda would be a good match at that time. He remembered this because it was the only thought he had about her, besides noticing when she raised one corner of her lip at a time, and the dimples appeared. Ryxer laughed once at that when he found it amusing, but now there was no reason to laugh anymore.

    Gwenda had been away for years to complete her studies, as she said. When she entered sector 3, Vannyer didn''t recognize her. But the look she had directed at him was cutting and suffocating, and to this day, he had never understood the reason. After that, she didn''t even make eye contact with him. At first, he thought it was because she was more interested in work, barely looking at any of her colleagues while talking to them, but later he believed it was some petty grudge.

    From then on, he started avoiding her too and glaring at her until she noticed he was staring. When Gwenda glanced in his direction afterward, perhaps sensing that someone was always watching her, Ryxer Vannyer would shrink like a lost puppy in the street. This visual scrutiny of hers gradually diminished, or maybe he was just getting used to it. He didn''t find out.

    And now he was here, beside the same agent who had been implicating him for a long time. Her head had already fallen on his shoulder, and her breathing was steady.

    Ryxer had already begun his search in the case that Darcy had assigned him, hidden from Gwenda. He already had a strong hunch of where to start looking for information. All the men from the cart had died, along with the body in the truck bed with them. According to Darcy, it was the same person who fled in the explosion of sector 6.

    The boss showed the corpse to the agent. No marks on the body, no blood; the lungs were swollen according to the nurses. He had been drowned to avoid leaving marks on the body and making it seem like a natural death. He just didn''t know yet what Trytan and the other men had to do with it.

    Ryxer went after the documents of the deceased and read their files several times. They both worked in casinos. And there was only one in the city that housed all the men and women who wanted to gamble and bet. One that Raux hated to mention, and Gwenda couldn''t stand to hear about, always avoiding and walking away whenever someone mentioned it.

    Vannyer would go straight to Rubben''s grave as soon as he summoned the courage to leave Gwenda alone.

    <hr>

    She woke up to whispers, not exactly whispers, from Kimer and Louise in the hallway. Her head was spinning, and her skull felt like it was stretching with every torturous thought that wouldn''t leave her. Her eyes were burning, and her throat was so dry and bitter that Gwenda grimaced when she tried to swallow.

    She couldn''t remember how she had ended up on her mattress, or why she felt so wrecked. It started with a few sips, until the world became just imagination, as if she were reading a book so good she couldn''t put it down, knowing she wouldn''t pick it up again for a while. It was her way of escaping reality, and then came the hangover.

    The truth was she hardly ever got hungover. But after everything, her own appearance probably led her down that path.

    When Gwenda rubbed her eyes and tried to sit up with trembling arms, Kimer and Louise walked through the door still in their loud whispers. But when one of them, Gwenda didn''t know who, laid eyes on the Shooter, she practically yelled:

    ¡ª Look what we have here!

    Gwenda just grimaced and guessed it was Kimer.

    ¡ª Don''t tell me you started this party without your brightest friends. ¡ª Louise commented with amusement and a hint of anxiety.

    The Shooter grunted and looked at them with a weak smile and her eyes almost closing.

    ¡ª I was sleeping. ¡ª She said, which, apparently, wasn''t a complete lie.

    One of them laughed, Gwenda couldn''t tell which one. The agent rubbed her eyes again.

    She wouldn''t admit she had been drinking at the stable to enjoy the little time she had given herself. That had always been the problem. If she stopped working, hunting for answers, alcohol would be the first thing Gwenda would venture into.

    She wasn''t proud, but as she always liked to think, it was like fantasy books. Addictive and covered in hallucinations that she created in her own head.

    ¡ª Should I ask if you brought gifts? ¡ª Gwenda opened a mischievous smile, looking from one to the other.

    Kimer narrowed her eyes and took a present from her back, making Gwenda''s smile disappear in a second. Her head spun in response.

    ¡ª Oh, come on. ¡ª Kimer approached and sat next to her on the mattress, her back against the wall, ¡ª You love champagne.

    Gwenda held back from rolling her eyes and closed them.

    ¡ª I thought we only drank champagne on New Year''s Eve. ¡ª She said ¡ª After all, you only let me drink that on New Year''s Eve. ¡ª Gwenda said the last sentence with a tone as if blaming them, but the truth is she smiled as if it were all a big joke.

    ¡ª It''s New Year''s Eve ¡ª Said Louise, sitting in front of the Shooter ¡ª We''re hoping from now on things will fall into place.

    ¡ª You''ve been promising me that for a long time. ¡ª Gwenda replied. ¡ª How about making another wish?

    ¡ª Not until it''s done. ¡ª Kimer commented by her side.

    ¡ª Sometimes we just need to have faith. ¡ª Louise added with a little smile.

    ¡ª Sometimes ¡ª Gwenda spoke up ¡ª that faith they talk about only serves to deceive us.

    ¡ª Not when things are already set for you. ¡ª one of them said, and Gwenda didn''t understand which one; the sound came from everywhere.

    ¡ª You''re talking about destiny. And it may well be different from what you believed. What''s the point of having faith in something when destiny is completely the opposite? ¡ª Gwenda leaned against the wall with Kimer and then continued. ¡ª Faith deceives us sometimes.

    Both remained silent for a while until Kimer raised the bottle in Gwenda''s direction.

    ¡ª Brought champagne.

    The Shooter just stared at the glass, trying to remember how it got there. She remembered the shattered bottle at the stable entrance, remembered talking to herself, and that was a bit unusual when she was drunk, because she remembered everything. She didn''t know if they had touched her or dragged her by the hair and then raped her. It was an endless train of thought. But if that were the case, she wouldn''t have woken up here.

    ¡ª Thank you. ¡ª She said and held the bottle up to eye level, observing.

    But then she looked away to Vannyer''s things. He wasn''t there.

    She had felt something missing. But he should be in front of his ex-girlfriend''s tombstone, leaving flowers while murmuring Happy New Year amidst tears.

    But that would be too obvious. And Gwenda never thought Ryxer would shed a single tear in his entire existence.

    In the end, it was New Year''s Eve, and she could let Vannyer do as he pleased. And it was Gwenda''s birthday; she could do as she pleased. Maybe twice over.

    But an idea that haunted her wouldn''t leave her mind.

    Rubben''s threat was starting to become more than just a bluff. But the idiot wouldn''t be foolish enough to hire someone or send one of his henchmen to kill Trytan in the middle of the city, even if killing the others in the cart was a way to cover any clues that might lead directly to him. But Gwenda knew how Rubben thought, so what''s the harm in invading his territory and politely asking for the answers she needed.

    After all, the person under the dark green hood killed everyone before aiming an arrow at Trytan, as if they had planned to eliminate him last and make sure Gwenda was watching with all her attention. Trytan was the last to fall; it wouldn''t be impossible.

    Before she could hold her tongue, Gwenda found herself asking:

    ¡ª How are things at the castle?

    Louise shrugged.

    ¡ª The same as always. But I received a compliment today before having the rest of the day off ¡ª her smile widened a bit. ¡ª I''m really good at what I do.

    Gwenda let out a lifeless laugh.

    ¡ª I bet he wants to sleep with you.

    In any case, the king was young, perhaps only a few years older than Gwenda, but he already knew how to give orders and punish those who didn''t obey, exactly like a man lacking character.

    ¡ª It''s not me being pressured to go to the castle and stay there.

    Gwenda blinked, as if only now remembering the signature.

    ¡ª Did he do something about it? ¡ª She asked ¡ª The signature ¡ª She clarified.

    ¡ª He said he would figure out a way to make you sign, but he understood when I said you were too shocked, and I couldn''t force you at that moment.

    Gwenda raised an eyebrow. Surprising.

    ¡ª Now I''m no longer shocked ¡ª She replied. ¡ª Just disgusted.

    Louise opened her mouth to say something, but Kimer intervened:

    ¡ª Can we just celebrate Gwenda''s birthday and forget about this boring hierarchy for a while?

    Gwenda''s birthday.

    Yeah, it was her birthday.

    And you know what else? Who sang happy birthday on the same day? That''s what Gwenda wanted to ask, but she kept quiet every time today came.

    Reliving the memory was so painful that she would stay still for four hours, begging for sleep to come when her body started tingling, and her spine throbbed.

    ¡ª If I ask for something stupid now. ¡ª Gwenda began ¡ª Would you be up for it?

    Kimer and Louise exchanged glances.

    ¡ª We''ve already done so many stupid things, kitty... ¡ª Kimer said with a tone of amusement.

    Gwenda just lifted one corner of her mouth as she recalled her youthful rebellion. But the usual shadow soon covered the brightness on her face as she felt the alcohol bubbling inside her when she got up.

    <hr>

    ¡ª Are you kidding me? ¡ª Louise asked with a tone of discomfort and sarcasm.

    Gwenda smiled.

    The elf looked from one friend to the other, completely dumbfounded.

    ¡ª What''s going on? ¡ª He asked exasperatedly. ¡ª Am I some sort of toy now?

    He was irritated, which only made Gwenda feel more anxious.

    ¡ª Don''t talk like that, vegan creature. ¡ª She replied.

    The elf flipped her off.

    ¡ª I ask that you leave. ¡ª He said.

    Nobody moved.

    ¡ª Why do you have an elf? ¡ª Kimer asked with a hint of disgust, though Gwenda couldn''t quite decipher whether it was directed at what or whom exactly, as her dark eyes shone while she stared at him with a certain... curiosity? Admiration? Dread?

    But the dread wouldn''t be for her or any of the three in the face of a threat. It would be for him. Disgust at how he was being treated.

    The Shooter held back from asking questions.

    ¡ª I saved his life, and now he owes me a few things. ¡ª She stated.

    The elf scowled more than Gwenda thought possible.

    ¡ª What are you up to? Using me? Using me for...

    ¡ª We''re going to a restaurant. ¡ª Gwenda interrupted. ¡ª We''ll try typical Carsanian dishes and come back here without a scratch.

    The mystic''s eyes lit up, and he relaxed his expression.

    ¡ª I''d prefer the arena. ¡ª Kimer grumbled from her right side. ¡ª It''s much more fun, and we can earn some cash just by betting on you, Gwen. ¡ª Her friend nudged her arm encouragingly.

    But Gwenda was set. She intended to take the North Elf to some good restaurant as soon as she could. And anyway, today was a great day. And when the moon reached its peak, they could be on some rooftop enjoying the view.

    ¡ª I don''t want to butt into your amazing decision, but I won''t go to the arena. This Gwen and I are going to a restaurant, as she promised me a while back. Isn''t that right, Gwen?

    The elf watched her with a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

    Gwenda felt shaken inside but didn''t let the hatred she felt when he pronounced her name twice show. She should have dictated the rules to her friends before walking through the iron door.

    The Shooter smiled with the same mockery.

    ¡ª Of course, vegan creature.

    The elf lost his smile but forced himself to stand up.

    From the corner of her eye, she noticed her two friends raising their heads to follow his movements. Pride ran through her body, but she wasn''t sure of the reason.

    They handcuffed the elf''s wrists and went in search of a costume to cover all the evidence that he was a mystic. Obviously, they took him to have an opinion on what he wanted to wear.

    ¡ª This is awful! How can you have such a peculiar taste in clothes? ¡ª He complained, then launched into a series of quick and senseless prayers that Gwenda couldn''t catch. But he was probably asking for patience and that the gods give them a bit of sense.

    Gwenda didn''t care; she was serious about deciding the outfit when Kimer and Louise got lost in his conversation about Banesy.

    The elf waved his arms as he spoke cheerfully and with a hint of pride, which annoyed Gwenda and made her even more sulky.

    ¡ª The best pancakes are in Banesy, for your information. But I admit that you guys have some gooey food that''s devilishly good. Gwen calls it ramen noodles. ¡ª He said.

    ¡ª I thought you were vegan. ¡ª Louise said with some doubt.

    ¡ª I am. Well, I was, until that Gwen there gave me that delicious crap I couldn''t resist. I guess I''m not vegan anymore.

    His confident tone made Gwenda chuckle, but she said firmly.

    ¡ª Don''t mention my name.

    The elf clicked his tongue. The friends grew tense and silent.

    ¡ª You can''t please everyone, can you? ¡ª He commented when Gwenda shoved a toga over his head. A garment that only had an opening for the head and covered the arms completely like a blanket. ¡ª That color is horrible. ¡ª He accused, raising his fists in front of him as he observed the bright pink with some green stripes on the toga.

    ¡ª I didn''t know you were a fashion expert. ¡ª Gwenda retorted, then went in search of something to cover his eyes and ears.

    Some clothes were getting moldy, and Gwenda was taking care and resisting the urge to grab them and make the elf wear them.

    ¡ª How not? You visit me every day, don''t you, Gwen?

    She didn''t want to, but she felt a pang of pity. It had been a while since she visited him to ask questions or just chat about everyday life. She just left the food and walked away without saying a word.

    ¡ª Oh, dear. ¡ª She pouted falsely. ¡ª Poor vegan creature who declared himself no longer vegan because he ate a delicious ramen.

    ¡ª Speaking of food... ¡ª He pointed to the exit with both hands under the toga.

    Gwenda found a black hood and forcefully placed it on the elf''s head, completely different from the gentle caress she gave Trytan''s blond hair when she met him.

    The elf let out a childish grumble.

    ¡ª Impolite. ¡ª He accused her again.

    Gwenda just smirked.

    In no time, the four of them were leaving the empty Sector 3 and entering the shadow of the city at night, a different silence from the daytime. The silence of the moon and the stars above them.

    They could be a legion up there, in the skies. And massacring everyone wouldn''t be difficult. Perhaps someday she would want to know what was up there in the clouds. Perhaps someday she would finally get the wings she had always wanted. And so she could travel a little closer to what she observed every night as a teenager before falling asleep.

    The night was almost as expected. Apart from the fact that they had to run out of the restaurant because a man froze and wet himself at the sight of the elf, everything went well.

    The laughter of Gwenda''s companions still echoed through her body, as if they hadn''t had fun together in ages. As if the North Elf had been their friend for so long.They had eaten and made the elf try everything. Of course, he devoured more of anything that had some salad, but sooner or later, they were asking for more and curious to see the mystic''s reaction.

    And obviously, they didn''t leave the drinks out. Louise had the champagne bottle that Kimer brought and baptized it as hers for the rest of the night. Gwenda bought another drink for herself and forgot about her favorite as soon as the bitter and addictive taste touched her tongue, making her float without fear of falling. Kimer did the same thing as Gwenda, but something weaker and in a smaller bottle.

    In other words, Gwenda and the elf, who were theoretically pushing drinks down each other''s throats with his full approval, were the most groggy and spoke loudly as they walked along the Capital''s road with their arms intertwined. Louise and Kimer just laughed or made no sound as they whispered in the same way they did when they were heading to Gwenda''s meeting earlier in the night.

    They had eaten well, and Gwenda had spent almost all of the last few times in the arena, but now she didn''t care anymore; she was okay with her own hallucinations.

    Ugly looks from women and men directed at them passed by unnoticed.

    Until they finally settled down and perched on a terrace, watching the sky as Gwenda imagined her New Year''s Eve would be.

    But she didn''t know what made her stop and breathe in the night air with complete attention, only that when she turned the bottle again as she felt sad and about to collapse, nothing fell into her mouth.

    She looked at her friends'' hands on the other side of the terrace, both leaning on each other and chatting quietly with grimaces and nudges that would probably turn purple when they woke up. Their drink was also finished, so much so that they were at the terrace''s railing.

    Gwenda''s vision was blurry, but she blinked and swallowed the saliva that had formed before trying to lean hers as well. She didn''t let go until she was standing up straight and firm, furrowing her brow as she turned from side to side and almost rolled down.

    It was her and the elf on one side, watching whatever they were watching. He seemed entertained by the beautiful view.

    Gwenda turned to him quickly.

    ¡ª Have you ever flown with griffins? ¡ª She blurted out. ¡ª I heard that Banesy has a legion of griffins. They all serve as mounts, roaming Banesy at night alongside soldiers in search of danger. Because your kingdom is on a cliff, and many see it as a challenge. I believe flying isn''t so bad, you know. Have you ever flown? With griffins.

    The elf was literally jaw-dropped, and his eyelids were equally droopy as he tried to think, Gwenda noticed.

    He let his head tilt to the side and swallowed before speaking softly.

    ¡ª You''re shouting too much.

    Gwenda felt anxiety growing in her.

    ¡ª Sorry. ¡ª She replied softly and smiled at him, finding it amusing.

    Her feet began to tingle with the urge to wander under the dark, starry sky. The light illuminating her path as she always thought it did.

    ¡ª How old are you?

    ¡ª Ah, maybe about 25; years are like storms. I let them pass.

    ¡ª It doesn''t seem like it. ¡ª The elf replied, lightly elbowing Gwenda, who staggered to the side.

    ¡ª What doesn''t seem like it? ¡ª She asked, curious and leaning in again. Unmoved.

    ¡ª That you let them pass.

    ¡ª Ah. ¡ª She shrugged. ¡ª At some point, it becomes easy and normal. Some things are like love, they just come and catch you by surprise. With the frequency they come and go, everything eventually becomes natural.

    ¡ª You drive away storms with alcohol.

    Gwenda murmured. She couldn''t deny it.

    The silence from the terrace''s coastal view reached them, and Gwenda shivered but didn''t fail to let out a little noise as if she were cold. If she wanted to express herself, she had to do it before she lost the courage.

    ¡ª Don''t worry, best friend. ¡ª The elf said heroically ¡ª I''ll help you in moments like this, what do you think?

    ¡ª What do I think? ¡ª She asked and rested her head on the elf''s shoulder beside her. She laughed. ¡ª I think I don''t need help.

    ¡ª Cool, we can help each other now. ¡ª He said, completely ignoring what Gwenda said. But she also didn''t pay attention when he started to hum, already shifting her focus elsewhere.

    A star seemed to shine brighter than the others, and Gwenda looked up at the sky. The bright and beautiful moon hung above them.

    Something in her head told her she knew why she was there, waiting for something she had no idea what it was. But nothing illuminated her memory, and Gwenda just shrugged once to herself, then shook up and down three more times, enjoying the shoulder movement.

    ¡ª What are you doing? ¡ª The elf asked, feeling it.

    She shrugged again.

    ¡ª Nothing. ¡ª She replied. ¡ª Have you ever liked someone? I mean, been in love?

    At the moment, the elf didn''t reply. But a minute later, he opened up:

    ¡ª Honestly. ¡ª His voice fluctuated in a deep tone. ¡ª As I was coming here, I had someone on my tail. But died on the way.

    Gwenda became serious upon realizing the situation.

    She tapped his shoulder gently.

    ¡ª Love hurts, vegan friend. ¡ª She lamented. ¡ª Love hurts.

    She remembered those she lost, the one Gwenda had to go visit buried because... because why.

    She couldn''t think of any other way this could work out. And she couldn''t think without starting to break out in a cold sweat. She lost people she loved, and the feeling was once mutual; she lost sanity and kindness she had in her gaze.

    Gwenda swallowed hard and looked again at her friends'' drinks. Empty, both of them.

    She tried to take a deep breath with the somewhat funny sight, the vein throbbing in her neck. She needed a drink, but there was nothing left that could take her wandering between the worlds of her own mind, to make her feel less bad, less crazy, and like she was about to scream.

    So she continued to look at the coastline so far away that the night barely allowed them to see. Only lanterns on the walls of buildings and houses illuminated the city. As if the lights were just part of those she lost in the midst of her own evolution as a person.

    She missed them.

    All of them.

 16

    Gwenda vomited when she returned to her corner she shared with Vannyer. He wasn''t there, and Gwenda didn''t care enough to go to the bathroom. After all, she could barely walk.

    When she woke up in the morning, with her face on the cold floor and a taste in her mouth that made her stomach churn and bile rise again. But she grimaced and forced out whatever wanted to come out, remaining inside her.

    With a throbbing head, she tried to get up and ended up on all fours, hair falling around her head. She wiped the corners of her mouth with her hand and trembled as she pushed herself up, finally feeling the ground beneath her feet. But that didn''t help when she staggered backwards with a headache, everything a bit blurry like the myopia that irritated her sometimes.

    She stumbled over something, maybe her own feet, and fell backward. But before she hit the ground, she hit her back on the table and knocked over a porcelain cup, shattering it with a loud bang that hurt her ears.

    ¡ª Shit. ¡ª she muttered quietly, but she was almost certain she had shouted.

    She told her own echo to shut up with a hiss.

    Gwenda leaned on the table with her arm, holding her body together with trembling legs that slowly slid further down. Gods, she could tell she was still drunk.

    The agent shook her head and immediately regretted it as she felt a pang of pain. So she took a deep breath and as her arm trembled as a warning that her almost lifeless body couldn''t take it anymore, a voice saved her at the door:

    ¡ª What the hell are you doing?

    Gwenda turned with wide eyes, but everything was blurry, so she squinted to try to understand. Nothing but a redhead''s head, but it was enough. The agent smiled.

    ¡ª Boss. ¡ª She said cheerfully. A second later she was on the floor.

    Gwenda hit her head on the table and her butt on the floor. She grumbled and leaned forward, careful not to lie back because she had little hope of being able to get up again. Sitting down also provided more encouragement, anyway.

    Someone held her face with delicate hands, but full of scars that Gwenda felt very well.

    ¡ª What were you doing last night? ¡ª Darcy asked, but when Gwenda couldn''t even think of a truthful answer, because all she had at the tip of her tongue was a lie, the boss grunted. ¡ª Why is the elf out of the cell? He''s sleeping in the hallway door.

    Gwenda frowned. The elf. She didn''t remember how she had gotten back, she was intoxicated enough to not even be able to walk. But the gods certainly protected her when she drowned in alcohol, because she always seemed to be intact without a scratch, but she didn''t want to push her luck, did she?

    Gwenda gave a little smile.

    ¡ª I need to get back to work. ¡ª she whispered ¡ª Before you find out I''m hungover.

    The agent couldn''t see well, but caught a glimpse of Darcy''s grimace and soon wondered why.

    ¡ª Please, get yourself together and go brush your teeth. Then you can rest and take the day off.

    She felt a blush spread across her face. No. Gwenda wanted to shout. But she raised her trembling arms and held both of the boss''s wrists, pressing them against her cheek so she could rest her face. Darcy just huffed and tried to pull away.

    ¡ª Don''t forget about the agent from Sector 6, Matchstone. He''ll be arriving today.

    Gwenda''s body went into shock, immobile. The strings that used her as a puppet seemed to come to life, but not as firm as they should be when she was sober.

    The agent removed her hands from the boss and started to get up while muttering something she couldn''t understand.

    ¡ª Gwenda... ¡ª The boss tried, but she hit her head on the table and let out a groan before crawling forward, avoiding Raux. And then she stood up with her limp body.

    Her vision was returning, but she could see the bathroom door and the shelves with the old cases. Gwenda swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath and regaining the air to clear her mind.

    ¡ª Right. ¡ª She imagined she was composing herself as she spoke. ¡ª Make sure he doesn''t mess with my things when he arrives.

    Gwenda supposed he would arrive in the morning. And she was almost sure it was morning, so much so that she saw the light from the upper window freely entering the bathroom. Then she entered that light and closed the door with force before kneeling in front of the toilet and waiting.

    <hr>

    He was supposed to feel motivated? To sit at a table and start his game betting and losing everything?

    No. Vannyer knew how to control himself.

    He was walking among the tables, indifferent and observant like a good gambler, while looking for somewhere that wouldn''t give him away right away.

    His strong point was that he could embody any character the situation demanded. He would be a great actor, could be successful in the world of theater. He was always at his best when negotiations were involved, shedding the skin of who he was and slipping into another with ease.

    But there was one thing that prevented him from turning into a lie, into something that wasn''t true. No, not one thing. But one person. And she was probably still sleeping or grumbling about how irresponsible he was. But Ryxer was almost sure that Gwenda would never think that of her, since she liked to boast around saying she was the best in the sector. Vannyer didn''t openly disagree, since she was always one step ahead. But he didn''t care. Or at least he shouldn''t.

    He cared about her, that was the biggest problem. And he was trying not to make that clear.

    The agent caught sight of a man with slicked-back black hair with just one strand cutting across his forehead. The same hairstyle since he started frequenting this casino.

    Ryxer opened a huge, welcoming smile before sitting in the first empty chair he found.

    Men and a woman looked at him with some disdain. But he rubbed his hands together, still wearing the expression of someone who was ready to spend all his money. The expression of a traitor, but one that seemed like a safe and fun point.

    ¡ª It''s going to be fun. ¡ª He said with the best tone he could find and waited until everyone started focusing on the table again.

    When he got what he wanted, he turned to Rubben and his two lackeys walking around the place. Ryxer followed with curious eyes, wondering where he was going with such determination.

    Rubben entered a swinging door and disappeared, leaving only one lackey waiting for his return at the door.

    Vannyer looked around, the guards positioned in their proper places. Flashing fake smiles at the people who greeted them.

    Ryxer got up, but gave one last look at the table to make sure he hadn''t bet anything. When he realized that the people at the table were looking at him, Ryxer smiled.

    ¡ª A man needs to go to the bathroom before he''s rich, right, gentlemen? ¡ª he turned his eyes to the woman ¡ª And miss. ¡ª he added with a smile.

    One of the men, blond, smiled, while the woman chuckled awkwardly and returned her attention to the table.

    They would take him out of the game, no doubt. After all, there was no reason to wait for someone who hadn''t even bet when they could just ignore him.

    Vannyer headed for the bathroom, giving a short nod to the guard. As he passed, he shocked the man and electrocuted him. The man''s gasp was heard by Ryxer as he continued and entered the bathroom, calmly adjusting his collar.

    As soon as he had brought Gwenda inside an hour earlier, he had dressed appropriately and with the necessary weapons. And now he was there, acting behind her eyes.

    He believed he wouldn''t get through without being searched, but they already knew him. Or rather, one of the characters that Vannyer had created, the one thirsty to compete and come back with pockets full. He was even friends with the guards at the door. He received a pat on the shoulder and a welcome back from the other guy before entering, not caring that the person behind him had been stopped.

    A flush sounded in one of the bathrooms and a short, bald man appeared while zipping up his pants. He greeted Vannyer, who was washing his hands, and went to do the same. When the man turned to go dry his hands on the paper towel, Vannyer grabbed some soap and mixed it with hand sanitizer, and left the bathroom with clenched fists in his pocket.

    One of the guards was leaning over the other who had been knocked out by Vannyer and tapping his face, trying to wake him up. He noticed Vannyer watching and tried to disguise it with a furrowed brow and a guilty look over the awake guards.

    Ryxer just moved on, avoiding bodies still with their hands in their pockets increasingly feeling the soap and hand sanitizer spreading all over his hand, but being careful not to let it drop in his pocket.

    He was heading for the man who was positioned at the door where Rubben had entered, his eyes fixed on him. The guy just looked around and tried to find some ass to admire, whether male or female, lost in what was supposed to be his duty. The smirk Ryxer gave was the opposite of welcoming.

    But there was another guard on the other side of the casino, and this one was positioned and paying complete attention to what he was paid to do. So the agent had to be cautious, to seem just like any other conversation until he could...

    Rubben came out.

    Quickly Ryxer stood next to a table, pretending to be frustrated with whatever was happening. The counter looked at him from the corner of his eye, one of the few still standing around.

    The agent glanced at the one who was following Rubben, another body who came out with the casino owner.

    The white hair stood out around heads darker and lighter than his own. His skin was pale, his posture almost perfect, his walk dragged but confident. A walk that Vannyer knew well. The standard walk of people who owned the damn thing, he would say.

    Ryxer followed with his eyes, taking great care to seem more interested in the game in front of him than anything else.

    When the pale man glanced around. The agent just watched his expression and eyes. The eyebrows were black, the eyes with a yellow so deep that Vannyer frowned when he realized what that meant.

    Rubben was working with mysticisms.

    But he couldn''t decipher anything else when the man looked back and Ryxer was forced to bite his lip and quickly glance at what was on the table, his forehead furrowed with concern and attention on what might happen next.

    Ryxer slowly lifted his gaze, ready to look away if he was still staring. But the man was alone heading for the exit.

    Vannyer furrowed his brow more and looked for Rubben in all the corners.

    Nothing.

    Something in his chest began to take shape, perhaps fear, apprehension of what was to come. So he just clenched his fists even tighter, now not knowing the difference between sweat and soap and hand sanitizer, and turned on his heels before heading for the exit with the same dragged and happy walk as if he had won mountains of fractions like Gwenda used to win in the arena.

    <hr>

    Vapor followed Gwenda out of the bathroom when he opened the door and stepped out with a towel wrapped around his body.

    He hadn''t expected Vannyer to have returned, nor would he care much. He was eager to learn the secrets that the agent hid and to try to be less reserved.

    But it wasn''t Vannyer that he saw when he stopped halfway to his suitcase.

    She widened her eyes and stood still. Well, he did the same thing.

    A man was standing in the middle of the room, tall and huge. Something she hadn''t seen in a long time, a body and face shape she hadn''t encountered since she took a break from searching for mystics in Carsany. Since she received a scar in exchange for the deaths she left behind.

    He had burnt blond hair, almost orange, amber eyes so bright that Gwenda was mesmerized and had to gather all her senses and strength again.

    The first thing that came to mind was Trytan, the long blond hair and eyes full of love... but this guy had a cold and dark gaze, as different as a dwarf from a giant.

    When he spoke, his voice hoarse as if he didn''t quite know how to let the words come out of his mouth, Gwenda could have turned into a stone from how rigid she became.

    ¡ª I believe... you''d like to change so we can introduce ourselves. ¡ª and then an awkward little smile, as if he were shy.

    Gwenda quickly classified him as one of those on her list with people to be studied first written at the top. Friendship or not, she needed to study and get to know him before even having the freedom to start being nice to him. That''s what she was doing with Vannyer, and she could say it was working.

    She turned her expression into something indecipherable as she approached the suitcase and dragged it into the bathroom, leaving a pile of clothes behind, including a black bra. Gwenda noticed his face turning red and then realized how fair-skinned he was before slamming the door in his face and locking it from the inside.

    Gwenda sighed and widened her eyes, observing her reflection in the mirror. There was a man right outside, maybe the one Darcy warned would show up. But how long had he been standing there not knowing what to do?

    The Shooter went in search of clothes and quickly dressed, letting her hair drip. She gave it another pat to remove excess water and combed it. It was still straight, but it would soon be wavy again.

    But it wasn''t a wavy she was proud of, like Louise''s. A few years ago, the bottom strands were perfect in her eyes, but the top ones were practically straight, giving a dirty look in those times.

    Gwenda clenched her jaw and grunted before opening the door with a little extra force. It was already warm in there with all the steam slowly coming out.

    She came face to face with that man again, but now he was leaning over the table. One look and it was enough for Gwenda to realize that the broken porcelain cup had disappeared. She turned her attention back to him and watched him, but the man was already staring at her from head to toe.

    The Shooter didn''t let the hatred coursing through her veins show as she spoke:

    ¡ª I believe I''m more presentable now. ¡ª and dropped the suitcase near her mattress before approaching with her hand extended.

    He closed his calloused hand around hers.

    ¡ª I''m Ethan Sinclair. ¡ª He said.

    Gwenda gave a little smile and looked at the papers on the table. All about the wall.

    ¡ª Gwenda. ¡ª she replied and let go of his hand before approaching the table. ¡ª Matchstone.

    She would have said the other surname, almost did. Oxwinder was the one her mother carried, and now Gwenda was the last of the lineage. Mary Jane Oxwinder before meeting Yago Matchstone, before dying screaming in flames that left a young Gwenda behind.

    ¡ª I was told you needed help with the case.

    Gwenda stiffened.

    ¡ª They told you, did they? ¡ª Ethan nodded with some doubt and she continued: ¡ª Believe me, they just want to find a worthwhile job for you. Your department is poor in cases, that must be why you''re not so useful there.

    Ethan Sinclair opened his mouth, perhaps to defend himself in some way, but Gwenda interrupted:

    ¡ª But don''t worry, here you''ll be able to show your worth.

    She couldn''t shake off the idea that this Ethan guy might steal her and Vannyer''s case. It was both of theirs, but she would continue to affirm as if she were the only one in charge. If there was any problem, she could put all the blame on herself and leave Ryxer out, protect him. After all, she was the one who brought an elf, she who risked more and made the promise with the agent that she would leave him out of the situation if it got to a point where she couldn''t control it anymore.

    Indeed, he himself said he would deny having participated in these actions. Gwenda didn''t blame him, he was afraid to work with mysticisms, she realized.

    ¡ª My worth is none of your concern, I''m only here because my attention to this case was demanded. ¡ª He replied.

    Gwenda watched him.

    Something in her head screamed not to trust absolutely anything he said. His attention was probably demanded by Darcy. And Gwenda would have a word with the boss later about it.

    ¡ª Hmm. ¡ª She murmured. ¡ª That''s a shame.

    Ethan tilted his head and the agent interpreted it as if he was agreeing, it was a better way, so she turned back to the table.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡ª We found out that it was a mystic who attacked the wall and destroyed it...

    ¡ª Wasn''t it just a part that was destroyed?

    Gwenda stared at him, then answered slowly:

    ¡ª Yes.

    ¡ª Did you look for this information in the castle?

    Gwenda blinked.

    ¡ª Carvlineas have a job, Mr. Sinclair. ¡ª She replied, serious ¡ª If the king had information about the cases, I don''t think they''d need us.

    He laughed.

    ¡ª They need us to unravel the mysteries, not to collect information.

    The agent narrowed her eyes at the blond man.

    ¡ª Are you saying they have more information than we do? Maybe something we don''t have.

    ¡ª That''s it.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª She shot back. ¡ª Any information they can offer us is not even half of what we have.

    Ethan bit the inside of his cheek. Gwenda clenched her jaw.

    It would be difficult to work with him. And when it was all over, she would kick him out of the case and think and rethink whether she would also give credit to Ethan Sinclair.

    ¡ª In the Opposite Continent...

    Gwenda froze. She knew that this man was not from around here.

    ¡ª Oh, you came from the Opposite Continent? ¡ª she feigned an awkward joy ¡ª They didn''t tell me anything about it.

    Ethan cleared his throat, perhaps regretting having commented.

    ¡ª Yes, I came from the Opposite Continent. My mother is a merchant, always traveling. When I turned 18, I decided to come with her to Alphardj.

    ¡ª Hmm. ¡ª she murmured, wanting to end a conversation that had barely begun.

    If Ethan wanted her to open up about her parents or her life... it wouldn''t happen.

    ¡ª Do you like mystics, Sinclair? ¡ª the agent asked.

    ¡ª I wouldn''t say I like what some represent, but I believe there are mystics that seek the best. I enjoy studying about them.

    Gwenda scanned the face of the newest agent on the case.

    She liked them too. When she was younger, she was always surrounded by books, studying about rangers, fey, elves, dwarves... all niches and characteristics. But when she returned to Carsany and began selling herself to people who could feed and clothe her properly, something Gwenda didn''t like to admit was demanded of her. The whole struggle to find and eliminate the mystic was a kind of obligation because Gwenda belonged to Darcy in every way the law allowed, obeying orders and killing everything that the boss gave a stern look to.

    Ethan cleared his throat and Gwenda realized she had been staring at him for too long. But she wasn''t embarrassed and just lowered her head, thinking better about what, ultimately, made Gwenda happy. Her job was a farce, hunting down and annihilating mystics wasn''t what she had asked for. Solving cases was good, maybe the only thing that made her want to get out of the makeshift bed and live another day. The arena was just a kind of entertainment that was more worthwhile than hunting lost mystics in Carsany or those invading. Like the elf.

    Gwenda swallowed hard as she remembered what Darcy had said.

    Why is the elf out of the cell? Is he sleeping at the door in the hallway.

    The agent held back from going there and leaving Ethan Sinclair alone. Wherever she went, she should take him along.

    The new agent moved quietly to the other side of the table and rested his palms on the wood, just like Gwenda.

    ¡ª So? ¡ª He asked ¡ª Are things going as they should?

    She sighed.

    ¡ª It¡¯s not if they¡¯re going. But how ¡ª She replied ¡ª And they''re slow.

    They stared at each other, Ethan with narrowed eyes as he thought and bit the inside of his cheek.

    She hurried to inform:

    ¡ª There''s only one rebel who escaped from the explosion in sector 6 last week, but he was killed and I don''t know how long ago. Just that... those who killed him were also killed, on Wednesday; two days ago.

    ¡ª So all the evidence is dead. Is that it?

    Gwenda felt disapproval in Ethan''s tone.

    She nodded.

    ¡ª As far as I know.

    Sinclair shook his head, his brow furrowed as he looked at the information on the table. Gwenda watched the contours of his face.

    It was stunning, a beauty that Gwenda hadn''t seen in a long time. It wasn''t like Arth Cheack, who had a beautiful and addictive fury. No, Ethan Sinclair''s beauty was vivid and radiant, noticeable among many other bodies at a Sunday fair. Noticeable even too much. The eyebrows were blonder than the orange hair, the lips somewhat full, and the freckles on the T-zone of his face gave him an air of delicacy.

    The Shooter saw his paleness as a charm that gave him a pure and striking look, in addition to the slight scars descending down his chest. Something beautiful and... admirable. His hands on the table seemed smooth, for someone who worked as a Carvlinea and was considered great at what he did.

    Gwenda closed her eyes, trying to push the image of her dead lover out of her head.

    It had been two days. Two hateful days since Trytan had left for some mysterious reason. That wasn''t enough time for Gwenda to compose herself and forget him as she intended to do to keep him safe from Rubben.

    She sighed, remembering she had a place she needed to go. To ask her former owner some things in that regard. His latest deaths that he was hired by the king for. Or even those he did on his own because he wanted revenge for some petty thing.

    Gwenda cursed mentally. But she was almost sure she said it out loud, so much so that Ethan looked up at her and glared at her until the agent decided to speak up. But Gwenda didn''t stare back at him.

    ¡ª I have my suspicions. ¡ª She spoke ¡ª But no... I can''t go there.

    ¡ª Where? ¡ª He asked, all attention on her. Gwenda''s knees weakened, and she had to straighten up.

    The Shooter tried to answer, but nothing came out of her mouth. Ethan stood up too and started talking:

    ¡ª Who do you think...

    Someone opened the door and came in. Gwenda and Ethan looked at a dazed Vannyer entering the room. He looked tired, breathing heavily.

    The agent frowned and asked:

    ¡ª Is everything alright?

    But Ryxer was staring directly at Sinclair.

    ¡ª Who''s this guy? ¡ª He asked, still a little out of breath.

    ¡ª Ethan Sinclair. ¡ª Said Gwenda before the blonde decided to speak at a not-so-good time ¡ª The sector 6 agent Darcy warned would come help us. Not one I would choose, but he''ll do. ¡ª She felt him getting irritated, and his gaze burned on her face. Vannyer assessed the new colleague for a limited time, seeing something in him that Gwenda probably hadn''t seen.

    ¡ª We don''t need help. ¡ª Ryxer commented.

    ¡ª Says the guy who hardly helped at all. ¡ª Replied Gwenda. Vannyer looked at her, finally, and Gwenda noticed a shadow cover his gaze. He didn''t trust Ethan. Yes, Gwenda didn''t either, but it was what they had.

    But then his expression changed to embarrassment, a faint blush reaching his cheeks. Perhaps embarrassed that Gwenda had said that in front of the best detective in sector 6. In fact, she would too if she were in his place. Gwenda made a mental note to apologize to her colleague later.

    ¡ª And then. ¡ª She asked, remembering she hadn''t seen Vannyer since... yesterday morning, she supposed. ¡ª Where have you been?

    He shrugged.

    ¡ª Doing a job.

    Gwenda analyzed his clothes as the agent went to his mattress.

    ¡ª Are you researching your former girlfriend''s case? ¡ª She asked without a hint of resentment or pity. She had just lost her lover, another one.

    Vannyer''s shoulders stiffened under the suit. Maybe that''s what he had been doing to not have time to help Gwenda as she would have liked. Maybe the papers she always saw him looking at were about his former girlfriend''s case.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª He replied, no more than a whisper. Gwenda didn''t want to say there were more things to worry about, but she almost uttered those cutting words.

    She licked her lips and turned back to the table. Ethan was staring at Vannyer''s back, his eyes affirming that he would knock out the agent if he stepped wrong in the direction of this case. It was as if he didn''t like seeing Ryxer entering his own sleeping corner.

    Gwenda narrowed her eyes and caught his attention:

    ¡ª We know the nymphs are involved in this. ¡ª Sinclair turned to her again, that look of doubt and displeasure disappearing in the blink of an eye. ¡ª Or the fairies wouldn''t have done what they did.

    ¡ª Have you talked to the nymphs? ¡ª Asked Ethan.

    Gwenda shook her head.

    ¡ª It''s not necessary.

    ¡ª Then you shouldn''t accuse them.

    She blinked.

    ¡ª I''m not accusing. But the number of satyrs that invaded Carsany increased after the explosion, what do you think I should think? What wouldn''t a satyr do to please a nymph?

    ¡ª No, satyrs are like pirates. ¡ª Said Sinclair. ¡ª They seek everything that shines, and they know Carsany has many minerals, or else this kingdom wouldn''t be what it is today.

    This kingdom.

    Gwenda forced herself to remember that Ethan wasn''t from here.

    ¡ª Are you defending the nymphs even without knowing if they are on the list of suspects or not?

    ¡ª I''m not defending anyone. I''m having a rational and sensible thought.

    Both gritted their teeth.

    ¡ª Right. ¡ª Murmured the agent. ¡ª And what about the poison? What do you know?

    ¡ª It kills a human in seconds, but the blood of mystics is different. Depending on the creature, it may slowly kill in the same way, decomposition. Or it may not have much effect. It''s like a bacterium, affecting peoples differently.

    ¡ª How''s the case regarding the explosion in your sector going? ¡ª Gwenda asked.

    Ethan tilted his head and took a deep breath, seeming not to want to remember that.

    ¡ª The satyr you found started decomposing two days later, slowly. We opened him up to study the poison. My boss formed a group of some agents to roam the city and look for any traces, sales and purchases, as well as people consuming it like a drug, but in small quantities. Some couldn''t control it and ended up dead within seconds in their own homes.

    ¡ª So there must be a source ¡ª said Gwenda ¡ª The beginning of everything, the one who made the first sale.

    ¡ª The creator ¡ª Ethan concluded.

    ¡ª No, we can deal with the creator later. It''s never the creator who sells their own thing, not in this case. And I''m sure this poison came from outside, so much so that it appeared after the wall. Vannyer and I believe it was the cause of all this, the explosion of the wall. Your sector was just a distraction, it has to be.

    Gwenda had noticed how tense Ethan became when mentioning Vannyer''s name, but she let it pass since they were making progress.

    She had no idea about the satyr, she even thought he was buried, but apparently not.

    ¡ª We should close the ports ¡ª Gwenda asserted. Ethan blinked, his face growing paler and more confused.

    ¡ª What? ¡ª he asked.

    ¡ª If this poison gets out of Carsany...

    ¡ª The mystics aren''t stupid to buy something from humans. What difference would it make?

    ¡ª But are they stupid to enter Carsany? ¡ª she asked rhetorically. Ethan snorted. ¡ª Listen, there''s always someone who would buy. Just because a human is selling something capable of killing in seconds doesn''t mean a faerie or an elf would refuse. If not to use on their own species seeking revenge for a payment overdue, then to use against their enemy kingdom. We know the rest of Alphardj isn''t in complete harmony. This poison could very well have been created by a mystic and sold to Carsany to wipe out our people, one by one. From the inside out.

    ¡ª Yeah, but it''s not us who decide about the ports, it''s the king. He controls everything, nothing goes out and nothing comes in, Hendrix is fully aware of what''s happening at the ports. ¡ª Ethan replied ¡ª And as I said, this poison doesn''t affect any other species the same way it affects humans.

    Sinclair didn''t even think about everything she said. He just... responded, as if he understood every little word from Gwenda. A trained and professional agent, putting the puzzle pieces in the right places.

    The Shooter sighed.

    ¡ª But it kills a satyr. ¡ª she murmured.

    They both locked eyes, a nervous unease coursing through both of their veins.

    Indeed, King H surely knew about the poison, just as he was aware of all the cases that had occurred in Carsany. He was taking care of the ports, he really was. He needed to.

    If he was as good as Louise claims he is, Hendrix was managing somehow.

    Gwenda relaxed a bit.

    But then Ethan broke the silence that had settled.

    ¡ª Let''s focus on finding the villain of this story and apprehend him. He works alone, doesn''t he? Even if he hired the fairies to cover his tracks and made my sector just a distraction.

    ¡ª I''m not sure if the rebels worked for him.

    ¡ª And the tunnels? ¡ª he suddenly asked ¡ª The guards there were poisoned, apparently.

    ¡ª Yes, he entered through the tunnels. The explosion of the wall was about magic and intruders, opening up an easier way for them to get in. He used the tunnels. That''s why the number of mystics increased so quickly.

    Gwenda refused to entertain the thought that perhaps they were trying to destroy Carsany slowly. But if that were the case, people would be dying at the hands and claws of intruding mystics. Although that idea frightened her.

    ¡ª And that''s why you keep an elf locked up in this sector?

    Gwenda became completely serious and still.

    ¡ª How do you know. ¡ª It wasn''t a question.

    Ethan gave a slight smirk.

    ¡ª Instinct.

    The Shooter narrowed her eyes at him.

    ¡ª If you don''t mind ¡ª he requested ¡ª I''d like to ask him a few questions.

    ¡ª No ¡ª she replied immediately.

    If she were to allow the newcomer to talk to the North Elf, then Gwenda would be present for it.

    Ethan straightened up and glanced beside Gwenda only once before continuing:

    ¡ª Well then, I suppose you want the case to drag on longer.

    ¡ª I''ve already asked all the necessary questions ¡ª she replied. ¡ª He''s not the culprit.

    ¡ª Are you sure?

    Someone posed that last question, but Gwenda was confused for a moment because Ethan Sinclair hadn''t even opened his mouth.

    She turned to Vannyer, remembering he was still around.

    ¡ª As far as I know, you''ve entered that room less than three times to talk to that elf.

    The Shooter restrained herself from punching her colleague''s handsome nose, lest she disfigure the only face she was more accustomed to and would have to deal with Ethan Sinclair''s. But Gwenda admitted that it wasn''t so bad.

    ¡ª He''s not the culprit ¡ª Gwenda repeated. ¡ª There are many other mystics out there who were killed after the huge hole in the wall, it could be any of them.

    ¡ª But as far as we know, the mystic responsible for everything is still out there. ¡ª Ryxer remarked.

    ¡ª Is that so? ¡ª Gwenda stepped away from the table and faced the agent ¡ª And how do you know?

    ¡ª He probably killed Trytan. Maybe it was him running across the rooftops while aiming arrows straight into his heart.

    Gwenda didn''t want to, but a piercing pain shot from her chest and wandered to her heart and lungs, making it difficult to breathe properly as she watched Vannyer.

    He knew the blow hit Gwenda, directly at her feelings for Trytan still kept in a box.

    ¡ª I''m sorry. ¡ª Ethan said cautiously, but Gwenda could barely hear him over blinking away the tears ¡ª I found out before coming here. I''m sure he didn''t deserve it, he was innocent.

    Ethan seemed so... genuine.

    Something in Gwenda opened up as she looked into Sinclair''s clear eyes, shining and showing that what he said touched him as much as her. A feeling of forgiveness and regret. The same ones Gwenda had.

    She didn''t want to admit it, but she got attached to people. And that feeling was terrible, it was her enemy. She shouldn''t get attached to anything, neither objects nor people. Another lesson from her father.

    But when Ryxer mentioned someone dead who had been important to Gwenda, he was dishonoring Yago Matchstone and Mary Jane Oxwinder, as well as ¨¢tila Killian, although Gwenda prayed he was still alive. Trytan had been something new, something Gwenda really thought would last. Because he wasn''t an outlaw like Killian, or someone with many past secrets like her father, much less a fervent creature like Mary Jane. He wasn''t burned; he wasn''t hanged; he didn''t lie and run away to save his own skin.

    Gwenda really thought...

    How foolish she was. It seemed like everyone around her was doing things that ultimately led them straight to death. Even though her parents and ¨¢tila didn''t deserve to die just for living in peace, for being who they were.

    Trytan was planning something, the pleading look when Gwenda was following the cart had hit a weak spot in the Shooter. But he was gone before he could explain what was happening.

    She knew Trytan had a job that involved all the Carvlineas and even Rubben''s route, although he tried to keep his image a secret. As far as she knew, only Gwenda was aware that he sold weapons to the agents. Rubben started paying extra to the weapons guy two months ago, but Gwenda had ignored it. Maybe if she had gone ahead and tried to find out why...

    The Shooter was apprehensive. She didn''t want to go to that place, she couldn''t. Showing up there and finding out that, in the end, her former boss was responsible for this, just as he had hinted that day at the casino.

    The Shooter swallowed hard and affirmed once to Ethan, showing that she understood his words and believed in them.

    Gwenda refused to look at Ryxer before heading for the exit with hurried steps. It was too stuffy inside to breathe properly.

    <hr>

    She spent the rest of the day trying to focus on something else. She asked Darcy to go home, tidy up, and let some fresh air in, cleaning the dust that had been accumulating even before moving into the sector.

    The boss was almost refusing, and Gwenda didn''t understand why. But something in the agent''s expression, perhaps the plea and defeat, was enough for Raux to agree with a nod.

    So she went home. When she arrived and opened the door, only stuffy and heavy air greeted her. She opened the curtains and windows, threw away the food that had been there since last week, dusted the corners of the house, the fireplace, and tidied up the furniture.

    That kept her mind occupied and away from the realm of deaths and cases that seemed to be increasingly growing. In the end, Gwenda was sweaty and took a relaxing shower before stepping out barefoot with a towel wrapped around her body. She felt cleaner than the other times she had showered in the sector. It was incredible to be back home and welcome the breeze from the window behind the sofa with open arms. After the shower, everything was cleaner and lighter.

    Even though she had asked Darcy to go home, Gwenda went to the library after she finished getting ready and kept staring at the wound on her collarbone. It hadn''t become infected, and Gwenda saw it as lucky, considering she had been in a closed and somewhat dirty place.

    The mark was still a little red and tingled with pain when she touched it. But Gwenda felt good touching the wound, with that sharp pain it caused.

    Gwenda stayed in the library until Kimer and Louise found her and sat beside her. It was always like this. Always Kimer and Louise who found her, never the other way around when it came to the library. Unless Kimer was at the bar job and Gwenda went to visit.

    The three spent the rest of the day reading in the armchairs already worn out by other people''s backs, or perhaps their own. They mentally marked their names on each one.

    What really interested Gwenda was about the rangers that Louise promised to bring information about if the king was searching for them. Her mother was a ranger, a guardian of the Infernal Beasts, and died burned as if it were something to be celebrated. The people never paid, maybe that''s why the king does what he does. And maybe Lou is right not to draw conclusions about him based on what is seen externally. Gwenda wanted to believe her, really wanted to, but after everything...

    Indeed, it was Hendrix''s father who killed Yago Matchstone, burned Mary Jane, and made ¨¢tila Killian flee. But still, King H carried that blood, that senseless fury. Hendrix was raised by the previous king, saw how his father ruled a kingdom. Why would Gwenda think it would be different now in this reign?

    Giving a chance was not in Matchstone''s plans. Until now.

    So Louise, after seeing this in Gwenda''s eyes, admitted that Hendrix was researching about rangers in old books, knowing how they lived and how they grew exponentially.

    But what her friend said was beyond what the Shooter believed. She imagined that he just wanted to learn about the extinct race, about the Untouched Palace. Maybe even visit their old home.

    But no. King H wanted to bring them back to life.

    According to Louise, the king was obsessed with it, wanting to understand how he could bring an entire race back.

    But what then? Gwenda thought. It wouldn''t be very pleasing if he brought a race back and used it as a weapon against the rest of Alphardj. And then all the bad thoughts about the king quickly came back. He could use them as a way to defeat anyone who dared to look askance at Carsany.

    And when the rangers are back, Gwenda had the mere feeling that the king H''s ultimate and main goal was to bring the Infernal Beasts back to life.

    The weapons will come in double, and Gwenda was in no way prepared to deal with that. And she doubted she ever would be.

 17

    She was screaming.

    Fear, terror, agony... all blended into a sound he knew all too well.

    Her body lying on the bathroom floor, blood pooling at his feet, covering the white tiles like a layer. A red lake formed in her eyes, but Vannyer couldn''t look away from hers, open and lifeless.

    Until the scream hit him full force and almost knocked him over.

    Ryxer tried to scream back. Her name was stuck in his throat, no sound came out.

    Then Vannyer ran, leaving the body behind to follow the scream.

    He turned corners and alleys of his own mind, dark and chaotic, what his past was gradually creating. The girl on the bathroom floor was the past, he was wanting to run toward the future.

    Ryxer tried to speak, to call out her name. But nothing came out, it was impossible.

    He started sweating.

    His legs failed him.

    Ryxer forced himself to stand, to follow the sound until he reached the source. Until he reached her.

    He stumbled through the dark place. Maybe he was in his house, or maybe in the mansion of the woman from the bathroom. Vannyer couldn''t decipher.

    He crossed a dimly lit hallway. Not as dark as the rest, not as chaotic as the place he was in. It was a corridor filled with mourning and pain.

    The echo of the scream shattered in his skull and crawled through his body.

    He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut before staggering backward.

    Something pushed him and Ryxer began to fall silently, followed by the frantic and deafening sound. Until... silence.

    When everything turned into complete nothingness, Vannyer trusted himself to open his eyes.

    So he did.

    And a familiar face appeared in front of him. Her face.

    The scream started again...

    Ryxer threw his body upward, feeling pressed between the layers of his shirt. With quick and heavy breaths, he reached behind and pulled the fabric over his body until it came off his head. The old white shirt fell with a thud on the floor, drenched.

    The blood screamed in his ears with the same intensity as the screams from his dream. No, a nightmare.

    Someone groaned nearby, and Vannyer tensed.

    It was agonizing... it felt like it had followed him into reality. It was the same sound, the same pain... It seemed to come from everywhere, and the agent was sure he looked as pale as a corpse, trembling.

    Vannyer blinked, and the sound stopped.

    No, it didn''t stop. It just... condensed into a single source.

    Ryxer turned abruptly toward Gwenda. He cursed and got up, feeling the blood flowing back through his body.

    She was shaking and scratching herself, tangled in the sheet in a way that informed Vannyer it had been going on for a while. And he hadn''t woken up.

    Ryxer fell to his knees beside her and hurried to hold her hands.

    ¡ª Gwenda! ¡ª He called.

    By the light of the lantern they had both forgotten to turn off, her face was red and tears seemed to cut through her swollen skin.

    They weren''t screams of fear. Pain seemed to be hitting Gwenda inside her nightmare, but Vannyer had no idea of what kind.

    ¡ª Gwenda!

    He called for her again, with more intensity. As if that would pull her back to reality.

    Ryxer decided to hold her arms instead of her wrists.

    Gwenda was increasing her strength, wanting to get rid of the agent''s hands in any way possible, she was in pure distress...

    What the hell is she dreaming about? Ryxer wondered and tightened his grip, trying to keep her hands away from her own face and body. She was turned to the wall and increasingly trying to escape from Vannyer.

    He cursed and pulled her back onto the mattress before swinging a leg over her, trying to hold her body and make her stop struggling as if she were fleeing from what put her in deep anger and sadness.

    ¡ª Wake up!

    Ryxer placed Gwenda''s arms over her head, his knuckles white. The Shooter hid this strength during the days, and Ryxer spent his own trying to keep his colleague still.

    ¡ª Gwenda. ¡ª He called with his face close to hers, the agonizing groans still affecting his senses ¡ª Gwenda, please. Wake up.

    With a touch of light, she opened her eyes.

    Gwenda had one last reaction as she looked at Vannyer''s face above hers. He saw in her eyes how scared and hurt she was, shining with tears that, for now, had stopped flowing down her temples and cheeks.

    The interrupted breaths of the two mingled between them, and Ryxer felt an urge to hold Gwenda against him. To cuddle her in his arms and stroke her light brown hair until she forgot about what happened in her dream.

    Both were sweaty, Gwenda with a red face.

    Vannyer swallowed hard as he prepared to say something and break the silence between them. Not that it was embarrassing, but Ryxer didn''t know which of Gwenda''s eyes he should stop and observe, both expressed different things.

    As he opened his mouth to utter the damn question, and being aware that he would regret it later, Gwenda closed her eyes.

    Ryxer watched Gwenda prepare to cry in the faint light of the only lantern on. He watched more tears fall to the sides, her blinking to try to control herself, and shaking her head in denial, looking everywhere but at Vannyer.

    He frowned, wondering what the hell made Gwenda like this.

    ¡ª Let me... ¡ª She couldn''t finish before her voice turned into nothing but a weak whimper.

    Ryxer only realized she was telling him to let go when Gwenda squirmed and tried to pull her arms away.

    He released her and then muttered apologies without any idea of what else to say. He got off her and sat on the floor next to her, affected by what had happened, in shock.

    Gwenda just sat slowly and wiped her eyes with her hands, rubbing her cheeks. She hugged her knees and rested her chin, taking deep breaths and focusing on something. The thick white pants were probably bothering her, but he wouldn''t tell her to take them off. Even though her hair was stuck to every part of her neck with sweat.

    Vannyer sat up straighter and held one hand in the other, elbows resting on his knees, and stared at the Shooter.

    She sniffed and lowered her legs, crossing them. Gwenda began to twist her fingers and pull at the ends where the nails that left her arms and torso red were ready to be sharpened like claws.

    ¡ª Are you going to tell me what happened? ¡ª He asked cautiously.

    Gwenda turned her head in his direction, but it was low, her eyes directed at the floor.

    She opened her mouth to answer, but only breathed in and swallowed hard.

    Should he ask about it, right? He should understand what made her like that and try to help her. If she didn''t want to answer to help herself, then to help Vannyer feel better about this whole situation, so he would know that Gwenda was fine and safe. Otherwise, a feeling of discomfort would haunt him for the rest of the days and nights he spent alongside her.

    She opened her mouth again.

    ¡ª I... ¡ª Gwenda swallowed hard, but then closed her eyes, perhaps considering whether she would really tell or not, if it was worth it. And when she opened them again and raised them to Ryxer''s, he could see that the Shooter had changed her mind. ¡ª Would you tell me if it had happened to you? ¡ª her voice was hoarse. ¡ª If all your flaws and defeats had appeared in one of your nightmares. When there''s nothing good left to dream about, when the mind is tired of creating useless expectations... ¡ª She paused for a moment, just scanning Ryxer''s face ¡ª Madness takes over dreams, turning them into a kind of deadened nightmare. Until reality becomes a darkness we call by the same name.

    Vannyer didn''t agree. That''s all he could think.

    ¡ª I would tell. ¡ª He replied, and Gwenda''s face lit up as if a torch had been placed nearby ¡ª I would talk about the dream, even if it showed me those insanities. It would be good to have someone to share with. ¡ª Gwenda blinked ¡ª I''m just like you, I have strong nightmares and wake up drenched. We go through the same thing, and I know you wouldn''t offer your insight into what my mind creates in the middle of the night.

    Gwenda moistened her lips. The dark circles under her eyes were deep, as they were almost every day. Sometimes Vannyer noticed and felt sorry for his colleague, wondering what could leave her in that state most days.

    And now he knew. But if it wasn''t the nightmares and sleepless nights that he always doubted Gwenda had, then it would be the amount of things she was worrying about and trying to get right.

    She hadn''t been to the arena for days, and Ryxer didn''t believe it was because she was without her weapon. The truth was, he wasn''t sure why, only that Gwenda was too focused on what was happening regarding the cases that it didn''t seem like she had time for anything else.

    ¡ª Go to sleep, Vannyer. ¡ª she finally said.

    A cold shock ran through his body. He was sure that after this, he couldn''t expect anything more from Gwenda about the relationship between them. Were they, at least, friends? Or did Gwenda want to be alone and suffer in silence while Vannyer just watched? No, that last option wasn''t in Ryxer''s plans.

    He could very well start treating his coworker as a friend with the same ease as before they were confined to this place, that''s what he felt at this moment needed to be made clear, to say in a few words that he could become the worst coworker Gwenda would want. But he would ruin everything, and Vannyer hated that part of himself, the proud side. Because he wanted to be Gwenda''s friend, to see her well and healthy. And now she seemed very far from that goal.

    ¡ª You can''t hide from this. ¡ª he said when the agent began to turn to the wall side and lie down again, arranging the sheet over her.

    ¡ª Oh, really?

    ¡ª Yeah. ¡ª He agreed without thinking.

    But Gwenda was already lying down and settled with the sheet up to her chin, her head tilted forward with her nose probably buried in between the sheet.

    Ryxer took a deep breath carefully, not letting on that he was feeling a little frustrated.

    All right. He told himself, refusing to speak aloud.

    The agent got up. He didn''t know what part of the night it was, but he was still tired and wouldn''t like to get up now to start a new day.

    After all, if it was morning, Darcy would be in the sector and would have come down here in complete disorder to Gwenda. The two had something, Vannyer realized.

    Darcy was something to Gwenda, and vice versa. Both cared for each other. And Vannyer admitted that he felt a little insulted. He had no idea of their history, but he wanted something like that, and lost it when his girlfriend killed herself, when he saw the same face he once loved on the bathroom floor with a red puddle forming around her head and covering her hair. The expressionless face with lips parted in the same way she used to before opening a huge and addictive smile.

    Not to mention Johan Yak. They were friends in those days.

    Vannyer went to the lantern and turned it off before lying down on his mattress and covering his body from the abdomen down, hands behind his head and eyes straight to the ceiling.

    He didn''t want to think too much about it, but it started to take shape in his mind, and he couldn''t help it. He knew the scream had been Cressint''s, the woman he loved, but as he tried to remember the nightmare, it seemed further from any tone of her voice.

    They said the first thing to forget about a person is their voice. And that''s how it happened, he didn''t remember the tones Cressint used with him, he didn''t remember what that voice did to him... maybe it drove him crazy, maybe it made him weak in the knees... but it was hard to remember Cressint''s sweet voice.

    But Ryxer still had the vision of her wavy red hair he liked to bury his face into and inhale until he couldn''t anymore, and then do it again and again until she laughed and turned in his arms to look him in the eyes. With a smile that filled him with love.

    Vannyer blinked, and a tear rolled from his right eye.

    No, it was torture. Thinking about it was torture, but it couldn''t be avoided. Or could it? He tried, it never seemed to work. Trying to think about something else was another form of torture.

    He turned to his left side, facing the wall.

    Screams still seemed to echo around like drums pulsating in his ears, his own heart.

    Ryxer took a long time to fall asleep, after all. He took a long time to stop thinking about Cressint and relax. But a little before sleep carried him back to the silent world, Ryxer thought about her screams again, and how similar they were.

    A feeling of fear and affection rose in his chest knowing it had been Gwenda all along, and nothing of Cressint and her wounded soul. That he had tried to shout Gwenda''s name. That he ran after her and left his fallen love in the bathroom.

    Relief was the last thing he felt before drifting off.

    <hr>

    Gwenda emerged from the shower with apprehension.

    The truth was she didn''t want to face Vannyer after that. After waking him up and sending him back to his own mattress. But she kept it to herself, especially her flaws. Nothing about it would come out of her mouth.

    When Ryxer''s gaze fell on her as she exited the bathroom in the morning, a flush swept across her face, and she looked away.

    Gwenda had woken up with a partially clothed body on top of her, both panting. It didn''t take long for her to understand that he was trying to wake her from a nightmare, but Gwenda needed a few seconds to process.

    Her hands were pinned above her head, and her body pressed against the thin mattress. A sense of panic was the first thing she felt upon opening her eyes, until she saw Ryxer''s face as scared as hers, and she remained as quiet as possible. At that moment, she wondered what had led her colleague to hold her in that way, but her body was burning like a fire.

    It was then that she realized that the scratches she made on herself during the night were starting to come back. Gwenda swallowed hard. She knew it would be painful and dangerous again from today onwards.

    The Shooter needed her weapon.

    ¡ª Matchstone. ¡ª A voice echoed through the sector as Gwenda ascended the stairs and came face to face with her boss, who held a coffee cup delicately with both hands. ¡ª Ethan Sinclair needed to resolve a personal issue, he will appear in the afternoon.

    Gwenda affirmed, understanding. For some unknown reason, Darcy was in the sector today, on a Saturday. Besides her, it was empty. And from what the boss commented, Gwenda would have to work in the afternoon.

    In fact, she couldn''t have many breaks anymore. But tomorrow would be Sunday, and she was prepared to go out and have a day of rest.

    When Darcy turned to take a sip of her smoking coffee, Gwenda caught her gaze on her boss''s table, on the open letter with perfectly rounded cursive letters.

    ¡ª What did the letter say? ¡ª She asked Raux.

    The boss shrugged.

    ¡ª Just that you should stay in his sector to solve some personal problems. ¡ª The emphasis on the last word was to make sure Gwenda wouldn''t ask more questions.

    But she would. To Ethan.

    ¡ª I''m going to the arena. ¡ª she said. Darcy stopped blowing on her coffee and looked at Gwenda. ¡ª Will you stay here for the rest of the day?

    The boss had her own duties outside here on Saturdays. Mainly the meeting with the general.

    ¡ª Moreover. ¡ª She continued before Raux could say anything about the arena ¡ª How are the towers?

    ¡ª A mess. The watchmen from sector 6 are dead. ¡ª Gwenda frowned in shock and opened her mouth to say something. ¡ª Don''t even ask me, I know less than you.

    The fact was that Gwenda knew nothing.

    ¡ª How did you find out? ¡ª She asked.

    ¡ª They sent me the information two days ago.

    On Gwenda''s birthday.

    Raux didn''t show up. Or rather, Gwenda didn''t remember her being there when Kimer and Louise arrived at her and Vannyer''s dark corner. She didn''t miss the boss that day, but she wanted her by her side, like every other year. And now she knew why, she was busy.

    ¡ª Why only them and not from all sectors?

    ¡ª I don''t know. ¡ª the boss replied.

    The watchtower from sector 6 was almost next to the arena.

    Gwenda raised her head and her eyebrows slightly. Darcy, who didn''t let anything slip when it came to the Shooter, noticed.

    ¡ª What are you thinking? ¡ª the boss asked.

    She shook her head in response and went to the glass door, paying attention to her boots tapping against the wooden floor with a muffled and reassuring sound.

    ¡ª How to defeat my opponents today.

    ¡ª Gwenda.

    The Shooter stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned her head just enough to see Raux out of the corner of her eye.

    Gwenda Gwenda Gwenda

    ¡ª Should I warn you that this week the payment will be finished?

    Gwenda squeezed the doorknob and locked eyes directly with the boss, but remained sideways, ready to leave the sector.

    Should I warn you...

    Gwenda turned the knob and felt the door move under her hand. Fresh morning air flowed in through the crack.

    Get up, Gwenda. Stop the rain, Gwen. I can''t.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Her eyes burned with anger, and Gwenda kept them wide open. Afraid to blink and miss whatever was passing in front of her without her noticing.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª she replied with irony. ¡ª Keep that information to yourself. ¡ª And she left the sector.

    Another week, or even less, and Gwenda would be free-handed. Free to live her own life... but the fact was that she already was. She could belong to Darcy, answer to her, but Gwenda still worked for her by being part of sector 3. What difference would it make in the end, other than Rubben seeing a chance to win her back with his annihilating games?

    She had to stay strong, stay one step ahead of Rubben. And then she might have a chance to go straight for the questions and come out alive. But in that, Gwenda knew she was weaker, she needed to train, plan... rise amidst the current events and grow stronger to fight. It was basic.

    She wrapped her hands with fighting wraps and clenched her teeth. Arriving at the stable, Twilight wasn''t saddled, and Paulo wasn''t around. Gwenda had to do it alone and in complete silence.

    A layer of pride hit Gwenda. But no, she didn''t know whose. She preferred to tell herself it was hers, she felt proud of what she had achieved. But she knew her accomplishments cost the lives of others, of many others.

    Gwenda went to the arena and when she arrived, the screams accompanied every move of the Shooter.

    It was an endless rumble.

    ¡ª Thank the god you believe, you arrived. ¡ª The short man who handed the money to the winner in the arena quickly approached Gwenda and grabbed her wrist before starting to pull her.

    ¡ª My horse. ¡ª Gwenda said and tried to go back to lead the horse to the stall she usually used.

    ¡ª Tom will put it in its proper place. ¡ª the man who was pulling her replied.

    Gwenda turned with a threatening look toward the one smoking a pipe, lounging on the usual bench, his beer belly slightly exposed.

    When he looked at her, Tom did nothing more than adjust himself with a grunt and rise unsteadily.

    ¡ª Certainly. ¡ª He replied, his voice worn.

    She tried to look to see exactly what he would do with Twilight. The shouting only increased as she left the stable and entered one of the gaps to start her morning in the thick sand.

    Gwenda scowled, ignoring the fabric falling like curtains as she tried to see through a crack. As far as she could see, the arena was empty.

    She pulled away from the money man.

    ¡ª What''s going on? ¡ª she demanded.

    He shook his head and looked at her with slightly widened eyes.

    ¡ª No, no, you''re going in now, miss. ¡ª he replied and tried to grab her wrist again.

    She frowned and bared her teeth at him as she pulled away.

    ¡ª This isn''t a circus show, and I''m not one of your animals to display.

    ¡ª Courvin. ¡ª Gwenda lost her expression and her jaw dropped. ¡ª He''s here and wants to fight with you.

    She blinked. Courvin was the one she had defeated last week, the first of her week. Did he want to lose again now?

    ¡ª Why? ¡ª she asked, even though she knew it was nonsense.

    The man clicked his tongue and waved his hand.

    ¡ª He gave a speech with beautiful words about how you cheat and steal money from the arena. And, clearly, the public believed it.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth.

    ¡ª And now he wants to show that he can beat you. ¡ª He held Gwenda''s wrist. ¡ª With the right techniques.

    Stopping near the curtain, someone snatched it to the side and she narrowed her eyes at the glare that hit her.

    ¡ª Don''t let him win, Shooter. ¡ª the man warned before pushing her.

    Thunderous cheers circulated near her ears, but Gwenda refused to shrink in front of all of them. She refused to give importance to the boos from the same ones who cheered for her the last time she came here.

    Gwenda moved, walking slowly toward the center of the arena and looking around with a deadly gaze.

    In one of the corners, Courvin stood. Wearing only specific fighting pants, the hammer prepared in his hands. His defined abdomen and apparent muscles where not even Gwenda thought possible. A biting scar ran from his chest down to just above his navel. She merely lifted one corner of her mouth.

    Last time he had a long sword, full of branches that would do some serious damage. She didn''t want to admit it to herself, but she had been intimidated when she saw it.

    The drop on her nape began to throb, and she felt eyes on her. She might be wearing pants that covered her legs full of scars and a comfortable black tank top, but Gwenda still felt too exposed, eyes on every wound she had ever had, accusing her of something and casting looks of disgust and contempt, judging her. Not for what Courvin said in his speech, she didn''t care about that. These were looks she never seemed to get used to, but wanted to, they were the only ones that truly mattered.

    Gwenda went to the armament, each step closer to the opponent. She took the throwing knives and fastened them to her belt. She was ready to grab what she always used, but then she came across a different weapon.

    Dad? What are these things?

    Gloves, darling.

    His smile was still in Gwenda''s mind.

    Gloves.

    She held the weapon and turned it over. It was mechanical, Gwenda remembered. Sometimes at night, she was around the little table, watching the work her father was doing all day, without touching.

    When Yago Matchstone finally managed to finish, Gwenda took advantage of the first night she had and picked up the glove. She didn''t know how to use it or how it worked. She didn''t remember how she managed to put her hand inside, but it was comfortable. At first, it didn''t seem like it would even fit her, since her father would have made it to fit his hand.

    But the glove adjusted around her skin, each piece fitting into its proper place. She remembered thinking the glove was alive, so much so that she was startled and paralyzed, looking at the glove for two minutes without daring to move her hand or try to take it off. When she saw that it wasn''t a threat, Gwenda hurried to understand what it did.

    Thick, slightly curved claws, so sharp that Gwenda had shuddered as she put the tip of her finger and watched the blood trickle, sprouted from the knuckles of the fingers, the same ones used for punching. The glove was placed like a band, leaving the fingers exposed.

    Gwenda blinked and returned to the real world, her breath faltering. She brought her right hand to the opening of the glove and widened her eyes as it began to move, making room for Gwenda to put it on. So she did.

    The Shooter felt the mechanics adjust to every callus on her hand, the band underneath to protect any wrong contact that started to tear her skin.

    She gave a brief smile to that and a solitary tear threatened to fall. Gwenda closed her hand into a fist and the claws appeared, as well-formed as she remembered.

    But one of them was broken in half.

    Gwenda frowned and touched where one was missing. It was still sharp, but still...

    She heard the footsteps nearby before feeling threatened.

    When she turned, it was too late. Courvin''s shout shook her inside and the shock of his hammer on her stomach sent her flying into the recesses of her mind.

    Gwenda was thrown back with brute force and fell to the ground over her shoulder before rolling away. Knee, forehead, shoulders... everything was hurt and Gwenda could barely groan in pain as she hit the wall and everything stopped. Even the screams of the people in the stands ceased. She felt the claws of the mechanical glove retracting.

    Her vision was blurred, everything spinning and throbbing. Her stomach screamed in pain and pulsated constantly.

    Shit.

    Gwenda was sure she kept repeating that word as she tried to get up. She needed to recover, going headfirst was the best way at the moment, her blood roaring in her body, a loving way to send Gwenda back to the fight.

    She grunted as she stood up, her arm around her belly, in the stomach she imagined she no longer had.

    Gwenda straightened up and grabbed a dagger before running towards Courvin. She blinked several times to make sure she was seeing the right thing.

    The opponent smiled and ran the remaining distance, then jumped and prepared to hit Gwenda again. But the Shooter dodged to the side and the hammer hit the ground with so much force that the sound was chilling. She buried the dagger in one of his thighs, and he grunted before turning around, taking the damn hammer along and passing by Gwenda''s head like a blur. The hair on her neck stood up and she ducked and pulled the dagger out of his thigh in a way that tore more, and then moved away from Courvin''s weapon.

    The hammer spun around her, but Gwenda''s attention was on Courvin, leaving the threat of crushing her skull. At the moment, all she had in mind was why she was there under threat of a hammer, and she found no answers.

    And with that, she could dodge the obstacles. With her focus on the opponent, she only saw him. She didn''t see death in the hammer or anything.

    He bared his teeth as he tried to hit Gwenda, but she was too focused to let anything show in her expression. Only pain could be seen in her eyes.

    Gwenda twirled a dagger between her fingers before hurling it. A streak of blood was drawn on Courvin''s cheek, but the man didn''t even flinch before attacking again. Gwenda cursed and dodged the hammer, which hit the ground. But she quickly had to duck with another blow and moved towards his back.

    Gwenda punched Courvin''s back repeatedly before finishing with a blow just below the ribs. She was about to kick him when he turned around and his foot found her face.

    The Shooter staggered to the side, tasting blood on her tongue. When she turned to him, the hammer hit her stomach again, but this time Courvin had thrown it, so Gwenda fell backwards on the ground and grabbed the handle of the weapon to pull it off her, but someone had already done so brutally.

    A shadow engulfed her, and Gwenda could see her opponent raise the hammer and prepare to crush her head against the coarse sand. She widened her eyes and rolled to the side. The hammer almost caught her hair strands.

    Gwenda stood up and kicked Courvin''s hands, but he didn''t let go of the hammer. She grunted and saw the weapon coming at her, so she jumped and spun horizontally over it, hitting the opponent''s face with the top of her foot. Courvin staggered to the side and shook his head.

    Gwenda seized this opening when he turned sideways. She ran and jumped on his shoulders, grabbing his neck with her legs and directed Courvin''s head straight towards the ground. It didn''t take long for both of them to get up at the same time. Gwenda grunted at his persistence.

    Her opponent''s nose was bleeding, and she could see he was somewhat disoriented. Gwenda wouldn''t miss the chance to make him eat sand.

    She ran to him and wrapped her legs around his neck again, but this time she was facing him, not facing downwards. Gwenda threw herself backward and felt Courvin fail to stay standing. She pulled his head forward to bring him down, and when she managed to put her hands on the ground, she pulled harder.

    Courvin leaned forward and rolled on the ground before falling backwards. But Gwenda took an impact from her own knees with the ground, and she hissed between her teeth before standing up.

    The Shooter, panting, positioned herself on top of her opponent, one leg on each side. She could barely hear his groan of pain when she held his arms and pinned them to the side of his body with her legs, and then began to punch him in the face with closed fists.

    Blood filled her fingers, and Gwenda felt the pieces of the mechanical glove tearing her skin underneath as she burned her strength with direct blows to Courvin''s nose, jaw, jawline, and eyes.

    Gwenda felt him try to move his arms, but she only pressed harder, holding him against the ground and preventing him from defending or attacking.

    But then the glove moved under her hand, and Gwenda froze.

    Her breath was choppy, and some strands of hair were out of her ponytail, falling on the sides, sweaty.

    Courvin still stared at Gwenda, ready to take another beating, even though his injured face said otherwise. She clenched her jaw and grunted as she tightened her right fist, ready to deliver the blow. But Gwenda glanced over the wounds she was causing, the blood she caused. She looked at her left hand, which was now holding his chin unkindly, and saw the same blood on her band, on her fingertips. Gwenda let go of Courvin to look closer.

    That''s what she did. She took the life of everyone she walked by, everyone she loved.

    Maybe...

    Maybe maybe maybe maybe

    ...she should stop loving.

    And focus on distancing herself.

    <hr>

    ¡ª You''ve become a danger to anyone who dares to step into this arena, did you know that?

    Gwenda sat at the back of Twilight''s stall, her breathing slow and heavy that she didn''t want to focus on anything else.

    ¡ª I suppose you should be thanking me for not skinning your pretty face. ¡ª She offered a weak smile to Courvin across the way. Incredibly, his horse stall was facing hers, but he leaned against the door while a woman dabbed at his wounds.

    The arena was roaring with the next pair after them, and Gwenda wanted to laugh when one side fell silent, knowing one of them was about to lose. People were separated according to their bets.

    And Gwenda had no idea who had bet on her. Or if they even knew she was going to show up today, so in a way, it didn''t matter. She got her reward, didn''t she?

    Courvin raised an eyebrow.

    ¡ª The Shooter thinks I''m handsome?

    She watched him. His long dark brown hair was now hanging over sweaty, scratched shoulders, the thick eyebrow had a diagonal cut that was now taped shut. The nose had been put back in place. And his darker skin gleamed with that dripping blood.

    He was handsome, but Gwenda wasn''t interested in guys like Courvin. Although sometimes she was unsure of what really caught her attention.

    Gwenda tilted her head, but stopped halfway when the pain shot up her neck, and she squinted.

    ¡ª Handsome. ¡ª she replied ¡ª But I''m tired of people like you.

    He gave a slow smile.

    ¡ª People like me? What do you mean?

    She gritted her teeth and asked,

    ¡ª Why spread lies about me?

    Another woman appeared with a cloth. Green eyes sparkled when Gwenda stared at her, and the girl couldn''t hold back a smirk. Gwenda nodded at her before letting her body be taken care of.

    ¡ª I think you deserved to be pressed a little longer. ¡ª his voice could very well be a sedative, but it was as annoying as the wound just below his collarbone.

    ¡ª The only thing that made me lift a finger to finish you off was the sea of blood you left me when you attacked without waiting for the count.

    The reward man made the count when both opponents were ready. From three to one. And then they could start.

    Courvin laughed.

    ¡ª In the real world, there are no rules, Shooter.

    ¡ª Much less mercy. ¡ª she shot back and smirked ¡ª Why are you here, Courvin? And not quartered in the arena.

    He had stopped smiling and rested his head on his stall door, staring at Gwenda while the woman cleaned his wounds. Courvin didn''t seem to feel anything, but Gwenda ground her teeth with every new injury the girl found on his body with the wet cloth.

    ¡ª At first touch on the wound on her fingers where the glove had been moments before, Gwenda groaned softly and withdrew her hand.

    Gwenda let the girl lift her shirt up to her chest and look at the wound Courvin''s hammer made. A cold breeze left her skin uncomfortable, and she held back from pulling her blouse down again. If it didn''t hit any ribs, it would be lucky, and she certainly didn''t want to stand still to recover.

    ¡ª I wouldn''t take back what I said before you arrived. ¡ª Courvin continued.

    Gwenda agreed.

    ¡ª I know you wouldn''t. ¡ª She took a deep breath ¡ª You lost to a woman, and now you''re trying to make things difficult for her as a form of rebellion, aren''t you?

    Courvin frowned, but still had a calm and tired expression. Gwenda knew he wasn''t tired at all.

    ¡ª Are we talking about me here?

    Gwenda blinked, pretending to be foolish.

    ¡ª Sorry, wasn''t I clear?

    He briefly raised his eyebrows and finally averted his gaze from Gwenda to seek the woman who was cleaning his wounds.

    She already had her moments of rebellion when she found out that ¨¢tila was a pirate, that he lied to her when he told her who he really was. But he said it was a lie, didn''t he? Gwenda realized he told the truth too late.

    Everything about ¨¢tila Killian drew attention. Everything he had said didn''t seem to be another lie, it was exactly the way he described himself, his reactions and emotions. Up until that day. The only thing that put Gwenda and everyone involved directly in the noose... ¨¢tila left out. And her father died.

    Gwenda groaned at the pain that ran down her spine and withdrew her hands from the woman who was adjusting the band already delicately placed around her waist.

    ¡ª That''s enough. ¡ª she said and curled her legs to stand up.

    Gwenda saw Courvin look at something that had just entered the stable, and his face drained of color. Gwenda stopped wriggling and sat up straight again. Unfortunately, the woman bent down again, thinking it was to continue the work she was paid to do, and Gwenda gritted her teeth.

    Ethan came into view.

    Gwenda frowned.

    ¡ª Sinclair?

    The girl looked at him as he entered Twilight''s stall. The horse became a little agitated.

    ¡ª Thank you. ¡ª Sinclair said ¡ª You can leave. ¡ª And took the cloth from the woman''s hand.

    Gwenda noticed when she looked at her, searching for some response. But Gwenda was busy watching what Ethan was planning to do.

    The girl got up somewhat shattered and left the stall with her head down.

    Ethan Sinclair smiled at Gwenda and crouched down beside her.

    ¡ª What are you doing here? ¡ª she asked as he passed the now blood-soaked cloth over a cut between her neck and shoulder.

    Gwenda felt him huff before replying:

    ¡ª Helping. Saw you in the arena.

    ¡ª You said you had personal matters to attend to.

    ¡ª I did? ¡ª he asked ¡ª I don''t recall. ¡ª Followed by a mischievous little smile.

    Gwenda scowled and tried to push Ethan''s hand away with her arm, but he grabbed Gwenda''s wrist with an unreadable speed.

    She blinked, and Sinclair was staring at her with fiery eyes. The amber spun into a warm yellow glow. Ethan looked at her from beneath his lashes, and Gwenda shut her mouth, which had opened in what she found ridiculous to even have touched her in this manner, and returned the same gaze.

    She could see, and she believed he could too. That they were both alike, in the end.

    Ethan slowly lowered his arm, placing it on her thigh. Gwenda followed the movement with her eyes. And then he let out a weak, lifeless laugh, then practically purred:

    ¡ª You need to learn to accept help, Scar.

    Gwenda lifted her gaze to his quickly.

    ¡ª What did you call me? ¡ª she asked softly.

    Ethan shrugged and resumed cleaning the small wound.

    ¡ª I guess I could come up with a name for you, don''t you think? Good coworkers do that. And I think some here couldn''t know your real name. ¡ª He glanced slowly at Courvin. ¡ª Or am I wrong?

    Gwenda followed his gaze and met a face pale beneath the dirt. But Courvin gave a sardonic smile and turned his attention back to the healer.

    Gwenda took a deep breath.

    ¡ª What do you want from me?

    She began to wonder if Ethan was there only because of the case, to negotiate information.

    ¡ª From you? ¡ª he shook his head ¡ª Nothing.

    Ethan stood up and forcefully threw the cloth onto Gwenda''s wounded abdomen. She quickly recoiled to protect herself, but now everything hurt. When she looked up to curse him, a pale hand extended towards her made her quiet.

    She huffed and accepted the help, grabbing and pulling herself up.

    ¡ª I wanted to invite you to... a place. ¡ª he said and tightened his grip on her hand instead of letting go.

    ¡ª I''ve been quite busy, Sinclair. ¡ª she replied ¡ª And I believe you have too. ¡ª And she wanted to make it clear.

    He was working with her, how could he find time for... this? But, of course, if Gwenda had time for the arena, she couldn''t question her colleagues about certain things.

    ¡ª You came here right after breakfast. ¡ª he said ¡ª I don''t think you''re in a position to say we have more important things to worry about. Am I wrong?

    Gwenda rolled her eyes and let go of him.

    ¡ª I don''t want to meet with you, thank you. ¡ª she nodded at him ¡ª Now, if you''ll excuse me...

    Gwenda walked slowly to Twilight and lifted a foot to climb, but her body stopped obeying the command halfway when the pain intensified.

    She groaned and lowered her foot back to the ground, leaning her forehead on her horse''s saddle. Gwenda was about to pick up the reins and walk away when firm hands grabbed her waist and lifted her off the ground.

    Her heart raced, and she tried to look back, but she didn''t have time before stretching her leg to the other side of the horse and settling on top.

    Ethan walked to the front of the horse and pulled Twilight by the reins. His face was serious, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

    The horse began to walk, and Gwenda held onto the mane, feeling pricks of pain in her spine. They weren''t walking out of the arena, but practically trotting. Ethan seemed more restless to get out of there than Gwenda had ever been when she won for the third time in a row.

    ¡ª What''s your problem? ¡ª she asked.

    Ethan looked at her over his shoulder with a smile, expressing something completely different from a few seconds ago.

    But he didn''t say anything.

    ¡ª If you think you can...

    Gwenda lost consciousness and was thrown forward with a powerful blast of air to her back. Her breath faltered as she fell off the horse, and Gwenda screamed, but no sound came out. Everything was buzzing eternally, her ears hurt, and her blurry eyes burned.

    Gwenda gasped and coughed. No sound except that endless beep. Everything had turned to smoke, and where there''s smoke, there''s fire.

    The Shooter propped herself up on one elbow, movements slow and heavy. Horses whinnied all around, running and passing like shadows, blurs.

    Behind that smoke, an orange glow crackled nearby, and Gwenda tried to keep the train of thought singular, but it was impossible. Moving was difficult.

    The noise of people screaming began to reach her gradually, and Gwenda blinked hard as she tried in vain to clear the blurriness.

    A pair of boots approached her, and she said something she could barely hear, but it seemed the other person understood, as they held her arms and forced her to stand up.

    Gwenda could barely put her own weight on her legs, so she had to put her arm around the other person''s neck.

    She felt an unbearable pain in her arm and ribs, so agonizing that the only thing she could think about was that.

    ¡ª Gwenda... ¡ª someone seemed to whisper beside her, a familiar voice. ¡ª Gwenda, listen to me...

    It was faint, muffled, but she managed to decipher who it was. And Ethan seemed whole, he was walking, at least.

    She coughed again, her head slumping forward as Sinclair dragged her away.

    ¡ª There are more people alive! ¡ª someone shouted further ahead and Gwenda blinked, tired and completely exhausted.

    ¡ª Call the Carvlineas!

    ¡ª Here! There''s a child!

    Gwenda widened her eyes and lifted her head with the remaining strength she had.

    The hand on her waist tightened as she tried to pull away, and all she could do was grumble and accept being pulled away.

    ¡ª Ethan. ¡ª she called out and forced her feet to keep up with him.

    ¡ª Stay here.

    The smoke subsided, and Gwenda could see people helping the wounded or crying over bodies.

    She turned to Ethan in panic, ready to ask what happened, but stopped and forgot the idea as soon as she saw a deep, jagged cut crossing his right eye.

    ¡ª Ethan. ¡ª she whispered in a plea she never thought she''d make. ¡ª What... ¡ª She swallowed hard and, despite the pain, reached her hand to his distorted, blurred face. He stopped her. ¡ª What happened?

    Sinclair just stared at her and scanned every inch of her face and body, searching for something. Gwenda continued to wait for an answer she was almost certain she wouldn''t get.

    ¡ª An explosion, Gwenda. ¡ª he replied.

    Gwenda tensed and recoiled. He was referring to his eye, but...

    Explosions everywhere.

    Explosions.

    ¡ª Who? ¡ª she asked and stepped away from Ethan to go back there and enter the destruction, to look for a culprit who surely wouldn''t be there, but his hands went straight to her waist and held her up.

    ¡ª I don''t know. ¡ª he replied again and pulled her back, Gwenda put her hands over his ¡ª Stay here, please.

    And there was something in his voice. Something strong and filled with agony and pleading that made Gwenda stop trying to break free and let Ethan lead her to a bench in front of a bar. She sat down and watched Sinclair run into the smoke, swallowed by ghosts.

    The fire back there unlocked memories for Gwenda, and she found herself falling into a overwhelming world where she wasn''t welcome, into a world full of beings thirsty for death and vengeance.

    But Gwenda was too tired to feel alone and fight to stop falling, to stop seeing monsters.

    Her eyelids closed, and Gwenda got lost in two distinct worlds.

 18

    He stood there, looking at the destruction, unable to believe that this hellhole collapsed just today, taking many people with it. And if he hadn''t found Gwenda...

    A cough dispersed Vannyer from his thoughts, and he turned in the direction with a furrowed brow. Courvin, with his dark hair tied in a rebellious bun, the man who was the most famous adversary of the Shooter and who lost every time, was sitting there in the cart with a wounded abdomen, cuts on his face closed with bandages, and a bloody bicep bandaged. He yawned, as if tired of waiting and watching everything. Ryxer gritted his teeth.

    He noticed Darcy approaching with determined steps, and then did the same, balancing on the wreckage of the arena until he reached the road. Darcy didn''t complain when Vannyer stopped right behind her.

    ¡ª I believe now is a good time for interrogation. ¡ª she said.

    Courvin gave a little smirk and shifted his burning gaze from Darcy to Ryxer. The competitor looked him up and down, indifferent, and turned to Raux.

    ¡ª Would it be too much to ask for a cup of coffee?

    Vannyer felt his patience wearing thin, and he let out a low grunt as he took a step towards him, about to make him cooperate. But Raux stopped him with her arm.

    Courvin lifted his chin to him, challenging him.

    ¡ª I''ll be polite just one more time: Are you ready?

    The wounded man ran hungry eyes over Darcy, and Ryxer struggled not to roll his eyes.

    ¡ª I would love to experience your not-so-polite side. ¡ª He said, then opened a mischievous smile.

    For a moment, Vannyer thought his boss wouldn''t do anything about it and would just move on. Darcy placed her hand on the arm of the nurse who was already bandaging Courvin''s abdomen, and he stepped back. So quickly that Ryxer could barely understand, Raux punched the wound, causing the man to lean forward with a strangled groan. But that only gave Darcy an opening, and she slapped his face and then held him with one hand, squeezing his cheeks in a way that Ryxer would surely find painful.

    Courvin stared wide-eyed at his boss.

    ¡ª Here''s a proof of my not-so-polite side. ¡ª She said ¡ª Now, how about answering my questions.

    Darcy let him go, and Courvin straightened up quickly, bringing one hand to his face and massaging his jaw while the other held the cut on his abdomen. He shot a fierce look at his boss. Ryxer couldn''t hold back a half-smile.

    ¡ª What were you doing when the incident occurred? ¡ª She asked.

    Courvin rolled his eyes.

    ¡ª What else do you do in an arena, sweetheart? ¡ª He mocked and gestured for the nurse to approach.

    To his credit, the nurse didn''t move. He would only do so when Raux ordered. Courvin rolled his eyes again and sighed, still massaging his face.

    ¡ª They were taking care of my injuries.

    ¡ª Where were you?

    ¡ª Are you asking these questions to everyone who survived? Where are you trying to get at? ¡ª Unfazed, Courvin leaned his hands on the cart and tilted his head to the side, facing Darcy with amusement. ¡ª As far as I know, the interrogation should be with the owner of the arena, not the participants.

    Raux let out a laugh.

    ¡ª You''re as dumb as the rumors say.

    He lost his smile.

    And Ryxer lost his patience as he approached.

    ¡ª Did you see Gwenda Matchstone? ¡ª He asked through gritted teeth.

    Courvin turned to him, the gleam in his eyes fading as he once again roamed the brown eyes over the agent from top to bottom.

    ¡ª And who are you?

    The acidity in the question made Vannyer clench his fists.

    ¡ª Answer...

    ¡ª The shooting bitch? I didn''t see.

    Ryxer blinked when Courvin gave another smirk, swinging his legs back and forth in the air.

    Shooting bitch.

    He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now wasn''t the time to think about the names Gwenda probably received from the Capital.

    When he opened his eyes, Darcy put her fingers on the wound on the abdomen and held the competitor''s face. He groaned, and was about to bite Raux''s fingers, but she spoke:

    ¡ª Tell me where Gwenda Matchstone is, or I''ll rip out your tongue and kick it through your ass until it reaches your throat.

    Ryxer widened his eyes slightly and looked from one to the other. He had the impression he had heard something similar before.

    Courvin grabbed both of Darcy''s wrists, and Vannyer was ready to lunge at him, but his deathly expression turned to admiration, and the wrinkles on his forehead disappeared. The look he gave his boss was lascivious.

    ¡ª You have a very nice grip, madam. I bet it would be even better if it were on my...

    The rest of the sentence was muffled when Darcy removed her hand from the wound, disentangling herself from him, and hit his jaw with such force that Ryxer imagined it might have broken. Courvin leaned back, blinking several times as he tried to regain his vision that he had probably lost.

    ¡ª You talk too much, like a shit machine gun. ¡ª Darcy turned on her heel, her expression completely annoyed and disgusted.

    Courvin laughed, squirming in place as he massaged his jaw again. Ryxer looked him up and down, just as the competitor had done to him. He narrowed his eyes at Vannyer before getting off the cart, staggering. The nurse had been dismissed, apparently, or thought it best to take care of someone who really needed his work.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡ª What are you looking at, dude? ¡ª Courvin passed him by, and despite being a few inches shorter than Ryxer, he was more robust and seemed to have trained for the army, a warrior. The scars on his body informed that it wasn''t impossible.

    The competitor walked straight ahead and followed Darcy, Vannyer followed, moving silently and observing from under his lashes.

    Raux put her hand on the shoulder of a worried woman holding her daughter in her arms. And then she realized once again: there were fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, sons and daughters in there. Vannyer felt his chest tighten.

    Courvin stopped next to Darcy.

    At first, she didn''t even seem to care as she directed the woman to the nurses, who could calm her down. But then she turned abruptly and stood face to face with the competitor. He raised his eyebrows, admiringly, and licked his lips as he swept his face with his gaze.

    He opened his mouth.

    ¡ª What you have to say now. ¡ª Darcy interrupted, cold and melancholic ¡ª I suggest keeping it to yourself.

    Courvin looked at her with admiration, so bright and full of lust that Ryxer felt ashamed for him.

    ¡ª You look cute when you''re angry. ¡ª He said, reaching for Darcy''s short hair with the intention of tucking it behind her ear.

    The boss grabbed his hand and twisted his fingers. Courvin barely had time to yell or strike her before Raux''s knee hit him in the groin in a way that made Vannyer flinch and bring his hand to his own, staring at his boss with wide eyes.

    ¡ª That... cute. ¡ª Courvin''s voice came out muffled before he recoiled, legs closing, and falling to the ground.

    He didn''t move anymore.

    Vannyer''s jaw dropped, and he was almost certain he let out a murmur of surprise. Darcy raised her hand in the air, silencing him. She turned slowly to him.

    ¡ª We don''t talk about this anymore.

    He nodded, understanding, and his boss stepped away, leaving the unconscious body in his care.

    Ryxer looked at Courvin and almost, almost, felt sorry for him. Shortly after, he was leading him to the cart and throwing him there, anger overcoming his common sense as he stared at the competitor''s face. He must have fought with Gwenda or something. He had to have seen her. Vannyer didn''t believe for a moment that he hadn''t seen her.

    But he prayed it was true.

    <hr>

    ¡ª Answer! ¡ª Ryxer brought his fist back to the man''s face again, truly believing it would make a difference. His hand became covered in blood.

    ¡ª That''s not how we work, agent Vannyer.

    He grunted and let go of the nearly unconscious man, who slumped onto the arena rubble.

    Darcy approached and gestured with her hand. Two agents came forward.

    ¡ª Take him to the cart. ¡ª She instructed.

    They grabbed the man by both arms and dragged him away. He was one of the arena staff, one of the few still standing, but he was battered. Ryxer couldn''t even look too closely at the injuries, focusing instead on the tired eyes.

    It''s no wonder they had so many enemies in the city. People turned against the Carvlineas, just had to pay attention.

    After another round with Raux, wary that there might be someone else like Courvin, even though she didn''t need protection, he entered what remained of the arena and found the owner there, arguing with the accountant about money. He was mostly intact, a wound here and there, disheveled hair and part of his face dirty with soot... Ryxer couldn''t care less.

    It was ironic, he almost laughed, that the owner of such a violent place couldn''t fight or at least defend himself.

    Vannyer sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tousling what was already messy.

    ¡ª She must have left earlier. ¡ª His boss commented.

    It didn''t matter. She should have been here, arrived here after the explosion... she should have been contacted somehow. Gwenda would have known about the incident almost as soon as they did.

    If they didn''t find her body here, Vannyer could be more relaxed. But so far, nothing, and Ryxer wasn''t in the least relieved by this news. It meant they could still find her.

    ¡ª What do you think about the accident with Ethan Sinclair? ¡ª he asked Darcy.

    She observed him.

    ¡ª I believe him when he says he went to help his mother at the Harbor. If it weren''t for the eye injury, it would have been a blow to the head. I think we''re grateful he''s alive, aren''t we, Vannyer?

    She wanted him to say something he didn''t believe or feel about it, but he sighed, feigning relief, and said:

    ¡ª I guess so.

    Darcy huffed, almost a laugh.

    But Ryxer was restless, wanting to understand why no one else found it somewhat... strange. No one seemed concerned that the best agent in sector 3 wasn''t among them.

    ¡ª How can you be so composed? ¡ª he asked Raux.

    The boss gave a weak smile.

    ¡ª Show what others want to see, Vannyer.

    Darcy turned away and moved off to other agents and detectives. He stood there, seeing everything, yet nothing at the same time. He didn''t follow her this time. Ryxer sighed and began to walk around. He kicked a stone and kept looking for a specific body.

    He needed to know if Gwenda was okay, or if she was buried under the rubble. Alive or dead, those were his only two options. And Ryxer prayed for it to be the former.

    But the bigger problem would be if they didn''t find her body. Alive or dead, her body needed to be found. Without it, Gwenda could be breathing, and that would inform them that she might be the culprit.

    If the agent suddenly showed up, they would need to ask questions, and Vannyer wouldn''t like to see where that led. The last time he doubted Gwenda, he felt useless, and she probably never forgave him for pointing a gun at her over a trivial matter.

    But if they found the body... Ryxer would feel empty. He didn''t want to lose Gwenda. Not when they were on the verge of becoming friends. He believed so.

    At least someone, a person. Vannyer just wanted someone he could trust and have some relationship with. After Cressint, Ryxer had no one else. After his own father whom Ryxer hated to remember, he had no one else. Kilorn Vannyer crossed his mind a few times a day, because despite loving him and missing him, remembering his father hurt him in a way he couldn''t contain the tightness in his chest and throat, and the tears that fell almost automatically. So he refused to do such a thing.

    And now he lost Gwenda in both ways. If she were alive, she would be questioned and possibly arrested. He would lose her anyway.

    Ryxer descended a small rocky hill, slipping on the broken pieces, but quickly stopped. Right in front, five inches ahead of his foot, there was a hole in the ground. Enormous and particularly deep, it occupied the remainder of the arena. Ryxer felt his chest tighten at the sight. How many people were under there? How many were crushed?

    Vannyer lost his strength and lowered his head with the sadness that hit him. Less than half of the stands remained, just like the people who were there.

    He scanned the area. There was no one down there, at least not that he could see. And if there was anyone, they were under the rubble.

    But the hole was right in the center of the arena, where the fighters and shooters were always earning their paychecks and fractions with the short man who was now in the care of nurses.

    Detectives from sector 6 and 3 were just beyond the curtains on the other side, where the competitors stayed before entering, studying the place where the bomb was planted. Ethan Sinclair was there, looking at a document with his only eye and gesturing to his colleagues something about the bomb that managed to destroy the entire arena.

    He claimed to have gotten into a scuffle at the port. His mother was a merchant, and he was there to help her when they tried to rob her.

    Vannyer didn''t believe his words at all, but there was no way to prove that it wasn''t true. Soaking wet when he arrived, he said he was thrown into the sea in the middle of the fight to defend the merchandise.

    He got there to help his mother who was being attacked, but how did he know? How did he have time to leave a letter? Unless he was going to visit his mother and then they were robbed. But Ethan hadn''t made it clear until now.

    The head of sector 6 called a nurse to tend to the eye wound. Indeed, Ethan Sinclair looked beaten up when he arrived limping, there would be no way to tell he was lying. Plus, he was too surprised when he found out about the explosion, and concerned when they mentioned Gwenda being there at the same time it all happened.

    Ryxer blinked to push away the sorrows that threatened to spread through his body and was about to turn around when he noticed a hand amidst some rocks. Vannyer swallowed the dread and whistled loudly. Agents looked at him and three ran in his direction.

 19

    Gwenda felt her face wet, damp. But it wasn''t sweat, she wasn''t hot. She muttered softly and turned her head to the side, wanting to get out of wherever she was, to get up...

    A hand grabbed her before she could plummet straight to the ground and pulled her back. Her back was against something soft, and she felt herself floating around the area. The faint smell of trees was all around, and she opened her eyes. At first, she saw nothing, but then she saw someone sitting beside her holding something while touching her forehead and wiping it clean.

    Gwenda blinked again and saw a bandage over one of the person''s eyes.

    ¡ª Ethan. ¡ª Her voice came out as a weak groan.

    ¡ª You passed out completely. ¡ª Ethan said.

    Gwenda rubbed her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows intending to sit up, but gave up when something inside her quivered with pain.

    ¡ª What happened? ¡ª she asked in a hoarse voice. ¡ª I was... We were...

    Ethan stood up, providing a wider view of the surroundings.

    Gwenda saw an open balcony next to the stove, overlooking trees, a forest, she supposed. Because all she could hear were bird sounds and leaves rustling against each other.

    ¡ª Where are we? ¡ª she asked.

    Ethan poured a cup of tea, noticing Gwenda, and turned to her, leaning one foot on the other leg.

    Gwenda stiffened, and she knew that at that moment, a redder hue filled her face.

    He was shirtless, and only now she... noticed. But not for any reason.

    The scars that Gwenda glimpsed yesterday beneath Ethan''s shirt, now they were nothing but grotesque scratches running along every bulging muscle of his chest, ribs, and abdomen. The ones Gwenda saw at first were as thin as a blade''s edge, but as they descended, the scars seemed to widen, broad and robust.

    She looked away.

    ¡ª Your eye is...

    ¡ª I still have both eyes, Scar. ¡ª he said calmly.

    Gwenda closed her eyes, and relief washed over her. She sat up carefully, feeling Ethan''s penetrating gaze on her, and scratched the tattoo on her neck.

    ¡ª Why Scar? ¡ª she asked.

    Ethan was sipping his tea when he shrugged.

    ¡ª I like that name.

    Gwenda narrowed her eyes and swept every corner of his exposed torso before reaching his face and seeing a mischievous grin.

    ¡ª Do you like what you see?

    ¡ª Honestly... no. I have mine to admire. But thanks.

    ¡ª Oh, the girl is talking about scars ¡ª he laughed. ¡ª I don''t admire those things, not other people''s.

    Gwenda raised the corner of her mouth.

    ¡ª Me neither.

    ¡ª So it''s not the scars you''re looking at. Your gaze is filled with admiration.

    Gwenda stared at him. Ethan just gave her a look that said: gotcha.

    She scoffed with a grimace before turning to the opposite side and slowly getting off the high bed, slipping until her bare feet touched the floor.

    ¡ª If you don''t mind, I''d like to know how you got those on your legs.

    Gwenda froze and snapped her attention to her legs. But she was wearing pants.

    The only thing she wore was comfortable pants made of soft, light fabric. The top was a band that covered from her right arm and circled around her shoulder, only to then reach her chest and fill every inch of skin to her abdomen. So yes, Gwenda was only wearing low-waisted pants.

    ¡ª You dressed me? ¡ª she asked, a little worried.

    He made a sound as if to say: who else would do it but me?

    ¡ª We''re in the middle of nowhere, and it''s just the two of us recovering in a fancy open house.

    Gwenda looked around. Well, fancy would be a strong word.

    ¡ª You were filthy, injured. ¡ª Gwenda shrank at the way he almost spat out the last word. ¡ª No one climbs into my bed in that state. ¡ª he shot at her. Ethan must have noticed Gwenda''s reaction, so he said ¡ª But don''t feel guilty, everyone makes mistakes here.

    She turned abruptly to him and caught him gulping down the last drop of tea.

    ¡ª I didn''t do anything wrong. ¡ª she replied with the best tone of confidence she could muster at the moment. ¡ª I just wanted to participate in a...

    ¡ª You leave your left side wide open. ¡ª he said and put the cup in the sink behind him. Ethan pointed at her. ¡ª That was an absurd mistake, but I admit I''ve seen worse.

    Gwenda let out a murmur of understanding, pretending not to have almost cursed him with every name that came to her mind.

    She was right-handed, clearly more skilled with her right.

    ¡ª I believe I can do better than that. ¡ª she replied, nonchalantly.

    Ethan let out a laugh that told her something like: girl, if you only knew...

    ¡ª I''m the best at everything Carsany has ever seen.

    Gwenda raised an eyebrow.

    ¡ª Is that so? ¡ª she asked sarcastically. ¡ª As far as I know...

    ¡ª You know nothing. ¡ª Ethan sang and stepped away from the kitchen, walking out onto the balcony and disappearing from view.

    It was a single room that shared everything. Living room, kitchen, bedroom... the only things he probably needed most. But there was a door further ahead next to the fireplace facing the carpet and the huge beige sofa, where Gwenda assumed the bathroom was. The bed was just behind the sofa, and Gwenda considered whether it was better to climb back up and relax.

    No, she didn''t even know where this was and what exactly they were doing there. Recovery could be anywhere. She kept looking at the huge beautiful windows on the wall opposite the kitchen.

    When Ethan appeared again on the balcony holding a plant similar to a tea his mother almost always made, Gwenda asked:

    ¡ª Where are we?

    Ethan looked around as if he didn''t know and was searching for something to say.

    ¡ª In the middle of a bunch of trees. ¡ª He flashed a fake smile and placed the tea next to the sink before washing his hands and drying them with the towel.

    Gwenda just watched him toss the towel over one shoulder and reach to open a door from a shelf above.

    ¡ª What are we doing here? ¡ª She asked once again, hoping he would answer any question seriously. ¡ª I need to work. We need to work.

    ¡ª Scar, I suggest forgetting the case and everything you once stood for. You''ve become invisible.

    Gwenda blinked, not understanding.

    ¡ª What are you talking about?

    He shrugged.

    ¡ª You were at the arena when the explosion happened, everyone knows that. ¡ª She suddenly tensed. ¡ª Everyone thinks you''re dead. ¡ª He placed two cups along with the tea leaf and turned to Gwenda, leaning both hands on the sink and tilting his head towards her ¡ª I saved you. ¡ª he grinned ¡ª And I''m still saving you. What do you think this incredible and heroic gesture deserves?

    Gwenda felt her fingers tingling, and she clenched her fists, her breathing quickened, and she needed to stop looking at him.

    She felt the blood drain from her face as she sat back on the bed with a grunt, facing one of the huge windows and her back to her work partner.

    ¡ª This is ridiculous. ¡ª She said.

    ¡ª Tell that to your friends.

    Gwenda turned to him.

    ¡ª And my body. ¡ª She demanded to know. Ethan had already lost all the fun in his expression. ¡ª How can they think I''m dead without my body in the middle of that?

    ¡ª Oh. ¡ª He murmured and looked up, pretending to think. But then he stared at her with arrogance only evident in the smile, the eye expressing understanding, ¡ª Many bodies turned to dust in that explosion, Scar. Don''t feel bad for not being there with them.

    Gwenda scoffed at him with a roll of her eyes.

    ¡ª I can fix this, Sinclair.

    He let out a snort more like a laugh.

    ¡ª No, you can''t.

    So that was it, this was the end? No.

    ¡ª What do you want, after all? Why did you bring me here instead of taking me to the sector? ¡ª Gwenda gritted her teeth. ¡ª Are you wanting something from me? Are you wanting me to be a ghost, aren''t you? I just need to go back, and this will just be a rumor.

    Ethan laughed.

    ¡ª Scar, Scar...

    ¡ª Don''t call me that. ¡ª She growled.

    ¡ª Do as you please, show up to the public, be the center of attention... go back to living in a hole just because your boss told you to. Solve the case, repeat all the steps, and still end up in the same place. What are you waiting for?

    Anger was evident in her gaze, so Gwenda looked away and glanced at her own feet on the bed through her knees tucked against her chest.

    ¡ª It''s not me who would stop you from doing any of that. But you know you can do these things from here, and the living conditions will be profits. ¡ª he lowered his voice ¡ª The only rumor will be that you came back to life. If you show up to the public back from the dead, then you''ll truly be dead at the hands of those who remain.

    She shrunk further.

    But who remained?

    No one. Now it wasn''t her friends, now it had been Gwenda. Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder; the last hope; the professional Shooter who refused all the king''s recruitments; the annihilator who worked in a Carvlinea sector and killed mystics; the daughter who tarnished her father''s name, and the legacy she left for Gwenda was now stalled. And besides everything: Darcy Raux''s servant.

    Gwenda sighed.

    It was her turn to die. Perhaps she deserved it. Perhaps then she''d stop risking the lives of those she loved.

    After all, what would she do when she came back? Ethan was protecting her from Rubben, anyway, even if he didn''t know.

    ¡ª How long was I out? ¡ª she asked.

    ¡ª Five hours.

    Gwenda remained motionless, looking at him.

    ¡ª Five hours? Who stays unconscious for five hours?

    Ethan didn''t hide the smirk.

    ¡ª You, apparently.

    She thought and rethought.

    Being dead might not be so bad after all. But she couldn''t... she couldn''t make her friends feel like they didn''t do enough, that they are to blame, or that they could have prevented such a death. But only Kimer could, only she would be willing to go to the arena and see Gwenda compete. And if she were there when the explosion happened...

    She refused to think about it.

    ¡ª So you''re dead too, then ¡ª she concluded without looking at him.

    Silence.

    And then:

    ¡ª What?

    Gwenda almost rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª You were there at that time.

    Ethan smiled.

    ¡ª For you, I was. For them, I was sorting out my personal problems.

    Gwenda furrowed her brow and swallowed the pain as she gritted her teeth when she dragged herself to the other side of the bed.

    ¡ª You know something ¡ª she accused and descended, walking towards him with determination ¡ª Why were you there? Why didn''t you show up at sector 3 in the morning? What the hell was that letter if you were at the arena having fun watching me being beaten? Why did you get me out of there quickly before that happened? Why did you save me?

    Gwenda wondered why Courvin had gone pale when he saw Ethan nearby. Did he know something? Did he know Ethan Sinclair?

    He blinked, and Gwenda realized they were close. His body heat hit her, and she had to hold back from moving away. Gwenda''s knees stood firm, but the rest of her weakened, and she lost the next lines she had planned.

    Gwenda was facing Ethan''s chest, right at the beginning of the scars, and she didn''t want to admit to herself, but it intimidated her.

    ¡ª As I said ¡ª he began and pushed away from the sink. Gwenda took a step back ¡ª, I was sorting out my personal problems. ¡ª He continued advancing, and she continued retreating ¡ª A friend was in that arena. ¡ª He smiled arrogantly ¡ª Sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn''t there for you, Scar ¡ª Gwenda collided with the bed again at her lower back and leaned back to get away further than possible, but Ethan didn''t stop walking until he was pressed against her, almost hovering over her ¡ª You have to know that there''s no mercy in me. If I knew who''s behind this ¡ª He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of Gwenda''s hair behind her ear ¡ª, I would have let you die in that dungeon to go after the culprit. You need to learn to accept help, Scar. ¡ª He pouted, and Gwenda shivered ¡ª By the way ¡ª He brought his face closer to hers, and whispered: ¡ª, you ask too many nonsensical questions.

    Ethan''s gaze on her was pure cold desire mixed with sadness, a kind of look she never thought she would see.

    He stepped back, and Gwenda felt like she could breathe again.

    ¡ª Your wake is in two hours ¡ª he remarked with a firm tone, but then continued softly: ¡ª Apparently, they found your body.

    Ethan walked out onto the balcony, the only place that seemed to be the entrance and exit, besides the huge windows.

    They found the body Ethan wanted them to find, clearly. Something told her to stay there and recover. But what about afterward? What if Rubben knew she was alive? Gwenda had no doubt he would destroy the world for her, that''s what worried her. But then, Gwenda would be next to be slowly destroyed by him.

    She knew things were moving slowly, but at least the searches were working. The answer could be closer than she thought it would be. And now she was close to being free from Darcy, that was no longer a burden for Gwenda. She could do whatever she pleased.

    Free. That word echoed in her head.

    It had been a long time since she lived for herself without orders from others. Maybe staying here would be good for her in the end.

    Darcy Raux wasn''t like Rubben, didn''t send Gwenda straight to death, and didn''t raise a hand to hit her face with a slap or a punch. Gwenda could say she was fine being with Raux, doing her duties as her boss requested. She was afraid of being free and being caught again, doing something stupid, or being threatened until she accepted another bargain. Especially if it was Rubben. Being free had become a terror, and safety was with Raux, because Gwenda didn''t trust herself in freedom.

    But now she was safe among trees. They think she''s dead, they found her body, something that can''t be undone without people starting to think she''s not human.

    Five hours was already enough for nothing she did to matter, to put her name back on the list of the living. Ethan was right, Gwenda couldn''t show up to the public. But she knew she could trust him even less, because she knew Sinclair was up to something.

    Gwenda sighed, her sore throat was closed, and she held back the scream. She climbed onto the bed calmly and lay down facing the windows. She believed she would have the answers when she asked him, but Gwenda would have to be very patient. Ethan was surely someone difficult to deal with.

    It didn''t seem like a difficult decision. Gwenda was feeling fine, but it was as if a piece of her had been ripped away without permission. Her name had been crossed out, erased.

    Gwenda Matchstone was nobody. And now she was here, injured in every way she had ever been. She flinched when she heard Ethan coming back into the house, afraid of what he might do when Gwenda wasn''t looking. But he didn''t do anything.

    Ethan Sinclair was closer to being the culprit of the deadly explosion in the arena than anyone that came to Gwenda''s mind.

    He wanted Gwenda to leave that place before it exploded, didn''t he? That''s what it seemed like. Ethan was there for some reason, and she was trying to piece it together. But for now, she would keep to herself, just enjoying whatever Sinclair had given her. He said he saved her, but Gwenda didn''t see it that way. Why bring her here when he could have taken her straight to the sector?

    Gwenda refused to close her eyes but kept her ears attentive as Ethan did something at the sink. After putting wood in the wood-burning stove, he filled a kettle and left it to heat.

    She didn''t relax as she paid attention with all available senses to what Ethan Sinclair was doing, her personal assassin who killed the rest of her name.

    <hr>

    The lantern outside the house illuminated the almost dark place. And Ethan drank from a canteen while he observed the noisy forest with the sounds of birds. His only eye was functioning well, but it wasn''t enough.

    In this land almost devoid of magic, he didn''t know how much his injured eye could heal. He didn''t know if he would see again. But if that was the cost of being able to see her and feel her by his side, Ethan wouldn''t complain, despite feeling useless.

    He didn''t intend to hurt Gwenda; he wanted to save and protect her. Unlike the one who is luring her into something she has no idea about.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Things weren''t going as expected, but they also didn''t roll downhill. And if they did, there were ways to keep climbing. And Ethan would find them all if necessary to keep Gwenda safe.

    Ethan knows he has made many mistakes in life, but since he laid eyes on Gwenda, when he finally found that part of him he had been searching for so long... all the blood that had been on his weapons and fists felt like a wrong and painful burden. He became weaker, that was clear. Weak for Gwenda and everything she represented.

    It was hard to hear from Gwenda that he is the villain of the story. To see in her eyes that he caused that, that he eliminated her. But if it wasn''t him, it would be someone else. And Ethan knew she wouldn''t be eliminated in the same way. So, he decided to act on his own and accept Gwenda''s guilty look. Either way, it wouldn''t be long before she turned against him with the rest of the claws that remained.

    But now, he couldn''t reveal everything at once; he had to take it slow and try to remain discreet as he wandered through the city as a fake agent and detective. What a damn job, they could barely see a finger in front of them.

    And that, in fact, was good for Gwenda. If she unraveled the mystery, Ethan would be devastated. So, he had to take it easy; that was the key when it came to her temperament.

    Ethan took two more swigs from his canteen, the fey alcohol from the Opposite Continent that he managed to bribe before going to Carsany to continue his search. The alcohol there was better; almost all fey from Alphardj knew that, but the one from this continent was still addictive and powerful. Ethan liked to mix the two.

    He gritted his teeth as he always did when he thought for too long.

    Gwenda was here, lying on his bed and resting from the disaster in the arena. He would need to teach her a few things; he would pull patience out of his tail if necessary.

    The two were alike; Ethan hoped Gwenda would see that. See that they were made for each other, that both souls fit together like pieces of a larger puzzle. No matter what their energies fed on, they were made for each other.

    And now that she was here without anyone else knowing, Ethan was more confident. But he needed to find his trouble-causing friend who was trying to find Gwenda for the first time.

    Ethan laughed at himself. Well... he found her first. He could boast about that for the rest of his life, but he wasn''t the type to brag, even though, in this regard, he seemed decent enough to do so.

    He just knew he was protecting Gwenda from many things. Including the one who blew up the arena.

    How beautiful life is. He mocked himself inside his mind.

    After finishing his canteen, Ethan left it aside on the stairs in front of the open balcony, he stood up and disappeared into the shadows.

    Sometimes Ethan felt like they were trying to hold him down and strangle him, but they couldn''t. The shadows of those he took life from. He knew they were around him, wanting to put their ghostly hands on him, but Ethan knew they couldn''t, and he smiled all the way, feeling like a god.

    But that ended when the threats of the dead seemed to tear his heart apart and when the whispers reached his ears. Then, anger and all kinds of bad feelings burst out of him, and then the mess began again. It was a cycle, like an eternal curse that repeated itself.

    He cut his arm until the shadows backed away. But in Carsany without the necessary magic for healing, Ethan stayed away from a dagger. And as a consequence, the shadows stayed close to him.

    <hr>

    Rain.

    Gwenda wondered why rain always showed up at wakes and funerals to be part of the sad moment and deliver even more sadness.

    It was her wake, and even though she had arrived there in silence and completely apart from the people gathered around, Ethan eyed her from afar. The tulips in his hand were still intact, his wet hair falling over the eye he had left, and the bandage slightly stained with red.

    Gwenda simply looked away first, unable to bear seeing the man who caused her death.

    Made a good choice. A part of her said.

    But then she wondered if all this time, every day that passed, being dead was her desire. And she was lucky that Ethan had done what he did because, one mysterious day, this wake wouldn''t be a lie.

    Whoever blew up the arena probably knew Gwenda was there. And now they thought she was dead.

    A shiver ran through her body at the thought that if the culprit saw her now and found out she was alive, they could shoot her and finish the job. But Gwenda didn''t even know if she was really the target. Considering who she was, she had reasons to question.

    She was no longer the Shooter, much less Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder. Maybe she should change her name; Gwenda was no longer useful. Gwenda was a ghost; she no longer existed.

    Ethan called her Scar even when she was lying in Twilight''s stall this morning. She had no idea why, but Sinclair was at the top of the list of suspects, and she wouldn''t take him off it anytime soon.

    Gwenda saw the horse outside with a rope around its neck tethered to a white mare with light brown spots on her coat. He just stared at his owner, ears erect, while the mare, who was probably Ethan''s, searched for grass to her liking.

    She thought about going there to release him and flee back to the city center. But what would be the point? After all, she had been strangely saved by Ethan, and now she was in the same place as him. He said Gwenda could work from that house, and so she would. She could be next to the perpetrator of the cases, and she wouldn''t waste this chance.

    Then the plan took shape in her mind faster than she had imagined, and a lazy smile spread across her face. But soon she distanced herself from the feeling of winning when Darcy fell to her knees in front of her coffin.

    Gwenda tensed, her eyes slightly wide.

    Kimer hurried to the side of Gwenda''s former boss, stroking Raux''s back with soft hands. But the head of sector 3 was motionless. No sob, no movement of the shoulders to indicate if she was crying. Nothing. Falling to her knees was probably her maximum.

    Louise walked up to the incredibly shiny coffin. Gwenda frowned, wondering how they paid for that. Her friend, who was wearing a delicate black dress today, left a white flower. Gwenda could see Louise''s hands trembling, and something in her chest tightened. She didn''t know what her friend was thinking, but Gwenda wanted to go there and hug her, tell her she would never leave her. But she had to keep the disguise of a grateful woman for one and dead to the rest; she had to unravel the problems she was assigned.

    Gwenda stayed there by the tree for the rest of the funeral, on the other side of the road and in the same place she had been at Trytan''s. No one walked nearby; it was deserted.

    She held back tears as she watched. What the hell was this? She was almost crying for her own death?

    When it was over, and Darcy and Ryxer finally left her fake body after everyone had gone, Gwenda slid to the ground in silence and went to the dark corner designated for her.

    The tombstone was marked with her name, the year she was born, and the year she died.

    Only 26 years old. She had just turned 26. But it would seem she was 27 to anyone who looked and did the math.

    Gwenda hugged her own body, trying to focus her attention on where she was, not on the cemetery around her and where Trytan probably was.

    A glimpse of someone farther ahead made Gwenda bend her knees and prepare to flee with her heart stuck in her throat. But when she distinguished the figure leaning against the tree with arms crossed, she gritted her teeth with anger and let Ethan notice.

    ¡ª You shouldn''t have come. ¡ª he said.

    Gwenda stared at him for two seconds, then averted her eyes to her tombstone.

    ¡ª And miss my own funeral? I don''t think so.

    He laughed weakly, entirely forced.

    ¡ª If you want it so much, I can conclude the first step now.

    A dagger appeared in his hand as Gwenda looked.

    She frowned and weighed the look from his eyes to his hand holding the blade.

    ¡ª How did you do that? ¡ª she asked.

    Indeed, Gwenda saw when he took it out from his back with a swiftness she could barely distinguish.

    He shrugged and spun the dagger.

    ¡ª Practice.

    She sighed weakly and turned to her tombstone, arms around her own body. Her stomach was hurting from hunger. She had only eaten in the morning, and now she had no idea what time of night it was.

    ¡ª If anyone sees you around here, Scar, we''re going to be in deep trouble. ¡ª Ethan said.

    ¡ª I really hope you get screwed over.

    Ethan didn''t respond. He did nothing but lazily lean away from the tree and head towards Gwenda, who had now tensed.

    He stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel his breath on the top of her head.

    ¡ª You made me believe you were worth my time. ¡ª Ethan straightened a strand of hair on the top of her head ¡ª I''m starting to doubt that.

    ¡ª Do you think I''m valuable, Sinclair? ¡ª she asked in the same threatening tone as him ¡ª Why?

    Ethan didn''t know which corner of her face to look at.

    Gwenda held back from swallowing dryly as she observed the expression on his face. She wanted to understand the reason for all this, but maybe it was better not to find out.

    As long as Ethan wasn''t an enemy, Gwenda could come to terms with him and accept the place, wherever it may be.

    When he responded, with a tired voice that made Gwenda shiver, Ethan''s eyes sparkled impetuously.

    ¡ª You are very valuable, Scar.

    Maybe it was the effect in his voice, or the way he looked at her, but Gwenda had to blink and control her breathing. Ethan seemed tired, but only seemed. They were sad eyes, full of relief for something that Gwenda had no idea about, but she would settle for the idea that the past condemned him as much as hers left her wounded.

    The man in front of her spun the dagger again and tucked it behind his back before straightening his black jacket to hide it. By the time she noticed, Ethan had already moved away from her, walking calmly among the tombstones of the cemetery with his hands in his pants pockets.

    Gwenda turned to the spot where she had been buried and then shrank. She refused to let the tears fall and turned to the right, away from Ethan, away from the city.

    She practically dragged herself, still hugging her own body, through the place that was filling with mist in the late afternoon. But it was comfortable; Gwenda liked it. She remembered when she was afraid and couldn''t help but always check around her to see if there was anyone hidden in the trees. She remembered the feeling and the heart pounding as if it were about to jump out. It was a different feeling.

    But now it was pure nothingness. Gwenda didn''t feel a damn thing. There was nothing to feel when you were already dead.

    Her friends would blame themselves if Gwenda gave up now, even thinking she had already left. If they found out she was really alive, and then really lost her, it would be painful.

    She knew this because she used to spend most of her time thinking about what she would do if she found out ¨¢tila Killian was still alive. Because, in her mind, he must already be dead in an unknown land. Or else he is alive waiting for her to find him, but when she gets to his side, he is already gone.

    Gwenda stopped walking, looking at the almost dry grass in front of her feet. A desire ran through the length of her skin, an unwelcome tingling, and everything tightened in her chest with that agonizing pain almost always.

    She looked to the side and came face to face with Trytan''s tombstone. Observing the chipped stone to determine when he was born and when he died, guilt hit Gwenda like a hurricane.

    She was a hurricane. Wherever she went, she left problems, deaths, imbalance... she hunted down races that were not like hers. Repulsive; monster; an insult to her family.

    She was almost certain that her mother would have kicked her out of the house if she were still alive. Even if that happened, Gwenda wouldn''t be working as a Carvlinea, wouldn''t have fought to be at that level. She was a living disgrace.

    Her mother represented something that Gwenda never thought would turn against her. Her mother was Mary Jane Oxwinder. And Gwenda didn''t belong, she couldn''t. She no longer accepted herself, maybe she never truly did... at least not after Yago Matchstone was gone.

    She fell to her knees with a muffled sound, her nails digging into her ribs.

    ¡ª Trytan. ¡ª she called out ¡ª I''m sorry.

    And that was it. The last thing she would probably say to him, but the thing he needed to hear the most, especially from Gwenda.

    She stayed there until her stomach ached with hunger. And when she got up to leave, she saw Ethan at the end of the cemetery, waiting for her.

    Gwenda looked back at where Trytan had been buried once more and paused at the tombstone. A shiver ran through her body and her heart raced.

    She took a deep breath and turned her back on her friend.

    <hr>

    Amazingly, Ethan Sinclair remained silent throughout the journey back. They went through the trees, away from the town and out of sight of the citizens. If Gwenda had even felt like moving, they could have arrived earlier. But when she realized she was about to climb the stairs to that balcony, she stopped in the dark and just listened as her colleague ascended and disappeared into the house.

    The cold wind entered through her clothes and delicately licked the expanse of her skin, like a caress.

    ¡ª I suggest you come in. ¡ª Ethan spoke as he appeared with a lit lantern. ¡ª The temperature drops at night in this area.

    ¡ª What am I doing here? ¡ª she muttered, enough for Sinclair to hear.

    He sighed and threw his head back.

    ¡ª I didn''t take you to the sector because it wasn''t safe. Whoever blew up the arena was meant to affect you.

    ¡ª How do you know? ¡ª she lifted her head and stared at him.

    Gwenda could see a muscle in his jaw tense under the small light from the newly lit lantern flame.

    ¡ª Because I''m a detective.

    Ethan turned around and went inside.

    Anger settled in her chest and mixed with sadness, then she grunted and stomped up the stairs. She almost fell on the last step because she couldn''t see well in the dark and finally managed to get inside, trying to grab onto something.

    ¡ª And your friend? Who was it?

    ¡ª It doesn''t matter. ¡ª Ethan replied from a corner near the fireplace and Gwenda saw him fanning the fire. Quickly, a cozy feeling overtook her, knowing that soon the place would warm up.

    ¡ª Of course, it matters.

    ¡ª Don''t talk about it.

    ¡ª I want answers. ¡ª she insisted.

    Ethan got up and started walking towards her. Gwenda recoiled when he got too close to feel his breath. But he, still staring at her with a serious expression, stretched to both sides and closed the balcony. Gwenda had to step forward and felt how warm and comforting Ethan''s body was.

    She squinted and tried to pass under his arm, but Ethan closed them around her when he finally locked the balcony shutters.

    Gwenda looked at him, but could hardly make out what she was really seeing.

    ¡ª That part of the story is none of your concern. ¡ª he said calmly but lethally.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth.

    ¡ª You can ask me anything you like about yourself. ¡ª His voice was ominous, but Gwenda raised her chin. Ethan frowned even more. ¡ª But other than that, forget it and don''t even think about opening your mouth.

    Ethan stepped back with a push, just as Gwenda did when she was ready to shoot someone and had to step back to refrain from doing so.

    Her stomach growled so loud that Ethan stopped halfway and turned abruptly. But she didn''t let him say anything.

    ¡ª I just want to make sure I can trust you. ¡ª she said. ¡ª Otherwise, I''ll make sure to make your life a living hell.

    ¡ª You can try, Scar. ¡ª he almost sang. ¡ª You can try.

    Ethan crouched down in front of the fireplace and took off his wet shirt.

    Gwenda couldn''t feel anything but anger as she watched the firelight dance on the thin, almost invisible scars all over his body.

    She grunted and went to the door next to the fireplace, entering the bathroom. Ethan''s eyes followed her as she closed the door with a thud.

    Gwenda stopped as soon as she realized the size of the bathroom.

    The bathtub, where at least four bodies could fit, was in the center, empty. A candle on a counter was lit and briefly illuminated. Right in front of the door was a sink and the mirror on the wall.

    Gwenda was soaked. She had forgotten that the rain could even touch her, but there she was, trembling with the breeze coming from the small bathroom window. But inside, she was hot, feeling her body warm and uncomfortable under the wet clothes clinging to her skin.

    With a loud and painful grunt, Gwenda forcefully removed the matte green hoodie, throwing it on the floor by one of the sleeves. She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her hair, moving it away from her face. And then she looked at herself in the mirror again.

    Gwenda observed herself for a while, noticing the deep dark circles that she could barely recognize, her eyes expressing exhaustion and everything she felt coursing through her veins like poison, day after day.

    She clenched her hands into fists and her nails pierced her skin. With a swift motion, Gwenda pointed at her reflection. The hand shaped like a gun, ready to pull the trigger and shatter the mirror into pieces, destroy that reflection that no longer belonged to her.

    Gwenda sighed, letting her arm fall and hit her body, her breathing heavy as if her lungs were lacking air.

    She turned to the door, no longer wanting to take a relaxing shower to sleep on an empty stomach. But she stopped with her hand hovering over the doorknob. She didn''t want to go out and come face to face with Ethan, she didn''t want to look at his face or confront him. She was done with it. Gwenda wanted to be alone, to destroy everything around her until her arms and legs began to ache.

    This shit was wrong. Everything was wrong, and Gwenda couldn''t think of anything else that could bring her back from the dead. There was no way, she had used up all her chances.

    So she lowered her hand and took a step back, her heart pounding in her ears and skull, pounding like a warning. A warning she had no idea what it meant. But she didn''t care about that and the headache when her spine became a dead weight once again, and all the agony of years spread through her back at an unmemorable speed.

    To unravel and finally settle into her own emotions and feelings, Gwenda turned with a scream and lunged at the mirror with the fist of her still bandaged arm.

    The broken sound was soothing, as was the blood that trickled from her newest wound. Gwenda stepped back, panting, and looked at the mess she had caused with just one punch. A piece of glass fell into the sink, along with the blood that began to drip onto the slate.

    When she looked back at the mirror, she saw multiple Gwenda. Something she never thought she would live to see. But what did that mean now? They were all as broken as she was. They all seemed to have risen from under the ground.

    The door opened and Gwenda''s heart skipped a beat.

    She managed to see through the reflection in the mirror before turning around and facing Ethan Sinclair with wide eyes, but furrowed brows and dilated nostrils.

    Gwenda couldn''t open her mouth to explain when all the pain in her spine seemed to increase. Speaking became painful and she began to pray that he had some medicine for it. And she would need it. A lot of capsules.

    ¡ª What the hell is this? ¡ª he asked and took a step towards her.

    ¡ª I... ¡ª Gwenda''s voice came out low and lifeless, barely able to pronounce what she wanted.

    Ethan grunted and grabbed her shoulder with one hand before pushing her out the door. Gwenda grimaced and tried to stay upright.

    ¡ª Sorry ¡ª she blurted out.

    Gwenda knew. She knew she couldn''t control herself, but she only turned against her own reflection because the gate in her mind hadn''t shown up yet. He wasn''t... he wasn''t forcing his way out anymore.

    Do it. She begged herself, trembling with her own command in her head. Come on, damn it.

    ¡ª What''s gotten into you? ¡ª A man''s voice behind her and Gwenda stiffened.

    She turned to Ethan, silently begging with her eyes for him to give her the damn medicine or anything that could help her.

    Gwenda slapped her head with her hands and backed away towards the kitchen.

    ¡ª Gwenda.

    Come on, come on...

    Sinclair''s voice softened, finding its way through the maze to Gwenda like a morning breeze.

    But she stopped it. Blocked all the paths.

    ¡ª Gwenda.

    She fought against her own will to turn to him as she searched the shelves for capsules that could help.

    A pang of agony and pain stabbed her ribs and Gwenda groaned as she doubled over, knocking over the jars from the shelves.

    She could swear she heard a complaint before firm and gentle hands closed around her biceps and pulled her back up.

    ¡ª What''s going on?

    She didn''t want help, but the tone Ethan used made Gwenda face herself as she struggled to answer with difficulty:

    ¡ª I''ve had this for a long time. ¡ª She groaned in pain and brought her hands to her back, leaning into Sinclair, her head between his neck and shoulder. If it wasn''t him, it would be against a wall. ¡ª I just need...

    Gwenda reached for the capsules that had fallen into the sink, hoping that whatever Ethan had that could help her wasn''t on the floor with the others. She could barely grab one of them before one knee gave out, and she leaned on her elbow to avoid falling to the ground. She held onto Sinclair''s arm with her other hand to try to maintain some balance.

    The tips of her fingers were still bleeding, and she had no doubt that there were shards of glass piercing them.

    ¡ª What? What the hell are you looking for? Speak.

    ¡ª Any damn thing that will get rid of the pain! ¡ª she shouted in response, reaching back again to straighten up to dispel the agony, one less annoyance to deal with. The pain would be dispelled only with the capsules...

    She felt his arms grab her around the waist and pull her off the ground, causing her to bend forward.

    Gwenda screamed and scratched him all the way to the bed. When she fell back onto the soft mattress, she gasped and arched her back.

    That thing was crawling up her spine, through every extension of her spine, into the bones... and then into the ribs. It had never gotten to this point before. Her breathing was shallow, Gwenda gripped the sheet tightly, unable to distinguish between the rainwater and sweat.

    She screamed again.

    Why the hell did Ethan throw her there and walk away?

    Gwenda started to crawl off the bed, each pinch urging her to seek the medicine. But what if... what if there wasn''t enough time? It had never been so terrifying and disturbing to realize that she didn''t have the damn medicine and that this pain spread beyond her back.

    Tears streamed down her face.

    When she was about to fall off the bed and crawl to the kitchen, she was forcefully pushed back, and a warm hand filled her entire neck, pushing Gwenda until she was sitting. Even so, she struggled to lie back down.

    ¡ª Swallow.

    As soon as Ethan pressed something against her lips, Gwenda grabbed the small cup and swallowed whatever it was.

    The taste was...

    Gwenda managed to spit out a few drops before Ethan closed her mouth with his hand. She couldn''t even open it to bite him.

    ¡ª Swallow.

    Gwenda was trembling, not in a condition to disobey, not when she had obeyed for so long and didn''t know how to act without an order, that addictive and frightening drumming in her head.

    So she swallowed, and her entire throat shattered into tiny pieces until it melted like lava flowing downhill.

    Her empty stomach churned, and the colors became a blurred darkness. Until nothing remained, and her body was just another lifeless burden.

    <hr>

    Gwenda let her arms fall limp on the bed, her weight supported by Ethan''s hand still on her neck. Her arms burned, but she didn''t care when all the attention was on the static woman on her bed.

    Ethan exhaled to calm himself and gently laid her down, wiping around her lips what she had tried to spit out. He knew the taste was bad, but he took the same contents when he wanted to escape the shadows since he avoided cutting himself.

    He moved away from the bed and went to the kitchen sink, observing Gwenda''s scratches on his arms.

    ¡ª Shit. ¡ª he cursed under his breath.

    He didn''t know what had just happened, but he admitted that he was scared. Her screams almost made him fall to his knees.

    The truth was, as long as he was in Carsany, the most important thing was to keep her safe, but he started to feel that leaving her here during the days to go to work would be a risk. The information he received regarding the cases that link all the explosions had one common goal: Gwenda. Find Gwenda; assassinate Gwenda; lure Gwenda. The rest was the rest. As for the magic that was now entering through the explosion of the wall, Ethan knew that it meant a larger number of mystics invading this realm. The amount of guards in that area increased much later, but at least now they are controlling until it is rebuilt.

    Now that Gwenda is dead to everyone, Ethan would be attentive to new cases. Because he was almost sure that the explosions would cease, and a rebellion would grow.

    Ethan regrets a lot of things, and he believes that if only he had said half of what he had already done to Gwenda... forgiveness would be the last thing he would have.

    So, for now, he would have to keep quiet and find a way to catch the culprit of this latest explosion. Ethan knew, he was completely sure, who acted like this, who blew up an entire location and killed hundreds of people just to reach one. And in the end, it was a failure.

    And the reason was Ethan Sinclair.

    If they find out that Gwenda was alive, Ethan would be hunted and tortured. And just that because he wouldn''t dare to open his mouth.

 20

    Gwen.

    The voice in her head shattered her bones, and Gwenda tried to scream as she turned to see a familiar figure.

    Where did you put my wings, darling?

    She trembled.

    ¡ª Mother? ¡ª she whispered in response, disoriented.

    The woman smiled.

    Miss me?

    Gwenda blinked several times and stepped back, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn''t seem to move. The woman didn''t move away.

    She swallowed hard.

    Trust me. You can tell me where you hid them. Where are my wings?

    The last sentence came out in the beginning of panic.

    Where are they?

    Mary Jane''s voice was sharp, tearful. Agonized.

    You hid them. Where.

    ¡ª I didn''t... it wasn''t me.

    It was you. Acidic and bitter. That voice she believed she knew so well.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª whispered Gwenda. ¡ª They burned. ¡ª she said softly, but then she swallowed hard and raised her voice so she could be heard better. ¡ª They burned. I tried to help but I couldn''t...

    Liar. The voice echoed everywhere.

    A gust of wind started, and Gwenda''s hair whipped her face forcefully. She put a hand over her eyes, protecting herself.

    Gwenda''s heart raced in her chest, running from something that was impossible to escape.

    Your father promised me. The woman continued. You would save us. You had the hand of fire, you burned me alive.

    Gwenda shrank back. The wind roared in her ears.

    It was you from the beginning. But your father promised me that our dear daughter would save us.

    The dear was like a knife in her heart.

    He was a liar. Just like you.

    Gwenda wanted to disagree, really wanted to. But she couldn''t, not when it was a truth she didn''t like to admit.

    You are the same. A long pause, and then a low, evil laugh. Murderers.

    Gwenda''s chest tightened, and her throat closed. Her legs gave way, and she found herself falling into a dark, monstrous abyss, full of chaos and disorder.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    No. Gwenda didn''t kill her own mother. She wouldn''t do such a thing...

    Tears streamed down her face, and her body gave in.

    She wouldn''t kill her own mother, but how many others had already been killed by her hands? By her trigger.

    Gwenda screamed, clutching the restless hair near her scalp. Their last breaths were buzzing in her ears. But then she felt something wet accumulating in her palms.

    Slowly, she pulled her hands away and looked at the strangely formed blood. The metallic smell almost made her vomit, and Gwenda gasped as she quickly moved her hands away from her face, recoiling backwards.

    The blood didn''t stop coming. Drops formed waterfalls, which formed lakes just below where they fell. She looked ahead and jerked back in surprise to see a trail of blood stretching for miles. The same blood of the dead that Gwenda had abandoned on the earth to be devoured.

    She swallowed a scream and stopped when she felt a powerful presence behind her. Someone who could wrap millions of arms around her and pull her by the hair into the darkness, as Gwenda once did with a human she had just discovered to be a witch.

    A low, sinister laugh made her body shiver, and a delicate, cold hand caressed her cheek. The wind stopped abruptly. Gwenda held her breath and restrained herself from moving away, not wanting to cause more trouble.

    You''re still beautiful. Said the mother behind her, her mouth near Gwenda''s ear, her teeth almost grazing the lobe. And you''re very talented. Too bad it''s a complete waste.

    Gwenda swallowed hard.

    You''re a waste. She said, taking a few steps back, and made sure her daughter could hear, then spoke with amusement: We would love to finish what we started, my daughter.

    The silence hurt her ears, and Gwenda waited a while before she could breathe again. When she felt that everything seemed to return to reality, she exhaled, and a layer of warm air condensed right in front of her...

    Gwenda couldn''t scream, she was so scared.

    Hands grabbed her legs, arms, hips, waist, neck. They scratched every part of her skin that she still seemed to feel and pulled her back.

    The hands were so cold they made her shiver from head to toe.

    She began to ask for help, unable to scream, but all she received was echoes of her own voice.

    Someone pulled her hair so hard that she was sure strands were pulled out.

    Gwenda fell to the ground when they took away her balance and let out a muffled gasp before they covered her mouth with a hand so pale and soft it had a purple hue, holding her.

    Her face began to hurt.

    She screamed with her mouth closed, tears still streaming down every corner of her face. Her arms were pinned behind her back, and hands slipped under her nightgown, scratching and pulling until she was sitting with her legs turned to the side.

    She tried to lean forward, but it was impossible. The hair stuck to her forehead, temples, and neck no longer seemed like a nuisance compared to dead hands wandering over her body.

    She held back the bile within her.

    Gwenda squirmed, but they held her ankles and sought to restrain her in every way they found possible. Every place they touched burned her, and Gwenda could only scream beneath the cold layer on her lips.

    She didn''t dare bite the hand on her mouth, she didn''t know what would happen, she didn''t know the consequences of such an act. Although she thought whoever it was wouldn''t feel anything.

    Hundreds more hands appeared, covering every corner of her body, dressing her like clothes. She trembled only from the cold, territorial touches that seemed to tease her sensory nerves, slowly burning her pores like her mother was burned from the inside out at the same time the fire made her home ashes.

    Only her eyes were not covered, only they were still in Gwenda''s trust, searching for anything in the light that illuminated the darkness ahead. But there was nothing but her mother''s almost transparent face, staring at her.

    But then she widened her eyes when a hand collided with her face and blocked her vision. She growled and struggled, but it was useless when she fell to the side, and they dragged her into the darkness like any other body thrown to the ground, straight into a place without a hint of light.

    And when she knew she was going to fail to fight, not even her lungs received air properly, Gwenda gave up and waited for the worst.

 21

    She woke up screaming and propelled herself upward. Well, she tried.

    Gwenda was thrown back, hands on her shoulders pressing down hard.

    More hands.

    Enough with the hands.

    ¡ª Let me go! ¡ª she growled.

    ¡ª Stop thrashing around. ¡ª someone grunted back, and only then did she realize it was still Ethan, that she was in his hideout, that no one had grabbed her and taken her elsewhere. She was... safe.

    But still.

    Gwenda tried to control her breathing, tried to compose herself. But his hand was warm, different from those, but so... it was gripping her, hurting her...

    ¡ª Please, let me go. ¡ª she said firmly, and finally, he let Gwenda break free.

    She sat up and came face to face with him, close enough to startle him with his eyes expressing terror. His crumpled face and hair messier than usual indicated he had just woken up.

    Gwenda backed away until her back hit the wall, and she sat on the soft pillow. She buried her fingers in her hair and pulled them back, then wiped the tears away with trembling hands.

    Mary Jane appeared to Gwenda. She saw her mother after years. Since she was little, she begged any god she believed in back then to see her again.

    In dreams, she never got to see her mother, it was always her voice, calm and sweet. But this time it was dark and penetrating. Gwenda couldn''t bear to return to that memory, to see in her thoughts and dreams. She didn''t want to see her mother anymore.

    When she returned to Ethan, she noticed his gaze, usually petrified, now wandering over her body.

    As if that had triggered something in her, her skin began to burn everywhere. Gwenda frowned and stretched her arms, observing the welts she had made on herself with her nails.

    ¡ª What was the nightmare about? ¡ª Ethan asked, indifferent, although he seemed somewhat breathless.

    Gwenda looked away, not wanting to talk about it. She hadn''t even told Vannyer, why should she say anything about her monsters to Ethan?

    But he didn''t have a pitying look. He didn''t seem ready to grab her and drown her in water to rid her of all the evils that belonged to her. Ethan showed something different and... welcoming. Understanding.

    She rubbed her face, wiping away the last tears that fell and controlling the sobs that were definitely uncontrollable.

    Gwenda took a deep breath.

    ¡ª I dreamed about my mother, that''s all. ¡ª she said. And it wasn''t a lie.

    Liar.

    She closed her eyes.

    Ethan seemed to laugh as he replied:

    ¡ª I''ve never heard of anyone dreaming about their mother and reacting like you did. Thrashing around and scratching yourself like an uncontrolled animal.

    You''re a waste.

    She buried her face in her bent knees.

    ¡ª Can we just... forget it and... ¡ª

    ¡ª Forget? ¡ª he asked with a certain annoyance.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth.

    ¡ª How long have you had this? ¡ª Ethan asked again.

    She remained still.

    Gwenda leaned against the wall, facing him, and noticed that Sinclair was waiting for an answer he could consider.

    She began to twist her fingers together.

    ¡ª It started when my father died. ¡ª she said, swallowing hard ¡ª When I returned to the Capital, I already had control. But the work I did as Carvlinea unlocked that part of me again, and the nightmares slowly started to come back. ¡ª Gwenda couldn''t hold Ethan''s gaze so she looked at her restless hands ¡ª But what you saw today came back a few days ago.

    Ethan looked at his own body, the red arms, and the scratches that split the scars in half.

    Gwenda''s jaw dropped, and she felt sick. She hadn''t been able to see with the lamplight behind Ethan, so it probably illuminated her more so that Sinclair could see her.

    ¡ª I''m sorry. ¡ª she said. And as much as she wanted to, she didn''t reach out to touch what she had done.

    Ethan shook his head.

    ¡ª Forget it. ¡ª He moved away to the corner of the bed, descending and leaving the place colder without his presence. Gwenda shivered.

    When she looked at herself again, to see the damage she had done to her body once again, she realized she was pants less. The world turned to dust.

    The small scars barely seen in the dark were almost indecipherable beneath the irritated, red skin.

    ¡ª Why do you have to have changed my clothes every time I wake up? ¡ª she asked, irritated.

    ¡ª You were sweating. ¡ª he replied calmly and filled a glass of water before drinking it in a few gulps.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes.

    She was wearing a nightgown, but the white tank top was still underneath. She didn''t like to show her body. She was afraid and ashamed, hiding any part of her skin from the chest down. Only her arms, neck, and face were welcome to Gwenda.

    She still remembered the nights when she was crying and wiping tears on the pillow. When she looked at herself in the mirror before getting into the shower and the tears mixed with the hot water, nothing seemed to lift the weight she had on her body, the idea that nothing she did mattered to change and finally accept herself.

    When the silence lingered too long to bear between them, Gwenda looked at his muscular back, and she saw Ethan stiffen, as if he knew she was watching him and enjoying doing such a thing. He was standing still while still holding the glass against the sink, his knuckles so white that Gwenda thought he would break the glass.

    But then he demanded to know:

    ¡ª Who gave you the scars.

    A chill ran from her belly to her neck, making her swallow hard. She never thought she would someday tell anyone, and if she did, she would lie.

    Liar.

    ¡ª Enemies. ¡ª she replied to push her mother''s words echoing in her head away, still a lie.

    Gwenda saw him become alert, tense, in response to her words. Unlike before, when he was ready to tear someone''s head off with his bare hands.

    Again. The silence.

    But this time, it was awkward. She had never needed to tell anyone about the scars on her legs except Trytan, but she had told him it was part of her job, and that was it.

    And now she was with Ethan in a house in the middle of nowhere, everyone thought Agent Gwenda Matchstone was dead. What difference would it make? And if Ethan was the only one she would have to socialize with, what was the point in hiding who she really was? None, and she was aware of it. But at the moment, Ethan hadn''t even begun to fight for Gwenda''s trust, and she wouldn''t give in so easily.

    If she were to tell him something about her life, let Ethan do the same and show that they could be good friends, that they were true. No lies.

    ¡ª And yours?

    ¡ª And on your back. ¡ª he asked again, still tense.

    Gwenda remained quiet, waiting for him to answer her question.

    But when Ethan turned around, Gwenda stiffened her body with a gaze so penetrating it was almost attractive.

    So she replied:

    ¡ª My job demanded a few things of me.

    ¡ª Including your sanity. ¡ª Sinclair concluded. Gwenda almost agreed ¡ª Who gave you that scar on your back.

    ¡ª A mystic. ¡ª she replied, irritated to have to say something. ¡ª And yours, Sinclair.

    ¡ª Being born demanded a few things of me.

    Gwenda would have rolled her eyes if he hadn''t spoken with so much truth and determination.

    ¡ª What do you mean? ¡ª she asked.

    Ethan downed one last gulp of water and left the glass on the sink before approaching the bed again.

    He sat at the edge, avoiding the eye contact Gwenda wanted to make.

    ¡ª A kind of curse, so to speak. ¡ª he said as he lay on the bed, his head resting in his hands.

    She raised an eyebrow.

    ¡ª And what was this curse?

    ¡ª It''s personal. Be content to answer about yourself and leave my past out of it.

    Gwenda frowned.

    ¡ª That''s not how it works, handsome.

    A ghostly smile spread across his face.

    ¡ª But that''s how it''s going to work.

    She laughed, unable to hold it back, and went to his side. They both looked at each other, both smiling sarcastically.

    ¡ª Like hell it is. ¡ª she replied ¡ª Be content with being less of a jerk and more of a decent person.

    Ethan leaned on his elbows, bringing his face closer to Gwenda''s.

    ¡ª How old do you think I am, Scar. ¡ª he whispered, and his breath delicately brushed Gwenda''s face.

    She took a deep breath and replied:

    ¡ª Trying that now?

    Ethan tilted his head, his full attention on Gwenda. A shiver ran through her body.

    ¡ª Learn about the enemy before showing your weaknesses. ¡ª he said ¡ª Now, are you my enemy, Scar?

    Gwenda felt ready to answer yes, but she didn''t want to be Ethan''s enemy, so she shook her head.

    ¡ª No.

    Ethan smiled, still close to her.

    ¡ª Great.

    ¡ª But are you mine?

    Ethan watched her for a while, a supernatural calm flowing through those amber eyes.

    ¡ª It''s your choice. ¡ª he replied.

    He got up from the bed and went to fetch a glass of water once again. He took a few sips and refilled it.

    Gwenda almost laughed when she asked.

    ¡ª What''s with you and water? Are you thirsty every night?

    ¡ª Something like that. ¡ª Ethan replied and returned to bed, causing Gwenda to return to her corner and pull the sheet to cover herself.

    They both lay down again, but as much as her body screamed for rest, Gwenda didn''t feel so tired as to close her eyes and sleep. After all, the last time she closed her eyes she had a nightmare, and it led her straight to her mother. Or rather, a version of her mother that didn''t please her.

    ¡ª What the hell was that you gave me? ¡ª she asked. ¡ª The taste was terrible, it seemed like a food I tried to make before giving up and going to a pizzeria.

    ¡ª I know what it tastes like. ¡ª he replied, dryly ¡ª I take it when I want to escape my problems.

    Gwenda thought about saying there were better ways to do that, but decided it wasn''t very smart.

    ¡ª What problems are you talking about?

    Ethan turned his head to her, Gwenda did the same. He looked bored.

    ¡ª There''s no escaping the curse, Scar. ¡ª he said ¡ª I want to escape my own monsters. And I think I''m on the right path.

    Gwenda raised her eyebrows.

    ¡ª Do you really think so?

    It meant she had something to do with it? Since she was with him now and practically destined to stay here until she could get out of Carsany and be forgotten by everyone.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª he replied and turned his body to the opposite side.

    Gwenda stared at his hair, hoping for something that could make her understand.

    ¡ª You said you came from the Opposite Continent.

    Ethan murmured a hum, but didn''t turn to her.

    ¡ª Is it true?

    ¡ª Yes. I came on a merchant ship.

    ¡ª Your mother. ¡ª Gwenda concluded.

    Ethan''s mother was a merchant, probably always on the move. Maybe one day Gwenda could meet her.

    Stupidly, she began to think about what it would be like to meet Ethan''s mother, what it was like to have a mother who was present. Maybe she could be friends with her.

    ¡ª I never had a mother, Scar.

    Gwenda blinked and took a deep breath.

    Alright, she understood him, a bit.

    Gwenda lost her mother when she was still entering adolescence, when she was a brat who didn''t think before acting. She was always at her father''s feet, liked to do everything he did, be like him. But she never thought about how her mother would feel about it, she didn''t have the head for that kind of thing at that age.

    They said that this blockage between mother and daughter was normal, that they misunderstood each other faster. But Mary Jane and Gwenda could barely communicate like a normal family. And if they did, it only lasted a few days.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    In the end, Gwenda had no idea why they fought. But her mother''s expression and everything she did afterwards to show that she was always right, made Gwenda angry.

    She had caught herself wondering if it wouldn''t have been better to lose her mother than to witness all the scandal that was destined between them. But she knew it wasn''t. It had never been better.

    ¡ª Well, if you''re here, it means you have a mother.

    ¡ª Don''t speak what you don''t understand, Scar.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth.

    ¡ª What happened? ¡ª she asked, raising her voice. ¡ª She didn''t want you? Gave you to someone else?

    ¡ª Go to sleep.

    Gwenda noticed him clenching his fist as the muscle in his arm stood out.

    ¡ª Are you an orphan?

    Ethan remained silent.

    She wanted to stop asking, but she also wanted answers. She needed answers. Ethan lied about his mother, what else could Gwenda believe to be true?

    Liar.

    No. She wasn''t the liar here.

    ¡ª I don''t understand...

    Ethan turned sharply, shaking the bed. His jaw was tense.

    ¡ª Yes, she didn''t want me, abandoned me in a stable. ¡ª he said, clearly irritated ¡ª Someone took pity and took me home, cared for me like an animal and left me to live alone as soon as I learned to walk. They were afraid of what I represented, afraid to have a different child around.

    Gwenda''s heart raced in her chest and the air around her felt heavy.

    ¡ª I lived in many houses. ¡ª Ethan was calmer now and huffed as he looked up ¡ª None were a home. In fact, I never had one to call my own.

    A moment of silence.

    ¡ª This place is yours. ¡ª she said matter-of-factly.

    Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, probably seeking patience.

    ¡ª I grew up moving. ¡ª he continued. ¡ª I was forbidden to go outside, barely knew where I was, what kingdom that was. Nothing in the world seemed as certain as fleeing and wandering the streets alone. For years, all I could think about was surviving in an unknown land. I never had lessons about anything in life; they beat me when I went looking for food in huts around the city.

    Gwenda held her breath.

    They did the same thing to her when she failed a mission. Gwenda didn''t have the complete learning to succeed in all of them, and when she came back empty-handed, whether it was without a head or money, she was afraid to face Rubben.

    If she ran away, she would be hunted, and she knew that man well enough to know that he would find her no matter where she was or how far she had gone. Rubben ingrained the word shame into her mind in every possible way.

    ¡ª I was kicked out of restaurants and bars. I grew up with violence and shouts, I had to be what they feared to be accepted. And so it was done, for long, long years. I had to control myself many times to realize what I was doing. ¡ª he paused. ¡ª Many times, when the blood left my eyes and reality returned, I had a neck between my fingers, no matter whose. And then I would ask myself what the hell I was doing; who I had become. ¡ª Ethan shook his head. ¡ª It took me a while to realize that I never became a damn thing, I''ve always been a killer.

    Ethan''s wide open eyes, as if he was remembering, trembled. But not like when tears were about to fall, but rather remorse.

    But then he blinked, and what remained in his gaze made her doubt the man next to her. The gleam indicated that Ethan would do again everything he did to survive.

    You are the same. Killers.

    Gwenda breathed in, trying to push away the shattered image of her mother.

    ¡ª Anyway, I was alive ¡ª said Ethan ¡ª I managed to survive on my own. So the next step was to live, but I was far from having any success. I would never have a life if I continued like that, so I traveled the world in search of something that could contain me, since I couldn''t do it myself. If my fury became less dangerous, I could find peace.

    She said nothing, hoping that perhaps Ethan hadn''t finished.

    ¡ª It didn''t work. ¡ª Ethan suddenly spoke and Gwenda almost startled. What he was saying reflected in her thoughts. ¡ª I''m still a monster, still at the top with trembling bodies at my feet bending until their knees bleed. ¡ª Ethan took a deep breath, recovering from what Gwenda had no idea, perhaps the control to stay lying down and not go out destroying everything. ¡ª I can''t go back.

    Back where? Gwenda wanted to ask, but she kept quiet. With all of Ethan''s description, she was aware that the man beside her was dangerous, or at least he used to be. Gwenda felt her chest tighten.

    Ethan sighed audibly beside her. Gwenda almost did the same, but the bed moved again when he got up in one leap.

    ¡ª Don''t wait for my return. And lock the house when I leave.

    She frowned and propped herself up on her elbow as she watched him move away to the balcony doors.

    ¡ª Where are you going?

    Ethan didn''t respond. Gwenda sat up, impatient, as he began to unlock the doors. Cold wind entered when he managed to open them, and Gwenda shrank back, pulling the sheet to protect herself.

    With the dim light of the lantern now dancing with the outside wind, she could hardly understand what he was doing. But the night light showed Ethan''s shadow changing hurriedly and putting on an outfit.

    A recognizable sound of metal caught Gwenda''s attention, and her heart raced. She prepared to go to Ethan.

    ¡ª What are you going to do? ¡ª no matter how hard she tried, her voice didn''t come out as firm as she wanted.

    Ethan didn''t respond. Gwenda saw his shadow holstering the gun, showing it to whoever might catch a glimpse. But the leather outfit would already be displaying what Ethan did for a living.

    If she laid her hands on a gun, Gwenda wouldn''t know what to do with it. Perhaps she would start shooting at the trees like a fool, but Ethan would take the gun away from her again for giving away the location to anyone nearby.

    ¡ª Answer me ¡ª she pleaded. ¡ª Ethan.

    He stopped adjusting the sleeves of the outfit, but he didn''t turn to look Gwenda in the eyes. Then, without being able to see properly and know what the hell he was doing, Gwenda only realized he had already left when he slammed the balcony doors shut and the lantern went out.

    Gwenda was left in darkness, in silence. She should be worried about what he was going to do, but the department probably called him, the cases he still had to solve without her presence. Gwenda wondered if Vannyer would be there to help, because, from what she saw at her own funeral, the friend didn''t seem as well as the days when he visited his dead girlfriend. And she was there, beside some other body, keeping company to the dead.

    But the fact was that Gwenda wasn''t worried about Ethan. She had her mind set on what answers he could get and how she could use that to her advantage.

    If Sinclair was as good as he claimed to be, and as Darcy showed, it would be faster to get answers. Especially since he worked in sector 6, another source that could be useful in all searches.

    Somehow, Gwenda was almost certain that the three explosions were interconnected. They all had something in common. She just needed to find out.

    Darcy Raux was still on Gwenda''s mind, alive and empowered. She wouldn''t forget so quickly the difference he treated her in relation to his other agents, how he treated her after so much suffering at the wrong hands.

    And besides, Darcy Raux was a living legend. Her past impressed Gwenda since the day the chief decided to tell her to encourage her. And, with immense joy, she admits that it worked.

    Raux was sentenced to life imprisonment even as a teenager, but she escaped, and so she remained until a new era was born.

    Gwenda took a deep breath and got out of bed with her heavy body. She went to the balcony in the dark and locked it. Going back to bed was a tough and awkward task. First, she couldn''t see anything, then her legs threatened to give way several times along the way.

    Her father said it was better to sleep in complete darkness. Gwenda never cared and always slept with the window open, letting the light from lanterns and lamps outside be welcome inside her room. In the morning, she was always woken up by Yago Matchstone, banging pots or throwing a bucket of cold water at her.

    Her father''s laughter after his daughter woke up in shock and completely alert made the rest of the day lighter. But at that moment when she was practically attacked when she was still in a deep sleep, it made her irritated and not at all willing to have a conversation or physical contact with her father. Hugs during the day were dispensable, kisses on the hair made Gwenda snort and grumble.

    Now she thinks maybe she was an idiot.

    She still remembered her father''s sadness when he saw Gwenda grow up and become someone else, someone he didn''t know. But there were reasons. There were always reasons.

    The fact that Yago didn''t trust Gwenda as a father should, made the daughter''s heart rebellious and her mind wander in fantasies that possibly wouldn''t happen. Communication with Yago should have been better, she thought now. Gwenda should have been less proud and accepted his help.

    But the reactions of the father that were already etched in her head... she knew how he would react, but Yago always said it wasn''t true, that Gwenda already had an idea and needed to remove it, see it differently.

    Giving him a chance, Gwenda would say. But Yago would never say that, would never say that he needed a second chance. He never said.

    Whenever she asked for something, said something, the reaction she already expected was there, hidden beneath understanding. Yago Matchstone was understanding and positive, but Gwenda kept her problems to herself. She couldn''t stand having to see exactly what she knew her father would do, how he would react. Sometimes she caught herself wishing her father would leave her alone, let Gwenda live her life. And that thought irritated her.

    At 16, when she felt Yago Matchstone''s presence about to enter her room, Gwenda closed her eyes and sought the patience she still had. With him by her side as she tried to learn to draw, when she wrote stories and texts on the papers she sometimes managed to buy, Gwenda couldn''t concentrate, it was... a burden on her shoulders. She was getting tired of having her personal space invaded, and when she didn''t allow her to close the door of her room, when he entered without knocking, Gwenda thought about the idea of sleeping elsewhere.

    In the end, she knew that her privacy was invaded, she didn''t have a social life she enjoyed, she didn''t have much peace to do what she really liked.

    But what good did all that do? The drawings and everything she once wrote were burned, turned to ashes, along with the entire house and her mother.

    The mark Gwenda left was on the papers, and now it''s on the bodies that walked her path.

    Every second of the day she thought about what it would be like if her parents were still alive. Gwenda wouldn''t have been a Carvlinea, certainly not. She wouldn''t have sold herself to Rubben in exchange for safety and good conditions. She wouldn''t have been caught by Arth Cheack, trapped in the basement as a hostage. She wouldn''t have been contacted several times by the king to do his dirty work.

    She would be happy in her own home, at peace, alone. She could visit her parents from time to time, or she could receive visits. But now Gwenda was in a house in the middle of the woods.

    She missed it. Yago Matchstone gave everything he had for Gwenda to become someone and make a difference in the world. She admired her father, loved him, and would give anything to have him back.

    Her parents fought for her, helped her, even though her adolescence and part of her life were sucked up by them. Somehow, they also created who Gwenda is today. Both the failed and arrogant, and the determined and brave.

    Ethan would be back soon, maybe he went out to hunt, but Gwenda needed to have faith that he would return. And then she could sleep.

    Gwenda would have to be awake when Ethan arrived, so she could open the doors for him. But as quickly as sleep came, she closed her eyes and did not open them again that night.

    <hr>

    Couldn¡¯t survive just with the money being a Carvlinea.

    Ramelia and Deb, the heartless twins, were tailing Ethan. They let him work in Ramelia''s sector under conditions. So now he couldn''t do his personal work without being monitored.

    And because of that, he was returning to the sector to pretend to work for a little longer.

    Ramelia and Deb were more than everyone expected. They were like Ethan, as powerful as they could demonstrate. And he was being watched with precision.

    If it wasn''t Ramelia, the boss of sector 6, then it was Deb, who wandered around the Capital like a shadow. No one knew of her existence.

    And Ethan was aware of the capability of both. They were the guardians of hell themselves, and they liked to make it clear that death would not pass through them. Ethan was death, and consequently, also the hell they protected people from.

    But he felt powerful. Protecting people from him... he would feel more capable of destroying the whole of Carsany with a snap of his fingers than now. What they were doing only inflated his ego more than it already was.

    Deb was grim-faced and Ramelia was Deb''s mirror. Dealing with the two was a process Ethan was accustomed to.

    He met them in the Celestial Volcanoes, where they lived with a Tamaytchi tribe. There, where the most skilled wizards gathered to train under the floating embers, Ramelia and Deb were outsiders from Mystra and were trying to find a purpose.

    Well, Ethan saw the sincerity when they said he gave them a purpose, that Ethan guided them on this path. Being supervisors to Ethan was hard work, but it amused him every time.

    When Ethan was in Graymont, they were wandering along the Majest River. When he was bonding with refugees in Osaka, Ramelia and Deb were in Graymont seeking the last traces of the heartless killer.

    Once, he said, the three of them clicked. After taking each to bed one by one with acceptable difficulty, he got slapped in the face and punched in the stomach after suggesting the brilliant idea of the three of them sleeping together. What harm would it do? But the twins didn''t see it as something fun.

    In fact, the two were getting too close to Ethan, despite being grim-faced and showing nothing. If only he had said something, that he wasn''t interested in anything more, instead of showing it that way, things might have ended better for him. He could be wandering freely around Alphardj.

    They weren''t obliged to go after Ethan, but they did it to bring order to what was considered impossible.

    When Ramelia became the boss of sector 6 ¡ª not at all by coincidence ¡ª, Ethan cursed so much and got so deeply irritated that he left a hole in every tree he needed to vent his anger on the way.

    The twins knew that Ethan would someday find something he needed in Carsany. They knew about Gwenda, had found her long before him.

    And, partly because of them, Ethan didn''t travel around these parts for a while with the intention of avoiding them. So yes, Ethan was angry at the twins, angry that they found Gwenda when he was traveling the world blindfolded.

    They marked territory and entered Carsany''s game; Ethan was doing the same.

    One couldn''t give away their own disguise without giving away the other''s. And so the twins quieted down and didn''t attack.

    Deb hadn''t found her hiding spot yet; that was too obvious. And it made Ethan smile all the way to his temporary sector.

    He opened the door and walked in.

    ¡ª It''s a bit early for a visit, don''t you think?

    Ramelia stood up, still scraping the blade somewhere to make a sound that would threaten a pure heart. Ethan just showed his teeth, ignoring the fact that he didn''t have his long, sharp canines.

    Ramelia ran her finger over her curved sword, assessing and admiring how beautiful the weapon was.

    Ethan had a firearm holstered at his hip. One move to aim, another move to shoot and shatter. He could do that and end the surveillance. He could eliminate the two, and they pretended not to be aware of that, pretended they had power over him. Pretending was the first act before convincing others. Persuasion.

    Ethan pretended to be confident to his enemies, and they fled.

    Everyone believed he had always had that power. But the truth is, he was once weak while pretending to be strong, not letting anything other than strength and power show. Ethan made it deserved.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª he replied.

    Ramelia emerged from the shadow, and Ethan had a full view of her.

    His eyes wandered the corners of her body, at every curve, hips, waist...

    ¡ª We''re playing the same game, Sinclair. And you believe I''m armed to the teeth.

    Ethan gave a little smile.

    They had agreed to only speak this name, or else it would go badly for both sides.

    The truth was that Ethan preferred talking to Deb, who was serious and majestic. Ramelia was more rude, but she didn''t hide her fun feline side.

    She swayed her hips toward Ethan and brushed off an invisible speck from his shoulder before resting her hand with a delicacy that no longer impressed him.

    ¡ª Gwenda Matchstone is your target. ¡ª Ramelia became a serious woman, her expression in complete balance and wanting to demonstrate how much the situation was under her control. ¡ª And many others. We are looking into certain cases involving her. ¡ª Ramelia paused. ¡ª Because she''s received several of them, and a lot of people hate her.

    ¡ª I''m aware.

    Despite keeping his eyes on Ramelia''s, Ethan was alert regarding the blade she held.

    ¡ª When do you plan to launch the attack? ¡ª she asked.

    Their faces were close, but Sinclair knew Ramelia wanted to intimidate in a way he wasn''t into. So Ethan placed two fingers on her chest and pushed her gently, without sudden movements.

    Ramelia took two steps back and raised the blade to Ethan''s neck.

    He didn''t flinch, even as he felt the chill around the place where it barely touched him and spread coldness. She tilted her head to the side, observing and perhaps putting together the pieces of something Ethan had no idea about. He never understood what went on in the twins'' heads.

    ¡ª Did you come from the Opposite Continent for this? ¡ª she asked. ¡ª To suddenly kill your protege?

    ¡ª I think you misunderstood the situation, Ramelia. ¡ª Ethan replied and pushed the weapon away from his neck with a finger pressing against the blade''s edge. The cut was superficial.

    ¡ª Deb informed me of the situation.

    ¡ª Are you working for the king? Or for the one who works with the king?

    ¡ª Rubben walks back and forth and doesn''t see what''s in front of him, he''s weak. Why would I work for him?

    Ethan raised his chin, and the corner of his lip curved slightly upward.

    Ramelia spun the curved sword.

    ¡ª You''re talking about your dark-skinned little friend. ¡ª Ramelia''s voice was sharp, it always had been. She shrugged. ¡ª He''s helpful, knows what he''s doing and what''s necessary. He doesn''t just think about himself. Let''s say it''s worth fighting for what he fights for.

    ¡ª I want a straight answer. ¡ª Ethan demanded.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª she said. ¡ª Yes, of course. Why not work with him?

    ¡ª You''re working for him. You don''t want to serve anyone, but you''re being a pawn.

    Ramelia laughed.

    ¡ª Your envy is amusing.

    She turned on her heel. Ethan was disgusted by the comment, but followed the supposed boss further into the sector.

    He would prefer to be talking to Deb. Despite being brutish, Ramelia was better suited when in action. Maybe he should raise his hand to her now, threaten her. But Ethan stayed as he was.

    ¡ª If we find her, Sinclair, we will take her.

    ¡ª You won''t lay a single finger on her. ¡ª he growled back.

    Ethan couldn''t see her face as they descended the stairs to the underground, and the lamps on the wall were lighting up by themselves with the brief magic that entered through the hole in the wall, but he was sure Ramelia gave a little smirk.

    Ethan rolled his eyes as he divulged Gwenda''s fully alive state. Ramelia was playing with him, extracting information bit by bit. Sinclair would allow himself to be carried away by anger and madness that he should protect Gwenda, and Ramelia knew that.

    ¡ª It''s not easy to decide what''s best for the world, is it?

    ¡ª Gwenda is as much mine as his, what I''m doing isn''t stopping anything. ¡ª Ethan was hoping Ramelia would give the information Ethan was talking about to such a friend. It was Deb who always gossiped; it''s a shame it wasn''t her now. ¡ª If we''re friends, why not join forces and train Gwenda to be what she should be.

    ¡ª You know it doesn''t work that way.

    Of course not. But Ethan was willing to try, and if there was the slightest hint of danger, he wouldn''t hesitate to take Gwenda away from wherever she was.

    The problem was that the man Ramelia served thought the same.

    ¡ª If he really wanted something with Gwenda, he should have claimed her when he had the chance.

    ¡ª Again. ¡ª said Ramelia and stopped walking to slowly turn to Ethan. He just watched very attentively. ¡ª That''s not how it works. He has more right than you.

    Ethan took a step forward.

    ¡ª Not if he keeps staying away. ¡ª Ethan scanned her entire face. ¡ª Not if he''s dead.

    Ramelia narrowed her eyes.

    ¡ª Besides Gwenda never forgiving you when she finds out you eliminated him, you''ll be destroying Alphardj''s destiny.

    ¡ª That''s not what I care about right now.

    Ramelia gritted her teeth.

    ¡ª Are you some kind of brainless fool?

    Ethan turned around. He was already irritated enough.

    ¡ª The conversation was good. ¡ª he said and cracked his knuckles.

    ¡ª Go find who blew up the arena. ¡ª she spoke loudly.

    ¡ª You know who it was. ¡ª he spoke in the same tone as he began to climb the stairs.

    ¡ª Do it.

    And with the order from a sector boss, Ethan grunted in response and headed out to have a word with Rubben before opening the casino.

 22

    Ethan still hadn''t returned.

    The night had passed, and Gwenda woke up feeling hungry. Naturally, she had slept until past noon, barely able to discern whether this ache was really hunger or something else.

    The first sound she heard was the birds outside, then she noticed the light streaming through the cracks in the house. And ten more minutes in bed turned into twenty, which turned into thirty.

    But she grumbled and got up, then lit the wood stove and heated water to make tea that Ethan had brought the day before. Gwenda had already forgotten the taste of this tea, and whenever she made it, it never tasted the same as when her mother made it while still alive.

    She didn''t understand why, but she simply stopped trying. Perhaps because she didn''t feel the same way her mother did. She didn''t do it with love and care. Because when she decided to make it, she was always in a bad mood and thinking too much about her work. Something that no longer made sense to continue.

    Gwenda took the first sip as she stared at the kitchen wall over the sink. She lingered with the contents in her mouth, letting it lick every inch of the interior and leaving the taste that Gwenda had been waiting for.

    She wiped away a drop that dripped with her pinkie and swallowed the tea before running her tongue over her lips and collecting it all. Gwenda poured the remaining hot tea down the drain and left the cup in the sink.

    She sighed, stepping away from the mess and heading towards the fireplace. But not to light it, as the stove already warmed the room enough, just to stay close and let the heat work.

    Gwenda knelt in front of the extinguished fireplace, the ashes staining the walls as if a head had exploded and blood splattered everywhere. She leaned forward and scanned every corner, looking for something she had no idea about.

    But if she were to live in that place, she would snoop around and discover all possible exits and things she could use as weapons.

    If what Ethan said was close to being true, then Gwenda knew she could be cornered with a dangerous man with a past as troubled as hers.

    Ethan claimed to have always been an assassin. Gwenda was trying to imagine a child gutting an enemy, but nothing came to mind except her crying, fear, and terror. A child wouldn''t be capable. The desire for revenge perhaps arrived earlier than most in Ethan''s heart.

    Gwenda stood up with a sigh and clasped her hands as she stretched them upwards.

    Skipping breakfast when she knew she would be locked in the basement was one thing, but now that she had no idea what the day held for her, other than staying around, Gwenda wondered if she needed to eat something or drink something to be prepared.

    She unlocked the balcony doors with a noise that hurt her ears, then pushed them aside and the light, as clear and bright as she remembered, after what seemed like a long time without it, mercilessly invaded the place.

    Gwenda grimaced and squinted, refusing to let go of the doors to shield with her hand. She felt weak, if she let go, she would be destined to stagger down the stairs.

    The sound of animals became more real, and she could hear chewing nearby. Both horses were still there, tethered with the rope that went from one neck to the other.

    Gwenda observed Twilight. The horse kept its neck raised and stretched slightly towards her, both ears erect and turned towards Gwenda.

    She gave a brief smile and finally let go to go over there.

    Twilight started getting impatient and pulled the mare when he took two steps towards Gwenda. She stroked the horse''s muzzle and moved on to the neck.

    Ethan''s mare was beautiful, her pale blue eyes contrasting with her perfect fur. She was almost the size of Twilight, but she wasn''t as robust as him.

    She hoped Ethan would come back soon, to tell the truth. What she felt about being alone in this place was nothing compared to what her agitated heart informed when she was walking alone through the Capital.

    Even though she was the greatest shooter in Carsany, Gwenda felt tense in the streets at night while trying to maintain the appearance of someone strong and fearless. It was difficult when she passed by several drunks, or when they always stared at her while smoking something she wasn''t interested in finding out.

    But no one got up to touch her, no one followed her. One could say they were merciful with her, but Gwenda never saw it that way. She shouldn''t see it like that. Because there was no mercy in those eyes.

    The only thing that kept them away was who Gwenda pretended to be. And she was proud.

    She admitted that sometimes her bones seemed to tremble inside her with voracity, but she focused on reaching her destination.

    Ethan still hadn''t returned.

    The night had passed, and Gwenda woke up feeling hungry. Naturally, she had slept until past noon, barely able to discern whether this ache was really hunger or something else.

    The first sound she heard was the birds outside, then she noticed the light streaming through the cracks in the house. And ten more minutes in bed turned into twenty, which turned into thirty.

    But she grumbled and got up, then lit the wood stove and heated water to make tea that Ethan had brought the day before. Gwenda had already forgotten the taste of this tea, and whenever she made it, it never tasted the same as when her mother made it while still alive.

    She didn''t understand why, but she simply stopped trying. Perhaps because she didn''t feel the same way her mother did. She didn''t do it with love and care. Because when she decided to make it, she was always in a bad mood and thinking too much about her work. Something that no longer made sense to continue.

    Gwenda took the first sip as she stared at the kitchen wall over the sink. She lingered with the contents in her mouth, letting it lick every inch of the interior and leaving the taste that Gwenda had been waiting for.

    She wiped away a drop that dripped with her pinkie and swallowed the tea before running her tongue over her lips and collecting it all. Gwenda poured the remaining hot tea down the drain and left the cup in the sink.

    She sighed, stepping away from the mess and heading towards the fireplace. But not to light it, as the stove already warmed the room enough, just to stay close and let the heat work.

    Gwenda knelt in front of the extinguished fireplace, the ashes staining the walls as if a head had exploded and blood splattered everywhere. She leaned forward and scanned every corner, looking for something she had no idea about.

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    But if she were to live in that place, she would snoop around and discover all possible exits and things she could use as weapons.

    If what Ethan said was close to being true, then Gwenda knew she could be cornered with a dangerous man with a past as troubled as hers.

    Ethan claimed to have always been an assassin. Gwenda was trying to imagine a child gutting an enemy, but nothing came to mind except her crying, fear, and terror. A child wouldn''t be capable. The desire for revenge perhaps arrived earlier than most in Ethan''s heart.

    Gwenda stood up with a sigh and clasped her hands as she stretched them upwards.

    Skipping breakfast when she knew she would be locked in the basement was one thing, but now that she had no idea what the day held for her, other than staying around, Gwenda wondered if she needed to eat something or drink something to be prepared.

    She unlocked the balcony doors with a noise that hurt her ears, then pushed them aside and the light, as clear and bright as she remembered, after what seemed like a long time without it, mercilessly invaded the place.

    Gwenda grimaced and squinted, refusing to let go of the doors to shield with her hand. She felt weak, if she let go, she would be destined to stagger down the stairs.

    The sound of animals became more real, and she could hear chewing nearby. Both horses were still there, tethered with the rope that went from one neck to the other.

    Gwenda observed Twilight. The horse kept its neck raised and stretched slightly towards her, both ears erect and turned towards Gwenda.

    She gave a brief smile and finally let go to go over there.

    Twilight started getting impatient and pulled the mare when he took two steps towards Gwenda. She stroked the horse''s muzzle and moved on to the neck.

    Ethan''s mare was beautiful, her pale blue eyes contrasting with her perfect fur. She was almost the size of Twilight, but she wasn''t as robust as him.

    She hoped Ethan would come back soon, to tell the truth. What she felt about being alone in this place was nothing compared to what her agitated heart informed when she was walking alone through the Capital.

    Even though she was the greatest shooter in Carsany, Gwenda felt tense in the streets at night while trying to maintain the appearance of someone strong and fearless. It was difficult when she passed by several drunks, or when they always stared at her while smoking something she wasn''t interested in finding out.

    But no one got up to touch her, no one followed her. One could say they were merciful with her, but Gwenda never saw it that way. She shouldn''t see it like that. Because there was no mercy in those eyes.

    The only thing that kept them away was who Gwenda pretended to be. And she was proud.

    She admitted that sometimes her bones seemed to tremble inside her with voracity, but she focused on reaching her destination.

    She admitted that sometimes her bones seemed to tremble inside her with voracity, but she focused on reaching her destination.

    Gwenda was alone. She always saw herself alone walking the dusty streets. Not because she didn''t have company to marvel at the stars, but because she was empty. But a thought always occurred to her when she was alone. That everything that happens to her is her fault. All relapses are consequences of what Gwenda does to herself.

    So, in the end, walking at night was a way to distance herself from herself and try to travel in a nonexistent world. A world that Gwenda herself created.

    She liked doing this when she was younger, when she had time to spend her ideas on paper bought with the money she had earned with great effort. But her parents almost made her stop by saying that she should use this newfound talent as a way to make money, or it would be a waste of time.

    They had faith that Gwenda would get a job at a young age. And if it wasn''t with the money she had saved for a long time, her parents or no one would buy a book or paper for her. Besides ink and pen. In the end, everything was so expensive that she felt sad and unwilling.

    Remembering that she could still draw and write, or read the fantasy books that were so important to her... Gwenda would hardly feel as comfortable as she was. But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

    Gwenda stepped away from Twilight, tired, and entered the house again. She stood still looking at the fireplace and the sofa, wondering if she should go there and sit, waiting for Ethan. Because, indeed, he hadn''t gone hunting.

    But Gwenda was so tired and depressed that she was sure her eyes sparkled with desire when she turned to the bed. She shouldn''t lie down again, but what was stopping her?

    So she rubbed her face with one hand and headed towards the bed with the intention of lying down and waiting for the pale man.

    And so she did.

    <hr>

    It was a terrible idea.

    Darcy Raux stood in front of Gwenda''s tombstone, constantly calculating the age of his former agent.

    The wind screamed: 27 27 27 27. But his mind said 26. Gwenda was 26 years old, and now she was decaying inside the coffin.

    Vannyer was by his side. Incredibly, Ryxer Vannyer was by his side with his hands clasped in front of his body, his head bowed. Both were wounded inside.

    He hadn''t accepted the last three times Darcy had arranged time from his work the previous afternoon to visit Gwen. But today he was there, in the morning. He didn''t shower and didn''t eat anything, both were hungry, but they wanted to get there as early as possible.

    Perhaps Ryxer had come alone other times, Darcy couldn''t say.

    But the last few times he came without a companion and realized that the cemetery was completely empty, Darcy would sit on the ground and lean his back against the side of the tombstone, and then speak alone.

    In fact, she liked to think she was talking to Gwenda, but it wasn''t the same. She was literally talking to the wind, but it was good. Because she could speak without fear, she could open the darkest and most closed part of herself.

    She blamed herself for not doing this while Gwen was still alive. The weight on her shoulders of guilt and defeat shook her and seemed to whisper aggressively in her ear: you''re useless; now leave her alone.

    Because before she didn''t leave her alone, because there was always something to do, because Darcy wanted Gwenda to see who she really was...

    And now she was going after her to be able to tell about her own woes.

    In fact, she should leave her alone. Let Gwen rest.

    So, when the whispers became unbearable, Raux would leave without saying goodbye. She would never say goodbye again because she would never be the last, and Darcy would fight for it.

    It was a terrible idea to visit Gwenda, but she missed her and it was the only way she could feel like she was having any more contact. The closest to her she could get.

    She still remembered when she bought her from Rubben. She had spent all the money she had once decided to start saving for a failed idea that probably would never have happened.

    But the fact was that she remembered the first glimmer she noticed in Gwen''s eyes. The terror and fear; panic and pain. All mixed together and forming something that almost made Darcy fall to her knees. She knew Gwenda needed help a long time ago, she had found out too late.

    And, in the end, she couldn''t do anything else. She didn''t even look at her one last time while she still had that voracity in her gaze, life.

    Something hit her elbow and Darcy blinked. Once. Twice. And then she took a deep breath, knowing she was short of breath.

    ¡ª We can''t stay here forever. ¡ª Vannyer warned beside her.

    Darcy opened a little smile.

    ¡ª No, we can''t. ¡ª she replied ¡ª But this thought won''t let us go.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª he agreed.

    The truth was that everything seemed threatened, and Darcy should seek answers and ways to help fix it.

    In fact, the date and time were already set for a rare meeting. Everyone should meet and start discussing the subject, how to act cautiously and move forward with the attack without arousing suspicion.

    Today would be the day they decided.

    Everyone was devastated, but they had to endure the idea that there was one less in the game. One less to maintain the harmony that, very slowly, had begun to be created.

 23

    One day had passed. And then another night. And when Gwenda woke up the next morning, Ethan still hadn''t returned.

    She took the opportunity to take a walk around the outside of the house. From the outside, it looked destroyed, old, but it was as new as it appeared to be, as it seemed.

    In the back, there was a stable with six stalls, and Gwenda was fascinated. All of them were empty, and she found hay in one of them, as if Ethan had put it there recently.

    Gwenda spent some time walking inside the stable and observing all the details, then she took the hay and brought it to the horses.

    If Sinclair didn''t come back even once, then she should feed the animals. She left the hay in front, prepared a feed with what she had in the stable, and fed them. Then she petted her horse before going back into the house.

    Gwenda was restless and started to worry about the pain in her back that she felt on the first night there. It usually appeared when she got irritated from standing still doing nothing, or when she got annoyed in a very small space and clothes that just bothered her.

    She almost tore the clothes off, if not opening a hole the size of a hand.

    She paced back and forth and searched for something to do in the midst of nothingness. But then she started opening all the drawers she found. All she could open.

    She searched for whatever she was looking for, and finally found a drawer full of parchment papers, along with a quill and black ink.

    But she just stared at what she would have worked hard to buy at one time. Each paper spent with the same drawing until it was perfect the way she imagined. The training was painful, as well as time-consuming. Her hand would start to hurt, and Gwenda would end up choosing to write, although she used the same hand.

    It was a difficult and slow process, but she had always been willing to keep trying until it was as she wanted. A line tilted one centimeter to the wrong side would already make the drawing ugly, crooked. It annoyed her so much that sometimes she would crumple the paper and had to go to the roof of the house, distract herself with the clouds and stars in the dark sky.

    But deep down, she was shaken, not knowing how she really should act. If she should let the anger out in tears or in the training she lacked. Deep inside her, everything was trembling, she was alone and felt like a waste. A disappointment.

    She missed her parents, and her throat tightened. She thought of ¨¢tila Killian, and her chest hurt. Trytan was as recent as any other event.

    His non-presence in the world tore a piece of Gwenda bigger than she thought possible, but she liked to show that she was fine, that the mourning had passed. It wasn''t about not knowing how to receive affection, but rather because she didn''t want to. She was too proud, and that ended up destroying her without her realizing it. Gwenda knew, but it was still difficult.

    There were times when she would run through the streets alone or ride Twilight. And when she found a field, she would scream until her throat hurt. Several times she ended up with swollen eyes and a moist face, sobbing. Then she would go back home as if nothing had happened.

    She stopped doing that when her mother died. And she started punching trees until her hands bled, a training that sucked her anger and left her tired. But she didn''t cry. She refused such a thing.

    Gwenda didn''t like to think about what happened in the underground at the hands of Arth Cheack, but sometimes there was no way not to think about it. It was hard to be willing to get up in the morning. But Gwenda was fighting, and she would remain so.

    Then she closed the drawer with a bang and clenched her teeth until it hurt. Gwenda got up and tied her hair in a bun on top of her head before looking for clothes that would be more appropriate to wear because she had only been wearing the same ones. Either the pants with a flexible band on the breasts, or the nightgown. After the shower, those were the only options, and if Ethan took a long time to arrive, Gwenda should take the opportunity to snoop around every corner. Who knows, she might find clothes for herself.

    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">

    Ethan was back.

    Night had fallen like a phantom cloak over the forest canopy, a protection against evils. Gwenda''s mind seemed to try to do the same, but she herself considered that she couldn''t let go, as if the bad thoughts, somehow, were good for her.

    But Gwenda had already realized that she only thought that way when she was broken. Because when she smiled until her face hurt, she found herself wondering why she liked to think about bad things so much. It was sick, but the cycle repeated itself.

    Gwenda startled when the balcony door slammed open, and she was about to run to the fireplace to use, futilely, a chair as a shield. But as she turned around, she stopped in her tracks.

    Ethan Sinclair staggered in with the gun in hand when he arrived.

    Blood on his shoulder streamed down his arm just like a waterfall that Gwenda knew well. The sweat on his skin gleamed in the light of the five lamps scattered throughout the house.

    Gwenda shrank back as a shiver ran through her body. Her racing heart screamed to reach out to the man and help him. But she was paralyzed.

    In a split second, Gwenda went from startled to terrified.

    Blood filled one side of his face, the same side as the injured eye that no longer had the bandage. His blond hair was matted with the same reddish dye.

    Gwenda took a step forward and opened her mouth to warn him that the stove was hot, but it was too late when Ethan leaned on it.

    Ethan roared in pain and recoiled. Gwenda cursed and ran to him before she lost her nerve.

    ¡ª What the hell happened? ¡ª she asked and wrestled the gun from his hand before supporting his arm behind his neck.

    Gwenda clenched her jaw and almost groaned at the strength she needed to hold him up as she practically dragged him to the bed. She almost lost her footing with the enormous weight of his body on her shoulders and glanced briefly at Ethan''s contorted face in a way he would have interpreted: what the hell did you do to get like this?

    She grunted as she threw him onto the bed, losing her balance and almost falling on top of him. A muscle in Ethan''s jaw twitched, and Gwenda watched him arch his back in pain.

    ¡ª What the hell...

    ¡ª Don''t ask. ¡ª he shot back. ¡ª Not again.

    Gwenda twisted her cheeks in disgust.

    If she didn''t have an answer...

    ¡ª There are bandages under the bathroom sink. ¡ª he said. ¡ª Please.

    Gwenda blinked, still looking at Sinclair''s face.

    No. She almost said the answer.

    She wouldn''t fetch them before she had an answer.

    And when she hesitated to move, Ethan stared at her, and she glanced over his body.

    The shoulder, the head, the abdomen below the torn leather probably from a blade.

    ¡ª What happened. ¡ª she demanded, it wasn''t a question.

    Ethan snorted, then grimaced.

    ¡ª It''s none of your business.

    Gwenda clenched her jaw.

    ¡ª Just like helping you isn''t. ¡ª he flared his nostrils in anger, and she leaned over him. ¡ª When you tell me the story, I''ll do such and such.

    ¡ª Whatever. ¡ª he growled and jumped out of bed, pushing Gwenda aside.

    She staggered away and dared not approach again.

    As soon as he got up, dizziness seemed to overcome him, and Ethan walked more sideways than forward towards the bathroom, one hand on the wound on his abdomen.

    ¡ª Hey. ¡ª Gwenda called out. ¡ª Hey.

    She caught up to him as Ethan fell to his knees and slowly lay down on his side, groaning incessantly and breathing heavily.

    Gwenda grabbed his arm and crouched down beside him. Ethan lay on the floor and looked up, or rather, tried to look up. He blinked several times, seeming to want to find focus.

    It was taking too long... Move, Gwenda. A small voice screamed.

    She cursed and ran to the bathroom. She hit the door with her body before managing to open it and threw herself in front of the cabinet under the sink.

    Tools, soaps, bottles with a kind of liquid that Gwenda believed to be perfumes. She scanned everything and then, deep down and in complete darkness that no lamp in the other room could properly illuminate, were the bandages and everything she needed to clean the wound.

    She grabbed the box quickly, not bothering to clear the way until she had it in her arms and was running out of the bathroom to the man lying on the floor.

    ¡ª Do you know how to do this? ¡ª Ethan asked.

    Gwenda opened her mouth to respond but then tilted her head to the side and closed it again. No, she didn''t know.

    She looked at his lost eye, not covered in blood, but trying to find hers.

    ¡ª Trust me. ¡ª she pleaded.

    Then she glanced at the items in the box beside her. Her mouth dried, and she swallowed hard.

    No one had taught her how to tend to wounds, and Gwenda hadn''t learned it on her own either.

    Ethan let out a seductive murmur that made Gwenda widen her eyes and look at him again.

    ¡ª I need to remove the suit.

    Gwenda suddenly felt her face grow warm. Not because he would be nearly naked in front of her, but because she should have realized he needed to remove the suit.

    So she did. She helped him unzip and lower the suit gently until his entire torso was exposed. The wound on his abdomen was superficial but still bleeding.

    She believed it was just a graze. But the one on his shoulder, undoubtedly, was a gunshot.

    ¡ª I don''t know what you expect me to do, but...

    ¡ª First, clean the blood. ¡ª he said calmly, and Gwenda fell silent.

    She nodded, reaching for a cloth in the box.

    ¡ª Use the alcohol from the bottle.

    ¡ª Okay. ¡ª she responded softly and grabbed the bottle.

    She poured its contents onto the cloth, and the smell soon filled her nostrils. Gwenda delicately placed it on the wound on his shoulder, and...

    ¡ª Damn it. ¡ª he complained, squirming. ¡ª Around the wound.

    A mere apology slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

    Gwenda moved the cloth away and took a deep breath before trying again, this time cleaning more carefully.

    His skin was warm and sweaty. But still, it sent shivers down Gwenda''s spine, and something in her stomach bubbled. Ethan''s skin was soft despite the numerous scars she found. And now he would probably have one more.

    Ethan was still awake, and she didn''t know exactly what that meant.

    The only thing Gwenda knew she had to do was remove the bullet from his shoulder somehow. So, when she finished cleaning the wound, and the bleeding seemed to be gradually stopping, she took a pair of tweezers she found and prepared for what was about to happen.

    But when she brought the metal closer to remove the bullet from his body, Ethan grabbed her wrist tightly.

    ¡ª Don''t do that. ¡ª he said, pushing her hand away. ¡ª If you''re going to stick something into someone''s body to remove anything, make sure it''s clean.

    Gwenda frowned. Indeed, but...

    ¡ª There are no other tweezers, so clean this one.

    She almost grunted but sighed heavily.

    ¡ª I remove bullets from my body with my fingers. ¡ª she said a bit angrily. ¡ª Why couldn''t you do the same?

    ¡ª I heard that the girl I kidnapped and who''s by my side doesn''t know how to tend to wounds. ¡ª he replied with a hint of impatience. ¡ª I''m without an eye at the moment, and my head is spinning from the blood I''ve lost. So, if you can continue...

    They both stared at each other, or at least that''s what she thought they were doing. Considering Ethan lost her gaze and then returned.

    The girl I kidnapped.

    Scoundrel. Kidnapped; killed; made a fool of...

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Teaching her how to tend to wounds doesn''t erase those things.

    Gwenda ignored it before she couldn''t anymore and cleaned the tweezers with alcohol, making sure he saw that she cleaned every corner.

    When she finished, she threw the cloth into the box and put the tweezers into the wound without warning. Ethan didn''t groan as she thought he would, just tensed his entire body. Veins popped on his neck and arm, and she just glanced once before reaching for the bullet in the wound and starting to work carefully.

    Gwenda trembled involuntarily when she managed to remove it after three times it slipped from her grasp. Her patience was no longer intact. After all, she had never used tweezers to remove a bullet when she was shot.

    Ethan took a deep breath, and with his head turned slightly to the other side, Gwenda realized he was tired. She quickly wondered if he had slept when he was out.

    Gwenda put the bloody bullet in an empty square bottle, and the tweezers dropped into the box.

    ¡ª Your eye is...

    ¡ª I manage with it.

    She couldn''t help but look at the blood covering his eyebrow and had dripped down to his cheek and now was dry.

    ¡ª Lucky you didn''t pass out.

    Ethan didn''t respond.

    Gwenda hurried to grab the cloth again and poured a little more alcohol before starting to clean the wound on his abdomen.

    This time, he stayed quiet. No movements that could give away the pain he felt. When she finished rubbing the dried blood off his skin, Ethan pushed himself up and sat up.

    Gwenda stepped back to give him space, without taking her eyes off him.

    She made a motion to get up, but Ethan''s hoarse voice echoed:

    ¡ª You''re not finished yet. ¡ª He turned to Gwenda. ¡ª I can''t bandage without moving too much.

    She raised her eyebrows to herself. She had forgotten she needed to bandage.

    ¡ª You have the other arm free. ¡ª she said.

    But he, surely, was tired...

    ¡ª My fingers are broken.

    Gwenda blinked and widened her eyes.

    ¡ª What?

    Ethan brought the other hand forward. It was bandaged, some fingers with a splint holding them straight.

    ¡ª I missed when throwing the punch.

    She almost rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª I thought you were the jack of all trades.

    Ethan chuckled softly, but without looking her in the eyes. His head was bowed.

    ¡ª Just because I messed up doesn''t mean I don''t deserve this status.

    ¡ª I didn''t say you didn''t deserve it.

    ¡ª But you thought so.

    Gwenda stayed silent as he reached his hand upward and tilted his head to the side to observe what had happened to his beautiful fingers, now wrapped in a dirty white bandage.

    ¡ª I had only one eye, and I had already taken the shot. I heard the bones breaking, but I only felt it when I threw the second punch.

    ¡ª You kept going... ¡ª Gwenda was indignant.

    ¡ª Until his face was bleeding in three different places.

    ¡ª So you fought with one... ¡ª she concluded.

    Ethan shook his head and bit his lower lip. The gesture made Gwenda hold her breath.

    ¡ª There were six in total. ¡ª Ethan shrugged. ¡ª They deserved it.

    ¡ª You killed them? ¡ª Gwenda asked, eyebrows raised and a bit shocked.

    ¡ª Two of them. ¡ª he replied, gritting his teeth as he stood up.

    Gwenda remained quiet on the floor, one knee raised where she rested her intertwined hands.

    ¡ª Why? ¡ª She looked up, searching for his face, but Ethan didn''t seek hers and slowly made his way to the bed.

    ¡ª Is the Shooter going to give me a lecture?

    Gwenda frowned, irritated.

    ¡ª From what you''ve told me about your unpleasant past, there''s no doubting that your motive for annihilating someone is just for fun.

    ¡ª You''d be keeping company with them if that were the case.

    Gwenda got up as Ethan sat on the bed.

    ¡ª Can''t we have a sensible conversation?

    ¡ª Haven''t we already? ¡ª he asked back, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

    Gwenda rolled her eyes and rubbed her face.

    ¡ª Where were you? ¡ª she demanded, it wasn''t a question. ¡ª I waited for you for two days.

    ¡ª I told you not to wait for my return.

    Gwenda stomped her foot to the opposite side of Ethan on the bed. He followed her with his remaining eye, turning his body sideways to watch her.

    What was he doing?

    Gwenda couldn''t decipher what Ethan was actually wanting from her. Nothing was explained, and he evaded questions.

    She pointed an accusing finger at Ethan and spoke softly:

    ¡ª Are you trying to use me? Because here I am, and I''m not going anywhere. But know one thing, Ethan Sinclair. ¡ª Gwenda lowered her hand and ran it through her hair, pulling the strands back from her face. ¡ª You will answer my questions.

    He chuckled.

    ¡ª So this is how you got answers in interrogation.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth.

    ¡ª How did you know I was from this area?

    He shrugged.

    ¡ª You were the Shooter, why wouldn''t I know?

    Because she was the Shooter, probably all sectors were aware of what her job as a Carvlinea entailed. Heck, even those in Mar¨ªmbea probably knew, and Gwenda thought she was discreet.

    But being a Carvlinea and participating in competitions in the arena had nothing to do with each other.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª was all she said.

    Ethan raised an eyebrow.

    Gwenda rushed to the box on the floor and grabbed the white bandage.

    ¡ª No, you''re a terrible liar, Sinclair.

    ¡ª Am I? ¡ª He smirked, and his eyes were so fixed on Gwenda''s as she approached that she needed all the self-control in her body not to go further.

    Gwenda put her hands on his shoulders without bothering to be gentle, and a knee on each side of Ethan''s legs, sitting down.

    Quickly, his hands closed around her waist, holding her in place. He blinked, seeming to try to figure out what was happening.

    Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but Gwenda interrupted:

    ¡ª Oh. ¡ª she murmured and opened the bandage in front of him quickly in what could be described as a similarity to someone pulling a belt tight. ¡ª I''m going to bandage. ¡ª She started, and knowing Ethan was too occupied holding her to prevent her from doing anything, Gwenda brought her hands to his neck. ¡ª And you can answer my questions while I do. ¡ª She slid her hand to his left shoulder, and then buried her thumb in the wound.

    Ethan tensed, closed his eyes, and squeezed Gwenda harder.

    She held on to not pull her hands away.

    Warm blood soaked her thumb, and she smiled as she leaned forward. If Ethan let go of her now, they would both fall on the bed, and she knew he wasn''t in a position to lie down.

    ¡ª Do you know who blew up the arena, don''t you? ¡ª she asked.

    ¡ª I do. ¡ª His voice came out strained.

    Gwenda raised an eyebrow.

    ¡ª Was it you?

    Ethan opened his eyes. They were shining.

    ¡ª No.

    She looked at his lips.

    ¡ª Is it true?

    Gwenda asked softly, hoping that perhaps Ethan had the slightest sense not to lie about that.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª He replied in the same tone. Sinclair seemed to tremble beneath Gwenda, and she lifted her gaze until she met his. Ethan still stared at her.

    ¡ª What were you doing that night?

    ¡ª Demanding the money they owed me.

    Gwenda blinked.

    ¡ª And where is that money?

    Ethan didn''t reply immediately. He just stared at her. Gwenda narrowed her eyes and tightened the bandage on his shoulder. Ethan didn''t move.

    ¡ª What did you do for them to owe you? ¡ª She resumed wrapping his shoulder.

    ¡ª Killed someone for them. She let out a murmur of understanding

    ¡ª Ah, that''s something you''re capable of.

    Gwenda caught a glimpse of the smile Ethan gave.

    She passed the bandage over his bicep and continued upward to his shoulder. Ethan''s gaze felt like a caress on her face, but Gwenda knew he was attentive to the work she was doing on his shoulder.

    When she paused midway to ask something else, Gwenda looked at him again. The blood in his eye was dried, and the amber color now seemed clearer.

    ¡ª I''m not blind, Scar ¡ª he said, and Gwenda drew in a deep breath as his hands moved up a bit. She continued to wrap, circling the bandage around his torso, and reaching around his back. She barely knew what exactly she was doing, but she tried not to let everything accumulate in the same place and especially cover the wounds on his shoulder and abdomen.

    ¡ª Who paid you to kill?

    ¡ª A man I don''t know. They didn''t give a name, just his appearance and where he worked and lived.

    ¡ª And what was he like?

    Ethan shrugged, and Gwenda almost cursed him for that.

    ¡ª Do you remember those you kill? A careful question. Gwenda stopped wrapping, and a memory shook her thoughts. She tensed and moved away from him with the urge to leave.

    The day she received the scar on her back was wandering through her mind. The almost square blade with small branches that shimmered in blood when it found Gwenda and almost tore her apart...

    She could have stood up and split that mysticism in half. But she was... distracted, lamenting the thousands of other deaths she had caused with her finger on the trigger.

    ¡ª No ¡ª she answered, swallowing hard.

    Ethan fell silent for a second. And then:

    ¡ª Really? Because I remember all of them. ¡ª His voice came out sharp.

    His hands moved up further, and his thumb brushed against the side of Gwenda''s breast. Her heart raced with voracity, and a tingling filled her belly.

    ¡ª So, you''re a psychopath.

    Gwenda tightened the knot of the bandage tightly and pushed Ethan backward. He fell onto the bed, and his hands went straight to her bare thighs, holding her in place.

    Gwenda placed her hands over his to hold herself.

    ¡ª Why did you only kill two? Ethan refused to rest his head on the mattress.

    ¡ª Because I needed to leave the others alive to show that I am merciful.

    She raised her left eyebrow.

    ¡ª But you''re not.

    ¡ª That''s what I wanted you to think. ¡ª Ethan smiled ¡ª And it worked.

    ¡ª You''re not merciful ¡ª she continued. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

    ¡ª I''m not ¡ª he admitted finally ¡ª But there are moments when you need to express who you''re not.

    ¡ª And you needed to leave the other four alive to maintain your lovely reputation? ¨C she mocked.

    Ethan smiled.

    ¡ª I did.

    If she didn''t briefly know how Ethan was, she would have asked the question differently. Like why he needed to kill the two. But the answer could be either a humble one or one that might even make sense.

    Gwenda watched Ethan''s eyes, lingering longer on the right, the injured one that didn''t seem to be hurting. And what if she flicked it? Gwenda opened a smile and lowered her gaze to her hands clasped in his.

    ¡ª I don''t believe you ¡ª she said.

    He gave a little smile.

    ¡ª That''s okay.

    Gwenda thought and rethought about what she was about to say.

    ¡ª If you know so much about me. ¡ª She said ¡ª Then you can tell me everything related to me. If you saved me from an explosion before it happened, then you knew I was implanted from the beginning. How can I believe it wasn''t you?

    Ethan pulled his hands from beneath hers and held Gwenda''s wrists. Before she could protest, he pulled her, and Gwenda slipped forward, preventing herself from falling onto him by placing her hands on the mattress, on either side of his torso. But still, they were too close... and she was sure her eyes expressed a different panic.

    ¡ª Tell me. ¡ª he said, tucking a strand of Gwenda''s hair behind her ear ¡ª Why would I blow up an arena?

    ¡ª I don''t know. ¡ª she admitted.

    ¡ª And why would I save you?

    ¡ª Because I''m valuable, according to you yourself.

    Ethan tilted his head and observed Gwenda''s face from every angle until devouring her lips with his gaze.

    She held back the urge to form into a thin line.

    ¡ª Indeed. ¡ª she said.

    Ethan blew at the corner of her mouth, and Gwenda shivered, feeling strange. Yet, she couldn''t help but manage a weak smile.

    ¡ª But I wouldn''t be foolish enough to plant a bomb in a place without scouring to ensure valuable things aren''t nearby.

    ¡ª You said you were seeing a friend...

    ¡ª I''ll only answer your questions from now on if you answer mine.

    Gwenda tried to pull away, but Ethan held her wrist, causing her to stop. He looked at her as if to say: It''s either this, or nothing. The choice is yours.

    She frowned with irritation.

    ¡ª Do it. ¡ª she said. ¡ª Your first question.

    ¡ª It''s not like I don''t know about you. But there are some things that were left out.

    Scoundrel.

    She responded:

    ¡ª Be quick.

    Ethan gave her a look that said: That''s not how it works, Scar.

    ¡ª Who gave you the scar on your back.

    He demanded more than he asked.

    ¡ª A mystic.

    Ethan remained silent, searching for an answer in Gwenda''s gaze that he wouldn''t find. He waited patiently for Gwenda to continue.

    ¡ª A fey from Telomeron.

    Ethan''s face seemed to contort in hatred.

    ¡ª No magic?

    ¡ª No magic. ¡ª she agreed.

    ¡ª What happened to him?

    Gwenda weighed the idea of whether to speak or not and bit her lower lip hard, staring at Ethan''s chest below, the scars.

    ¡ª Raux skinned him alive.

    Ethan chuckled, and his breath kissed Gwenda''s lips.

    ¡ª You lie as well as I do.

    ¡ª For your information. ¡ª she shot back ¡ª I''m an excellent liar.

    But she wasn''t lying.

    ¡ª Seeing you proud of that is adorable.

    Gwenda held back the smile that threatened to spread across her face.

    ¡ª You shouldn''t be proud of such things. ¡ª she replied.

    Ethan frowned and placed his hand on the side of Gwenda''s face.

    ¡ª Who told you that?

    Gwenda''s throat closed up.

    My father.

    She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

    Ethan hurried to speak:

    ¡ª In this world, finding people like you is becoming increasingly rare. ¡ª Ethan caressed her cheek.

    Gwenda was sure her face had turned slightly red.

    ¡ª How so?

    ¡ª Experienced. Being proud that you can survive in this place doesn''t make you any less worthy.

    Because, to live there, you needed to lie and manipulate. To get what you wanted in an unfair place, you needed to know how to handle matters in an unfair way.

    Again, his fingers against her cheek.

    ¡ª Worthy of what? ¡ª she wanted to know.

    ¡ª You''re the daughter of Mary Jane Oxwinder. ¡ª he commented ¡ª The last ranger. And now the decision is up to you. ¡ª Gwenda felt the blood drain from her face. ¡ª Will you bring the race back, or will you stay hidden?

 24

    The morning was like one of the escapes Gwenda always loved, despite being asleep most of the time. Only hunger made her wake up.

    But now that she was in that house with Ethan by her side, waking up sweaty when winter was near was becoming a constant, especially before sunrise. When this happened, she put on her moss green sweatshirt and went to the balcony doors, delighting in the cool breezes that entered through the holes in the blinds before opening them as quietly as she could, avoiding making too much noise while Ethan was still asleep.

    Some days the bed was empty and cold, as if Ethan had long since gone to work as a Carvlinea. Of course, Gwenda didn''t mind, but often during the day she found herself wondering how he managed to do it. If it were her in Darcy''s place, she would be halfway to finding out about the explosion in the arena, which clearly led to Ethan. But if he could still walk freely without cross-eyed looks from sector 3, then they were further than Gwenda had thought.

    She swallowed hard as she heard the crickets and owls around, the sound the wind made in her ears, and then sat on the stairs. Watching the trees, Gwenda felt light, the fresh air brought her peace and kept her away from thoughts about the nightmares she had in the middle of the night. Usually, the cold shower also helped... anything cold. Gwenda loved winter. Sometimes she caught herself smiling at the cold wind, at the uncontrollable shivering. It was automatic.

    Her back was stiff with cold, but that was far from being a problem. It was as if winter could strip away any trace of pain in her spine. There was no layer of sweat impregnated in her pores, forcing her to remain still to feel the slightest bit of coolness in the middle of the night. The unbearable impatience, and then the restlessness and pain that led her to the bottom, drowning her in suffering. Gwenda wished she could tell herself she was used to it, but it would be a lie.

    ¡ª Did you get to say goodbye to your father?

    Gwenda jumped, about to get up and take the gun off her hip.

    As soon as she saw Ethan leaning against the door, one shoulder propped up, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, she mentally cursed herself. He saw where Gwenda had taken her hand, and she made a mental note that she should train this impulse to grab a non-existent weapon. After all, she highly doubted she would receive one.

    But his question came out of nowhere. Gwenda didn''t feel ready to answer, so she turned back to the front, ignoring the shirtless slender body in the doorway.

    The birds still sang, signaling that the sun was about to rise. The sky had a color that Gwenda had seen thousands of times. Blue on one side, red and orange invading this dark blue sky without stars.

    She could barely see five meters away.

    Ethan moved behind her like a feline, silent and trained, but let out a long sigh as he sat down beside her.

    ¡ª I was in the final stage of training to be a Carvlinea when they gathered us in the square. ¡ª he continued. Gwenda turned to the opposite side. ¡ª I believe you were there.

    I fled.

    Gwenda thought it was an indecent thing to comment on, but she couldn''t expect much from Ethan. He turned out to be very different from what she imagined he would be. And, unfortunately, that made her different too. Ethan Sinclair was changing her, but she didn''t like admitting something like that.

    ¡ª I wasn''t a Carvlinea at the time. ¡ª Gwenda replied, her throat burning. ¡ª I was hunted. I wasn''t forbidden to witness my father''s hanging, but I would be with him if they had caught me.

    She still remembered. The guards approaching her father while Gwenda was fetching water from the well. When blood began to accumulate on one side of her father''s mouth and nose. When they held his neck with rough gloved hands and kicked the back of his knees, falling in front of a man. A man who personally went to her house. The horrifying crown on his head made Gwenda shudder with rage and disgust.

    And then a guard''s foot forcing her father''s face into the sandy ground, his cheek crushed. Gwenda was already at the end of her rope with anger and fear as her father''s eyes met hers, widening. As if only at that moment he was worried, remembering that Gwenda was there, absorbing the violence.

    The shock of not understanding what was happening was still with her to this day, haunting her. The reason for that confrontation.

    ¡ª I didn''t understand why he had to die. They convinced everyone that my father wasn''t a true subject, that he had betrayed the crown. Betrayed the king and his people. ¡ª Gwenda clenched her fists, shrinking. ¡ª I fled before I could see the end of it. I didn''t witness his death.

    Fled with Killian.

    Run away.

    ¡ª Answering your question. ¡ª she said, trying to shake off the sensations ¡ª I didn''t have the opportunity.

    ¡ª There were many rumors at the time about Yago Matchstone.

    Anger struck Gwenda unexpectedly.

    ¡ª Yes, of course. ¡ª she scoffed ¡ª Yago Matchstone. A worthy name, a name everyone has heard of, the creator of the deadliest weapons, the most successful bounty hunter for over five centuries, but, unfortunately, he was retired. ¡ª Clearly, it was something he himself suddenly decided, there was no retirement in this world, only jobs and rewards. ¡ª And, even more unfortunately, he was a traitor and no one knew. And, fortunately, now he''s dead.

    The venom slipped easily from Gwenda''s mouth. It was a conversation she had never had with anyone but Darcy, the only one who knew her father in a way that Gwenda never quite understood.

    Ethan continued, unfazed.

    ¡ª What happened?

    The truth. Ethan was giving her a chance to tell the truth, if only to him.

    Gwenda took a deep breath, looking down past the stairs and ignoring the sudden presence of two horses still tethered together by a rope.

    ¡ª I met a guy. ¡ª she began. ¡ª We spent a few years together, and he got close to my father faster than any other living soul I''ve ever introduced to him. He was like a son to Yago. And I was proud, always saw him for who he truly was, and he saw the same in me, even though we never showed our true identity to others. We acted the same way for the same reasons. It was like a dream, a young woman in love with someone who gave her what she wanted. ¡ª Gwenda tried to steer clear of useless details. ¡ª He claimed he was a lie, but I just laughed, thought it was some stupid flirtation. But when the guards showed up and took my father, I... I knew it wasn''t a good thing, so as soon as the king''s guards turned to me. ¡ª Gwenda pushed away the image of her father on the ground, the look he gave before the guards realized who she was to the traitor. ¡ª I ran. I left my father behind and just ran to where I considered safe. Straight to ¨¢tila. ¡ª  She almost spat that name. ¡ª But...

    ¡ª The house was empty.

    Gwenda stared at Ethan, who was expressionless, and wondered what the rumors were.

    ¡ª He was nowhere to be found. ¡ª she concluded. ¡ª I had to hide in a barrel because it was the only hiding place the guards wouldn''t dare touch.

    Ethan shifted uncomfortably.

    The barrel of bars, where they stored the most precious drinks in the entire kingdom. The only place where the hands of Royal guards were forbidden, and where Gwenda could be safe. When she came out, she smelled like tequila.

    ¡ª When I came out. ¡ª she blocked the memory ¡ª I wandered the city like a ghost for an entire night. Hungry and weak, filthy from head to toe as I begged any god to free my father. No one who... maybe recognized me in the streets, did anything. They just watched. The next day was the hanging, and my father was announced as an impostor. I was bathing in the nearest river of the city before returning and seeing people heading toward the castle, a crowd of corpses crawling. Some were crying, and I refused to join them. It was... unsettling.

    ¡ª I know how it is. ¡ª Ethan agreed beside her, sensitive.

    ¡ª I was in the square. I got there and stood watching behind a heap of bodies, until my father emerged, and something so deep and loud fit inside me. Loneliness. Because I knew it would be an end I never thought I would have, at least not so soon and in that way. ¡ª Gwenda had to take a deep breath and swallow hard. ¡ª When they put the rope around his neck, hands tied in front of his body, he met my gaze amidst so many others. Back there, hidden while they recited what my father had done to deserve death, while people shouted in glory for another traitor being executed, and others who were too shocked to do anything but put their hand on their heart and watch without doing a damn thing. Without shouting that it was a mistake, without defending him. So many pats on the back from strangers only to then simply discard him with lies...

    ¡ª Scar.

    She exhaled and opened her trembling hands, feeling an agonizing pain in her palms. Blood flowed beautifully, and Gwenda intertwined her hands before putting them between her thighs, her body still curled up with her knees pressed to her chest. She looked around, the sky taking on a more fiery color of a morning. The burning sensation in the latest wound was like a consolation.

    Gwenda sighed and swallowed hard again.

    ¡ª He told me to run. Not more than a silent whisper that reached me with a passing breeze. And I, like a cowardly idiot, ran.

    ¡ª If you had stayed, you could have been killed.

    She turned to Ethan.

    ¡ª Don''t come and tell me what would have happened and what I should have done.

    ¡ª Alright. ¡ª he paused briefly. ¡ª But you should have run away anyway.

    Gwenda grunted.

    ¡ª Go fuck yourself.

    ¡ª Only if you allow it.

    She gritted her teeth, but a blush reached her cheeks.

    ¡ª Don''t you have to go to work? ¡ª she asked innocently. ¡ª I bet you''ll be suspended for being late like this.

    Ethan gave her a little smile and leaned his elbows a few steps above and stretched his legs, one ankle over the other.

    ¡ª I think we can spend the day talking today, Scar.

    She ignored the name.

    ¡ª I hope you get expelled. ¡ª murmured Gwenda.

    ¡ª What a wild heart.

    ¡ª Thank you. ¡ª she said, and almost felt like she was being sincere.

    ¡ª But I''m the best in all sectors, I think I''ll stay even if I miss a week.

    Gwenda blinked. She turned to him, serious and with her eyes shining from the comment.

    ¡ª You''re very proud, Sinclair. ¡ª she commented predatorily. ¡ª Know that you''re below my level, agent. After all, how many know you outside sector 9? Correct me if I''m wrong, but the answer is no one.

    She watched Ethan run his tongue inside his cheek. She had touched a weak spot of his. Great.

    ¡ª Sorry to remind you, Gwenda. ¡ª he said ¡ª But you''re dead.

    She bit her lower lip hard to hold back the curse.

    ¡ª He got my name right!

    ¡ª A dead name.

    ¡ª He called me by the right name for the first time?

    ¡ª Definitely not the first time.

    ¡ª How kind of you she placed her hand on her heart, the wide and fake smile plastered on her face.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Ethan closed his mouth, but quickly smiled back and replied:

    ¡ª You''re welcome.

    Asshole. Gwenda wanted to spit that in his face, but she remained silent.

    She frowned as she looked away and stood up.

    ¡ª Where are you going? ¡ª he asked, and Gwenda rolled her eyes.

    ¡ª Where else can I go, Sinclair?

    She climbed the stairs into the house, but then stopped right at the entrance. A smile spread across her face as she turned slowly. Ethan was already getting to his feet and innocently stared at her.

    ¡ª You know, you look like an Aaron. A simple and well-groomed name.

    Ethan blinked. Gwenda believed he might be trying to reason.

    ¡ª I look like many things, Scar.

    The name came out like a song that made her blood heat up.

    Gwenda looked him up and down, studying his body, robust which would probably make her shudder if he were her enemy, and his face, so unique and different from what she was used to that she needed to summon self-control and put in her head the following phrase: he kidnapped you and put you in a coffin, wake up you crazy woman. Because she had the barriers, prohibiting both her and him from getting closer. If it were up to Gwenda, she would have done just that.

    She crossed her arms, the disturbing smile still on her face. But Ethan seemed to like it, instead of rolling his eyes or gritting his teeth, as she usually saw others doing.

    ¡ª Aaron. ¡ª she said, and opened her arms as if she were showing something around ¡ª How about it? ¡ª Gwenda put her hands on her hips.

    Ethan blinked again, confused.

    Gwenda opened her mouth, but fell silent as he quickly climbed the steps up to her.

    ¡ª Boy''s name. I''m not 17 anymore, Scar.

    She let out a forced laugh.

    ¡ª Oh, and Scar is a beautiful name. ¡ª she mocked.

    Ethan gave a little smirk. As he passed by her side, he murmured:

    ¡ª I think it is.

    Gwenda groaned in discontent.

    ¡ª You have a taste for somewhat... unusual names.

    ¡ª Your name is nothing less than the goddess of the hunt. I don''t think you''re in a position to argue about it. You should be optimistic.

    Now he was referring to her real name.

    ¡ª Because Gwenda means an optimistic person. ¡ª she almost laughed. ¡ª Maybe I''m not giving my best, am I, Aaron?

    Ethan turned to her like a shadow.

    ¡ª Don''t call me that, it sounds like someone sick.

    ¡ª Well... now apologize to the sick people around the world.

    Ethan chuckled as he straightened the bed sheets.

    Gwenda didn''t want to, but she gave a little smile and licked her lips to contain it.

    His muscles moved like waves of the sea. Striking and beautiful with the sunrise on the horizon. Bright and delicate before crashing and devastating everything in front...

    ¡ª So you''re staying here. ¡ª she concluded.

    Ethan tossed the pillow, which had ended up at Gwenda''s feet in the middle of the night, up beside his. Gwenda pressed her lips together to hold back the smile, but couldn''t prevent the blush that rose up her neck.

    ¡ª If you want...

    ¡ª This isn''t my choice.

    ¡ª It is. There are many things about me that are your choice, you just have to figure it out.

    Ethan went to the fireplace. And as if this act reminded Gwenda of something, she remembered that she was pantsless, only in a nightgown and a sweater. She shivered from the cold wind and from the fact that it revealed the scars on her legs.

    She was nauseated by what she had done to herself, but she could live with it.

    He placed the firewood and went to find something to light the fire.

    Gwenda felt like a burden in this house as she watched Ethan move back and forth. She simply did nothing. But there was nothing to do; she was dead.

    She opened and closed her mouth twice before speaking:

    ¡ª I think I should do something to...

    ¡ª Don''t finish that sentence ¡ª Ethan spoke so seriously and confidently that Gwenda fell silent just to understand why. ¡ª You can''t show up in town.

    Ah. Ah.

    ¡ª That''s not exactly what I was trying to say.

    ¡ª Oh, no? Because you thought so.

    Ethan turned to her, the arrogant man resurfacing again.

    Gwenda transformed her expression into anger.

    ¡ª If only...

    ¡ª You''re not going to town. If they see you, you''ll be officially dead.

    ¡ª I need to do something.

    ¡ª Feed the horses, do something in this area, and then we''ll be even. Leave the money with me.

    How did he know she was talking about money and that Gwenda needed to do something to help... she had no idea. It was something that had been unfolding in the days they spent together, Sinclair''s secrets, as well as hers.

    ¡ª Okay. ¡ª she said, annoyed. ¡ª But I could sell...

    ¡ª We''re still talking about going to town? ¡ª he asked, biting into a cookie from the glass jar on the counter. ¡ª Then no. ¡ª Ethan didn''t even wait for her to respond.

    Ethan was also gradually changing. Not in a bad way... well, maybe a little. But he was being less defensive and unleashing a part of him that Gwenda felt was slowly enchanting her. Perhaps because it was like the part of her that she kept hidden, both acting in the same way.

    This was all too much ¨¢tila.

    Gwenda shook her head and scratched her neck, avoiding thinking about it, and went to the couch in front of the fireplace.

    ¡ª Do you want to hear a story? ¡ª she asked, unsure if she should tell.

    Ethan stayed quiet for a moment.

    ¡ª I''m here for that.

    His response was like a cold shower. So dry that discouragement settled in Gwenda''s heart.

    She tried to say something, but only air came out. It was a waste of time; Ethan didn''t deserve to know anything about it.

    ¡ª Oh. ¡ª she said, no more than a murmur. ¡ª Forget it.

    She stared at the embers, hoping Ethan would ask her to tell. But nothing happened. Sinclair remained silent and Gwenda even more so, motionless on the couch for a long time before getting up and fetching a book from under the bed, where Sinclair was sitting amidst scribbled papers that she considered to be related to sector cases.

    Gwenda made another mental note to pay attention when he stored the information.

    Ethan stared at her as she moved back to the couch, probably wondering how she knew about the books under the bed. It was incredible how he didn''t account for the times when he wasn''t home, as if Gwenda were too stupid not to snoop around.

    That night, Ethan rummaged through his things in every drawer, making sure everything was in order, if Gwenda had stolen anything. She just watched as he opened the drawer with the feathers, inks, and blank scrolls.

    Gwenda believed that Ethan sent letters through there, she just had no idea how he sent them. She hadn''t searched around the house yet, looking for something different that he probably kept hidden. It wasn''t impossible for Ethan to have a stockpile of the coolest weapons in Carsany, or even in the whole world. Stories said that the Opposite Continent was loaded with firearms like Carsany. The New Era, as they called that continent. Magic and firearms in harmony, something that the rest of the world would also want, besides Carsany.

    It was almost as if only the humans of Alphardj were allergic to mystics. Idiotic, but true. Gwenda wondered how they would live with that until the end, especially when everyone outside Carsany was immortal and lived the story instead of studying it. A great chance for the mystics to persuade Carsany, considering that.

    But Gwenda wasn''t anyone to talk or even think about it. She was a Carvlinea who annihilated mystics. She was unworthy of many things. Especially her place as a ranger.

    That still haunted her on sleepless nights. What Ethan had said.

    Will you bring the race back or will stay hidden?

    It was her cue and her appearance. Her destiny and her curse. Both walking hand in hand. The fact that she could now connect the dots made Gwenda just a host of endless feelings. It was easy to understand the reason behind things, why her father always spoke to her about Gwenda''s future. That she should act without fear... he knew from the beginning what Gwenda was destined to be.

    But what if... if the force that Yago Matchstone was exerting on Gwenda about her future had shaped her way of thinking, and now all she could organize in her mind was that end, being a ranger and bringing the race back. As if there were no other way to circumvent the destiny that her father talked about so much.

    Perhaps it was time to think differently.

    It would be the return of the Infernal Beasts, but Gwenda lived to kill mystics. It would be somewhat ironic if she resurrected the rangers. They would call her a hypocrite. She herself would call herself a hypocrite, and she knew it wouldn''t be a lie.

    She wondered if her father also knew, if he could see her from wherever he was and knew that Gwenda was denying her legacy. She didn''t grow up with violence as a child, and she was very grateful for that, at least back then things had a different difficulty to combat.

    But Gwenda lived with violence growing up and creating traumas for many years. There was a time when she began to question the existence of the gods. She believed in only one, just like her mother. Gwenda began to study Alphardj and her beliefs began to grow, but it was dishonorable and rotten. To believe in a god that is not hers. Carsany had only one, The Creator. The rest of Alphardj, at least, had about 12.

    She reached a point where she gave up believing in anyone, even though she had hopes that her father was seeing her from somewhere, guiding her steps to something better.

    Sometimes she wondered if her brother was there. The one who was supposed to be born before her. The one who died still in Mary Jane''s womb in the first week of gestation.

    ¡ª Is everything okay?

    Gwenda closed the book tightly and the displacement of air hit her face. Ethan was standing in the middle of the house, his eyes on Gwenda''s, and his expression simple, normal. He held a steaming mug, and by the smell, Gwenda knew it was tea.

    The sound of the fireplace brought her comfort as it sharpened her senses back to reality.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª she replied, nodding to compose herself. ¡ª I was just thinking.

    She leaned back, straightening up on the bed with her back against the pillow propped against the wall. Ethan raised his eyebrows.

    ¡ª You should reconsider your way of thinking. You seemed like you wanted to bore holes in the book with your eyes.

    Gwenda sighed. She knew she remained as still as a corpse when she thought too much.

    ¡ª I''m going to take a shower. ¡ª she announced.

    Ethan murmured a hmm and gently affirmed before going to the sink. Gwenda got out of bed and grabbed a fresh nightgown before heading into the bathroom.

    The shower was quick, she was tired and wanted to go to bed as soon as possible, especially as it was starting to get cold. She let the warm water wash away anything on her body and felt alive when she stepped out.

    Her hair had returned to normal, and now water dripped from it to the floor. It had the wavy texture she always had, with some curls underneath that Gwenda admitted hat liked it. Either way, she liked how it was. She learned to like it.

    When she stepped out of the bathroom, Ethan handed her a tea, and Gwenda accepted it gladly, wrapping her hands around the warm porcelain and shrinking in front of the fireplace, watching the embers dance until her hair dried.

    Of course, she felt Ethan''s gaze on her back. The shiver down her spine was the warning that someone was watching her, or perhaps the beginning of unbearable pain. But she liked to think it was just the warning, and maybe if Gwenda ignored it, she could escape the pain.

    So she believed it was Ethan''s eyes on her.

    She lay on the bed at some point, not exactly sure how she got there from being so tired. She just fell onto the sheets and stayed. She felt something move beside her, but her mind was too exhausted to understand what the hell he was doing taking so long to lie down and end this.

    Gwenda turned her head to Ethan, and he stared at her.

    It was like jumping off a cliff, and the butterflies in her stomach made Gwenda smile.

    Ethan tilted his head, puzzled.

    ¡ª Is my smile that ugly? ¡ª Her voice came out low.

    ¡ª I never said that.

    Ethan tossed the pillow next to hers, and she understood that he was changing the pillowcase. Should she change hers too?

    ¡ª But is it?

    ¡ª Not at all. ¡ª he replied immediately ¡ª You have beautiful dimples.

    Gwenda felt her stomach churn, but she believed it was because she was lying on her stomach.

    ¡ª Thank you. ¡ª she replied and put her arms under her pillow, adjusting herself.

    Ethan lay down beside her and stared at the ceiling, also tucking his hands under the pillow.

    ¡ª Are you going to town tomorrow?

    He nodded once.

    ¡ª I wanted to know if I could buy instant noodles.

    Sinclair turned to her slowly. Gwenda couldn''t decipher what went through his eyes.

    He affirmed.

    ¡ª I''ll buy.

    Gwenda gave him a thankful little smile.

    This led her thoughts straight to Vannyer, her friend and former roommate. It was strange to think that now she was with a new one, the same one Gwenda thought would steal their case. And who stole Gwenda from Ryxer. She wondered if he thought that way.

    ¡ª Goodnight? ¡ª she asked.

    Ethan blinked, and a formidable sparkle appeared that made Gwenda part her lips in surprise.

    He lowered his gaze to them.

    ¡ª Goodnight.

    Without waiting for anything else, Gwenda turned like a shadow, tossing her hair in his face probably, so much so that Sinclair squirmed in a way she thought he was removing the strands from his face and adjusting them near her, placing them on Gwenda''s side of the bed. It wouldn''t do much good, since she always ended up invading his bed at one time or another.

    There were nights when she woke up almost on top of a sleeping Ethan, but sometimes she felt him taking up more than half of the bed, leaving Gwenda so close to the edge that she wondered why she hadn''t fallen yet. Both were spacious, and pushing Ethan back was hard work, so she left that place for him and jumped over the practically lifeless body and settled on the other side. Probably with her, Ethan must push her back to her corner without much delicacy, but if that didn''t wake her up, then it was fine.

    A few minutes later, when she stopped squirming to find a comfortable sleeping position, Gwenda fell asleep.

 25

    One week had passed, and everything wasn''t going as planned. Messed up as Gwenda imagined hell to be.

    Starting to train with her fists was harder than returning to aim and shoot after a while. Gwenda''s muscles felt weak, but she knew it was just her body screaming to stop because it wanted to. But she couldn''t. The knuckles beneath the wrapped bands around her fists were now sore, the skin red and irritated from pounding trees.

    Ethan had refused to spar with her, despite teaching her everything she needed to know for the moment. New techniques Gwenda hadn''t even heard of were on the list of those that could kill in just two moves. He watched Gwenda from afar, as if admiring. Even when she didn''t notice and continued training until she couldn''t bear it anymore. Her back ached, tingling like small explosions down her spine, even when she was letting loose by punching trees.

    One day, Sinclair mentioned that there was a base in the Opposite Continent that welcomed people like Gwenda to heal them. He offered to take her there, but she hadn''t received a response yet. And he wasn''t expecting one, Gwenda realized. Or rather, he didn''t care whether she would accept or not, as if he already had a plan in case Gwenda gave any response.

    But... Gwenda wouldn''t dare step outside Carsany once again. The first experience had become the last.

    Outside her realm where her family fought to stay alive, she didn''t feel the same, and it was a strange, different feeling. Too good to be true, and too good for Gwenda to endure. So staying there was her best option, remaining in the familiar and accustomed.

    Her heart raced so fast outside the wall that Gwenda felt crazy. An adrenaline rush and butterflies in her stomach exploded through her body, blood seemed to run faster in her veins, and her body felt lighter. A bit eerie, she said. She wouldn''t return to the freedom that many in Carsany must desire.

    Gwenda spent three years out of Carsany, trying to learn to accept a new sensation so good that it seemed to destroy her. And she endured for three years, until she was back and could breathe like she did before running away.

    Now she was breathing heavily and punching a tree between gasps, relishing the wood chips that flew off and landed on her face. The long braid swayed on her back, and sweaty strands of hair fell in front of her face with a welcome caress. She threw a left hook and felt her whole hand twist. And then she stopped, motionless except for her rapid, heavy breathing. She left her hand where it was on the tree and the other still trembling, clenched in a fist. Sweat trickled down her back under the leather outfit Ethan had given her on the fifth day of training. Before that, she had settled for an old, thin, loose pair of pants and a top so tight that, unbelievably, it helped hold her breasts in place while directing deadly, rage-filled blows at something inanimate.

    Gods, she was eager to train her moves with Ethan.

    Gwenda opened her hands, and her palms thanked her as the nails unburied themselves, then she put them on the tree and rested her forehead on her hands. She closed her eyes and stayed there, waiting for her breathing to return to normal.

    ¡ª Do some sit-ups and then take a shower; we''re going out.

    Gwenda didn''t open her eyes or agree, nor did Ethan wait for a response before going back in. Every night when it came, Ethan asked about Gwenda''s past, and she did the same. She knew enough about Ethan to be able to tell about herself. As she had imagined, Sinclair was the only one there to listen to her, just as he had made it clear that only Gwenda was willing to listen to his problems and controversies.

    Ethan had been left behind as soon as he was born, as his second mother told him when he turned five. And obviously, he wouldn''t forget that trauma so easily. The third mother, still at five, kicked him out of the house. Ethan wandered the streets, refusing to enter strangers'' homes. Until he was convinced by a man and he took a six-year-old Ethan to his rundown home. But the man had no money even for himself, and when he got something, he didn''t share it with Ethan, even when he was starving.

    And then came the fourth mother, the fifth, the sixth... until there came a point when he got tired and sought to understand how negotiations worked. Not those of commerce, but those where Ethan gave a piece of sanity in exchange for training. He trained for years and killed for years, seeking to understand how he could be more than others, more than he was destined to be. He was a hired assassin for a long time, then started making his own deals, eliminating those who deserved it and those who insulted and violated him when he was still a scared child.

    Ethan didn''t regret anything.

    And in exchange for all the details of his miserable life, he demanded the same from Gwenda. So he knew about her back pain, knew how her father was killed¡ªas did any civilian who knew him¡ªabout ¨¢tila Killian and about Trytan. Besides Arth Cheack and the months he spent underground praying for it to end, but he held onto the details to himself, and Ethan didn''t care. He told her about fleeing from Carsany. That she was trained for three years before returning to Carsany and was stupid to let Rubben buy her. And then when Darcy Raux bought her with all the money she had saved.

    The boss liked to make it clear from the start: I spent my entire three-year salary to save you, don''t disappoint me, agent.

    Gwenda took a deep breath and stepped away from the tree, still trembling as she bent down and prepared to do a series of exercises that had never been in her routine. But now they were.

    <hr>

    ¡ª Where are we going? ¡ª Gwenda asked as she walked through the woods, dodging leaves and flowers that seemed somewhat poisonous. She didn''t know this kind of thing.

    Ethan didn''t respond.

    Gwenda had asked five times in the last ten minutes, unable to hold her tongue and anxiety. After all, Ethan was taking her somewhere she had no idea about.

    ¡ª It would be a great idea if we moved to Mar¨ªmbea, you know? Nobody would recognize me if I cut my hair or...

    ¡ª We''re arrived.

    Thank god. She was almost certain she groaned that word out loud. Because she wouldn''t cut her hair to save her own life or for anything.

    Gwenda frowned as Ethan stopped and stepped aside.

    It was the most frighteningly confusing thing Gwenda had ever witnessed. Not just because nomads were walking back and forth, cooking and hanging clothes to dry in the sun, but because elves and witches were there mixed in with humans.

    Gwenda''s heart raced, and her insides began to scream and shake.

    Kill. Kill. Kill.

    Mystics dead. Mystics dead.

    Gwenda had already reached for the nonexistent weapon at her hip and had taken two mere steps back, her eyes wide, quickly scanning over each one after the bush, their light and floating movements that could become deadly... She felt the magic coursing through that place, felt the dark magic of the witches in every corner...

    Ethan stepped in front of her, blocking her view.

    ¡ª Why did you bring me here? ¡ª she shot out so fast and loud that she had to turn around and grab her hair...

    Kill, for god''s sake.

    Gwenda gritted her teeth.

    Where are my wings?

    You killed her.

    ¡ª No! ¡ª Gwenda shouted and turned to Sinclair. ¡ª Why did you bring me here?!

    But he was expressionless.

    ¡ª Why...

    Mystics dead. Quick.

    ¡ª Shut up! ¡ª she yelled.

    ¡ª Scar. ¡ª Ethan warned, loud and firm enough for Gwenda to stop and stare at him.

    Kill them all.

    Ethan continued:

    ¡ª They can help with your back.

    ¡ª No, they can''t. ¡ª She grunted forcefully. And she was almost certain that voice spoke along with her.

    Her head was spinning, and screams were everywhere. Whispers scraped against her skull as if sharpening the edge of a blade.

    Ethan approached, closing one hand on her elbow and pulling her against him. Gwenda crashed into Sinclair''s body, and his arms wrapped around her. A warm embrace.

    Step back. Kill and then escape back.

    ¡ª Scar...

    ¡ª My name is Gwenda.

    ¡ª Relax, Scar. ¡ª His voice was light, calm. And Gwenda buried her face in Ethan''s chest, inhaling his scent deeply until it was marked on her lungs.

    Let me out.

    ¡ª No.

    Open the barriers. Let me out.

    ¡ª Shut up. ¡ª her voice was muffled as she spoke with her face buried in Ethan''s sweater.

    ¡ª Scar, control. ¡ª someone above her said, and a hand began to stroke her hair.

    She took a deep breath. Once. Twice. And she gripped Ethan''s clothes tightly between her fingers.

    ¡ª Take me back. ¡ª she calmly, tremulously pleaded.

    No.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª she grunted.

    ¡ª Later.

    ¡ª Please. ¡ª she begged. ¡ª Now.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Ethan seemed to growl and moved away enough to crouch down and spread her legs, lifting her up and putting her thighs around his waist. Gwenda buried her face in Sinclair''s neck.

    Kill them all.

    She gritted her teeth and tightened his beige sweater even tighter and moved as close as possible to his body. Gwenda didn''t want to. She couldn''t kill anyone else. Not after everything.

    But that voice that was always haunting her when faced with a mystic was bothering her in a way it never had before. Not only that, but the gate of her mind seemed to want to open now, as if to nullify the murderous voice.

    Gwenda was happy when she saw the North Elf, when she spent several days by his side without that voice interrupting. That''s why she wanted to be inside, wanted to stand by a mystic at least once without intending to annihilate. But, with that thought, Gwenda felt weak, so she tried to convince herself that she was just entering that cell with the elf to test the voice.

    A ridiculous lie.

    She hardly felt Ethan move, but he was walking through murmurs that made Gwenda shrink, praying not to be recognized.

    Let me go and you''ll be free. Let me out.

    Kill.

    Do something.

    Gwenda was starting to not be able to differentiate between the desperation of the gate and the murderous voice. Until someone spoke:

    ¡ª What''s wrong with her?

    It was a raspy, old voice, and Gwenda pulled her face away from Ethan''s neck enough to look around. Her eyes burned at the sight of so many elves and witches in one place, and she groaned in pain, clutching Ethan as if she could push him away. Gwenda curled up.

    KILL.

    Her eyes burned and then quieted. The same thing happened the last time she went on a hunt and came out with her back torn apart. But Gwenda ignored that incident, believing and convincing herself that it had just been a delusion.

    SET YOU FREE.

    ¡ª Shut up shut up shut up shut up. ¡ª Gwenda murmured, nonstop.

    She began to wriggle in Ethan''s arms, trying to break free.

    Ethan let her go as he said:

    ¡ª I''m not sure.

    How not?

    So she realized she hadn''t told him, anyone, about the voices and the pains that weren''t physical and were devouring her alive, piece by piece.

    Standing on the ground, Gwenda only wanted to run away and squeezed herself against Ethan''s body as much as she could, desperate to disappear and hide from everything.

    It''s raining, Gwen. It''s raining.

    Make it stop raining.

    ¡ª Make it yourself! ¡ª she replied back.

    Strong hands closed on her biceps and pulled her away from the one who seemed to be keeping her safe at the moment. Gwenda couldn''t close her eyes, which deceived her, forming a wine-red lake. So, unable to hide her face, she fought against whoever was holding her and put her hands over her eyes, hiding and protecting them, and fell to her knees.

    She felt someone kneel in front of her.

    ¡ª Scar, look at me.

    Gwenda didn''t.

    ¡ª Look at me, Scar!

    And with the powerful command that echoed inside her mental gates, she did, and faced a beautiful face beneath all the blood filling her vision. Ethan Sinclair was in front of her, his chin slightly dropped and his eyebrows furrowed.

    A tear... or whatever it was, rolled down Gwenda''s face from the inside. She barely saw when Ethan touched her with his finger and wiped it off her face, but not in a loving way.

    Ethan observed his finger with a face dressed in confusion and terror, then raised his eyes to Gwenda again.

    Look around you.

    Gwenda lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the ground. She wouldn''t look...

    Look around you.

    She wouldn''t look at them, at anyone. There were too many elves, too many witches...

    And Gwenda trembled incessantly, tense and awkward. She trembled, trembled, and trembled.

    ¡ª What have you brought to us, sir? ¡ª The same old voice.

    And by the way she said it, she was concerned and afraid.

    Gwenda was too.

    They hate you.

    You''re a waste.

    Gwenda put her hands over her eyes again, screaming internally.

    ¡ª Did you bring us the Shooter? ¡ª A man asked, annoyed.

    ¡ª They said she was dead. ¡ª Another commented, confused and the tone displaying his displeasure.

    Whispers started, and that was enough for her to take her hands away and look around, breathing heavily and scared, like a wild animal.

    People and elves backed away when they saw that, and Gwenda struggled to stand. Ethan was already by her side like a warm and comforting wall, but she had already begun to walk towards the villagers.

    The first step left her powerless, and her body took a long, strong shock. Gwenda fell to the ground with a gasp.

    The shouting began.

    ¡ª He betrayed us!

    A sword was unsheathed.

    ¡ª We shouldn''t have trusted him!

    Over Gwenda''s head, Ethan seemed to threaten anyone who dared to approach.

    Lying on her side with a body on top of hers to protect her, Gwenda rested her head on the ground, her eyes still wide open. She didn''t dare to close them, couldn''t blink and let anything pass.

    Gwenda was lifted by a pair of hands to sit with her body pressed against another. By the smell, she knew it was Ethan. She was motionless but let Sinclair hold her there gently, quietly.

    ¡ª She needs your help ¡ª he said to someone.

    Silence filled the place, and Gwenda''s eyes trembled, waiting.

    Help with what?

    Why are you letting him live?

    The way she was held between Ethan''s torso and arms was comfortable, and she wondered why she couldn''t always be like this. His heart beat fiercely in his chest, and Gwenda focused her attention there.

    ¡ª It''s okay. ¡ª the old voice said again.

    Relief passed from Ethan to Gwenda when she felt his body relax under hers.

    Kill him.

    Something bit her arm hard, and Gwenda swore it had torn a piece off her, but before she could scream, that same pain shattered her senses, and she finally closed her eyes.

    <hr>

    Ethan rested his elbows on his knees, hands in front of his mouth, intertwined. His eyes widened and his forehead creased even as he thought. The single lantern illuminated the tent with a watery yellow-orange light, highlighting the thousands of red fabrics with yellow dots and other types that the witch liked to use everywhere, from her body to the inside of her tent.

    But what Ethan saw in Gwenda, eyes filled with red from the pupil to the white part, filling everything it could with blood-red. Not to mention the sides that seemed to accumulate. And when Gwenda blinked, the red tear left a trail on her face.

    A wrinkled hand with long fingers stretched out half a coconut with water to him. Ethan thanked with a nod and took it before gulping it down, letting a few drops trickle down the sides

    How long had it been since he drank water?

    ¡ª Your girl needs help. ¡ª the woman, calm as Ethan had never seen her, spoke, then snatched the coconut from Ethan as she turned around.

    She was short, her voluminous white hair with dark streaks was tied in a poorly done bun. The small, wrinkled nose always wrinkled more when she spoke to Ethan, believing he was wasting time on his hobbies.

    ¡ª I know. ¡ª he replied in the same calm tone.

    ¡ª No, man. ¡ª the witch waved her hand in his direction, as if dismissing him. ¡ª You don¡¯t know that you know and don''t want to admit it.

    Ethan leaned back until he was upright, hands still intertwined.

    ¡ª I know she needs help.

    ¡ª Not from me and certainly not from you.

    Ethan rolled his eyes, but she kept talking:

    ¡ª She needs the Soul Savior himself.

    ¡ª The problem is he''s late.

    ¡ª This girl isn''t yours. ¡ª the woman turned to him ¡ª In fact, who am I to say who belongs to whom, in my opinion, that''s morbid. ¡ª She let out a sincere and amused laugh, hoarse, and filled the half coconut Ethan drank water from with a hot liquid from the pot placed right above the embers of a former bonfire. She stretched it towards him when finished. ¡ª Want some soup?

    Ethan pondered what was probably in that soup, and it definitely wasn''t good, so he declined.

    The witch shrugged and began to eat.

    ¡ª If you want to save her, my son, you''ll need to hand her over to the Soul Savior.

    ¡ª And what if I don''t? ¡ª he asked.

    ¡ª Then she''ll have to make the passage alone, and if she can''t, this girl will take many with her to hell.

    Ethan diverted his attention to the fallen and asleep body at the back of the tent, the bare and sweaty back turned to them. The screams of Gwenda when the witch started the work... Ethan couldn''t bear it, he had left the tent before she asked the old woman to stop.

    ¡ª You want to see her suffer.

    Ethan turned to the witch, calculating if it really wasn''t a question. He felt anger rising up his neck.

    ¡ª I don''t...

    ¡ª Or you would hand her over to him.

    ¡ª I thought you''d be on my side.

    ¡ª There are no sides in this game, Mr. Schndyer. ¡ª The witch sipped her soup cautiously, making noises as if bubbles were popping.

    Ethan just stared at her, but she looked at the coconut in her slender hands.

    His surname hadn''t been used in a while, but Ethan didn''t shrink when it was pronounced as he thought he would. She interrupted the noise to speak:

    ¡ª The only sensible thing here is to accept the right path, the path of destiny. And this girl''s is far from being completed.

    ¡ª You see the future now, madam? ¡ª he mocked.

    She moved the coconut away from her now moist mouth and wrinkled her nose even more.

    ¡ª Mr. Schndyer, are you messing with my powers and abilities?

    He didn''t hide the smirk, but commented:

    ¡ª Not all destinies are the right path.

    ¡ª Correct. ¡ª she said ¡ª But there''s no other besides this one.

    ¡ª Then let me create another.

    The witch blinked.

    ¡ª You want to go beyond what''s possible, child. Like it or not, if you want to fulfill yours, let her fulfill hers. Or things will unravel.

    Ethan lowered his head, looking at the feet right below him.

    ¡ª It''s not that simple. I''ve spent over a century looking for her.

    ¡ª She''s not the right person, you know that. ¡ª Ethan thought hard if he shouldn''t stand up and leave with Gwenda. ¡ª And you weren''t looking for anyone, you were looking for the feeling and comfort.

    ¡ª Which she''ll give me.

    ¡ª But deep down, it''s the soul that will share yours that matters, not the presence.

    ¡ª Nonsense.

    ¡ª Nonsense is you, you sack of garlic. ¡ª the witch resumed sipping her soup.

    Ethan grunted at her, but the woman seemed not to notice or care as she continued with that bubble-like noise. Then he turned to Gwenda and ran his eyes over her back and down to the hip and legs covered by the sheets.

    Gwenda was the presence. Her presence drove Ethan crazy, hungry... but it wasn''t Gwenda who shared the soul, it wasn''t her who belonged to him. And he hated that. Ethan was tired of searching for more, for what was his. Gwenda was there, in front of him, he had found a part of himself, but not the one that would fill him entirely.

    What if there was no one else but Gwenda? At least not anymore.

    Gwenda and he were connected by a thread, but there was another in Ethan, a stronger and more potent one, connecting him with someone else. And if that person were alive, how would he know if they would work out? If there would be love? Did he at least want love from someone who didn''t have the same personality as him?

    Ethan sighed. Gwenda was his best option, and he wasn''t in a position to lose her.

 26

    The towers were alert to any strange movement during the day and night. After losing one of them, security doubled. And when Darcy examined the arrows in the dead soldiers from Tower sector 6, she had only one answer, and she didn''t like it at all.

    The same arrows that killed Trytan and those in the carriage, which meant that perhaps these murders led directly to someone Raux didn''t want to admit. But anyway, what would she lose if she went after it and ended it once and for all? Gwenda was no longer here, so Darcy wouldn''t feel restrained to do so, she could go to that casino and leave it in ruins. After all, everything pointed to him, to the man who destroyed Gwenda''s mental health. Or rather, one of them.

    But she couldn''t...

    If she came face to face with Rubben, what exactly would she do? Maybe she would turn around, unable to look at his face and see all the evil he had done to her agent, accompanied by the monster''s laughter in his footsteps.

    There is so much in the shadows, so much that was hidden from Matchstone, that Darcy began to feel in her soul, as if she were in Gwenda''s place. So advancing against the agent''s enemies wasn''t an action she could take, she didn''t have the strength for it.

    They were almost at the end. She might have ended up in the right hands, but now... there was probably no escape.

    ¡ª Raux. ¡ª Someone called her, and she turned in the direction of the voice.

    Ramelia was standing there, studying the sector 3 boss from top to bottom. Her friend.

    ¡ª I was just thinking.

    ¡ª You know there''s a way to win this. ¡ª Ramelia spoke right after.

    Darcy shook her head.

    ¡ª I don''t know. There''s a storm coming, we don''t know what the costs will be. ¡ª She made a point to step away from Gwenda''s grave.

    Ramelia reached out and stopped Raux.

    They took a while to look at each other, but the sector 9 boss dragged her hand to the colleague''s shoulder and held it firmly. Darcy looked at that affectionate touch.

    ¡ª The costs are the same. ¡ª Ramelia replied ¡ª Just more stringent. We must be ready.

    Raux looked up at her friend. That lively fire in Ramelia''s pale eyes always left Darcy weak, just wanting that same fire to run through her own body. But was tired. And nothing was in her body, not even in her mind. Just empty.

    She removed Ramelia''s hand from her shoulder.

    ¡ª We don''t need to pay when we can avoid it.

    Darcy stepped away.

    ¡ª You yourself said that Gwenda made her choice, now we''re just cleaning up the mess she left behind.

    It''s true. She had said that in the meeting, she had thrown a bomb at someone who was particularly dead but...

    Raux ran her fingers over her mouth, a habit she had when she was irritated.

    ¡ª And you said you could handle it. You sent your agents to investigate Rubben. You sent Ethan Sinclair to do that job, didn''t you? If you want to blame someone for the consequences of Gwenda''s actions, blame Rubben, blame Arth Cheack, blame Yago Matchstone, Mary Jane Oxwinder, the last ranger, blame ¨¢tila Killian, but don''t you dare point the finger at Gwenda when any life she may have had has been destroyed. And who is Ethan Sinclair? An agent with a merchant mother. An absurd story, a complete lie. Unreal. ¡ª Raux wasn''t sure if she was breathing ¡ª Where was he that morning? Where was Ethan Sinclair when the damn arena was about to collapse long ago? Where was he when Gwenda was killed? ¡ª Darcy kicked a gravestone, which shattered ¡ª You have no idea how much I wanted to be there. ¡ª She pointed to the ground, to what was under the earth ¡ª Now, in this moment, where it seems like a sanctuary for disturbed minds, the silence that many desire. Are you getting it? I''ve lost everything, all that''s left to me is a bunch of shit.

    Ramelia stared at her, immobile. She was letting Raux vent, she realized, letting her remove that lethal hatred she felt for the lies told and failed fights.

    In that meeting, Darcy felt mourning turn into relief, which turned into fear, which turned into pain and hatred. The feeling of revenge had never been as strong as at that moment.

    There was a reason she had put Gwenda and Ryxer to work together. Keeping the agent in line had always been difficult, but maybe... maybe Ryxer''s past canceled out hers and the friendship between the two made her mentally healthier. Nonsense, it had always been nonsense. She still couldn''t believe she had the courage to think like that.

    Yes, Rubben had hired someone strong, had found someone, and Ethan Sinclair had gone to solve it, just as Ramelia had claimed. But, something didn''t make sense, didn''t fit. Darcy was trying to fit the wrong piece of the puzzle, but couldn''t find the right one, there was no way. She was... she was tired.

    For the first time in a long time, she admitted it. She was terribly tired.

    Raux took a deep breath, feeling the cemetery air pierce her lungs.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    They hid something in the meeting. Ramelia hid something from Darcy, they all hid. The three of them hid. Deb was too quiet, even if it was something normal.

    They knew the arrows were Rubben''s from the beginning. Darcy knew, and yet she didn''t tell Gwenda, she couldn''t see her agent go after the man who left her in ashes, she couldn''t see her more destroyed than that. A cowardly, selfish act, and she still would have avoided revealing something like that several times. Gwenda could be caught, imprisoned as soon as she set foot on Rubben''s property. Or even killed. And Raux... she couldn''t bear it.

    Nothing beyond what Darcy knew was discussed in the meeting. She couldn''t figure out who was hired to assassinate Trytan and his companions in the carriage, but Rubben was involved, and she couldn''t let it slide.

    And Vannyer would do something stupid, of course. Rubben could be very persuasive, and when it came to Ryxer, Gwenda''s old colleague, things could get messy. She had handed the Trytan case to him, maybe then he would gather more concrete evidence of something Darcy hadn''t seen. Raux blamed herself for basically using her agent, but she had to do what was necessary.

    ¡ª I know you want your unattainable eternal rest, Darcy.

    The way Ramelia pronounced her name. Raux swallowed hard.

    ¡ª I know. But what... what about her? ¡ª Darcy didn''t need much time to understand that Ramelia was talking about Gwenda. ¡ª What about me?

    Her legs trembled, but Darcy didn''t look in her direction.

    She hadn''t thought about that. She didn''t even have Ramelia in mind when she left, when she could finally rest.

    ¡ª You be happy for me. ¡ª she replied, then she faced her friend. ¡ª You be happy.

    ¡ª There''s no happiness in that.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª Raux agreed. ¡ª There isn''t.

    Darcy turned around, walking bent among the tombstones, through the fog that was forming in the late afternoon.

    This would end, one way or another, it would end.

    <hr>

    She had arrived at the sector as the stars began to emerge, one by one, praying for a body, pleading not to destroy destiny, screaming for a pure soul.

    Darcy closed her eyes as she slumped into her armchair in front of the desk full of paperwork. Contracts, invoices, letters, everything scattered around. She blinked once towards Gwenda''s will, the money she left to her cousin. Bruce closed Pentaneon Taurus for a few days, claiming he couldn''t stay in that place without remembering what he had done. Gwenda had given him a chance, and he had spent it well, until she was gone and Bruce withdrew again. Darcy didn''t blame him; she had felt the same.

    Raux sighed, running her hand through her short red hair as she thought.

    She was alone in the sector tonight. She had let Ryxer go home; there was no reason for him to stay down there anymore. Darcy had spent a long time sorting through Gwenda''s things the day after she received the news. But now... now she wondered what the point of all this was. The lie in the meeting, the secrets, and all the events since Gwenda left.

    Rubben, as far as Raux knew, had confined himself to his own casino, locking doors and disappearing completely. Rumors about such behavior were everywhere. Gwenda was on everyone''s lips, which annoyed Raux.

    The arena exploded with the Shooter.

    Darcy Raux''s servant died.

    So young...

    Must have gone to hell, that arrogant bitch.

    They''re going to seek justice for her, I think it''s a waste of time. There are more needy people.

    Gwenda Matchstone? Her father was hanged, and her mother burned.

    Years without hearing this name... and suddenly, a shooter and competitor starts winning consecutive gold fractions, besides being a cheeky agent and a son of a bitch.

    Shooter without honor.

    Poor Yago Matchstone...

    And that was the last straw for Raux.

    The people simply tarnished Gwenda''s image, without an ounce of feeling for those who loved her. Gods, Darcy loved her. Gwenda was like a younger sister, her last relative whom her heart was connected to, and she let slip through her fingers. There was nothing more she could do to mitigate the damage. She believed everything was weak, but now it was just ruins flashing in Darcy''s eyes.

    A pang of pain snaked through Raux''s chest, in her heart, a welcome pain, welcomed with open arms. She rubbed her face with her hands.

    She had gone to the Oracle years ago, received the long story of a part of her life. And to this day, even after so long, it still screamed in her mind, spun in her orbits, and begged for a solution that Raux couldn''t find. It was far from being reached, very difficult to reach out for the answer. But she couldn''t give up, not yet.

    Ethan Sinclair hadn''t gone to the sector, and he showed up with a wounded eye after the explosion. At Gwenda''s funeral, he was there, his expression so dark and indecipherable that Darcy ignored thinking too much about it, about the fact that he might have something to do with it. But Ramelia protected Ethan in the meeting. Deb was steering the conversation in another direction, towards Rubben. And Darcy began to get irritated, but she accepted taking the situation straight to the neck of the man who destroyed Gwenda in every way she could find before selling her to Darcy.

    Arth Cheack wasn''t even mentioned. Ethan Sinclair was out of the question. But Raux saw how they reacted to the name, as nervous as a deer being watched.

    The boss sighed, closing her eyes and sinking deeper as she reached for a heavy, tired hand to a piece of paper. She pulled it from under others and placed it in front of her, then picked up a quill, but left it hovering over the paper.

    Shouldn''t.

    Darcy gritted her teeth and began, signing what she should have done long ago. She hadn''t trusted her instincts, had thought about giving up and letting it go, but now there was no room in her body and mind for surrender.

    It didn''t take long for him to arrive. The heart of the meeting, the one who called everyone together. In the darkness where only a weak lantern was lit in the corner of Darcy''s table, a body almost twice her size entered through the door, thumping his feet on the floor in a reassuring march. The hood covering his face as he always liked to do. The scent of coppery jasmine tingled Raux''s nostrils, and she felt her head spinning.

    She watched as he placed his firm, smooth-skinned fingers over the paper and pulled it off the table. She watched as he turned around, without a thank you or goodbye, without a single word from that hoarse and attractive voice, vocal cords that the gods molded with their own hands.

    And she continued to watch as he had already left for the street and disappeared into the shadows of the night, following where his cruel choice commanded him to go.

    Darcy just took a deep breath and closed her eyes as the tear slid down her right cheek. Cold and lonely.

 27

    What''s the point of victory if you can''t enjoy it?

    Do the same to her as you did to us. End this...

    Be patient, my Lord...

    Exterminate her.

    Ethan held the dagger close to his wrist, staring at what he was about to do. But it wasn''t because of fear of pain or anything else, it had never been that, or because he wouldn''t recover as quickly as he would like. But because...

    ¡ª Ethan?

    He dropped the dagger on the couch before getting up quickly and practically staggering towards the bed where Gwenda was lying.

    Because of her.

    ¡ª How do you feel? ¡ª he asked, swallowing hard.

    Damn it, he was giving in too much.

    Gwenda grunted, which could very well have been a groan.

    ¡ª Weak.

    Sinclair relaxed and approached, sitting on the edge of the mattress as Gwenda slowly sat up.

    She stared at him, and for a moment, he almost needed to step back again to not touch her, not embrace her against him. But he stood firm. That denial in his blood every time fire dragged him into thoughts where Gwenda was with him, touching him. He could bear a little more. A few more days keeping this to himself, that roar in his ears warning about who Gwenda was and what she meant to Ethan.

    ¡ª Are you hungry? ¡ª he asked, feeling his indecent male form draining away and leaving only concern ¡ª I left the meat...

    Gwenda shook her head, and he couldn''t help but scan her body with his eyes. She recoiled in response.

    But she was pale and weak, she needed to eat. And what the witch took from her the day before... The screams still frightened him, and he wouldn''t be surprised if his hair was in an impossible tangle. He had bathed Gwenda asleep, clothes and all, but he hadn''t taken his own. He hadn''t even slept.

    ¡ª I... ¡ª she started ¡ª That witch...

    ¡ª She relieved you of the back pains. ¡ª Ethan concluded for her, proud of his old friend.

    Gwenda let out a shaky sigh, and he just watched as she swallowed hard. Perhaps she was grateful, relieved, both. It was the second time he had seen Gwenda wake up disoriented, not understanding a damn thing, lost in her own conclusions. Ethan felt weak, exhausted, and seeing her like this drove him out of his mind.

    ¡ª I wanted to believe it was possible ¡ª she said ¡ª My father...

    ¡ª Your father didn''t have the cure. His power had nothing to do with the cure. He didn''t know anything.

    Ethan''s expression turned serious as he stood up and ran his hands through his hair, searching for the words that Gwenda would probably like to hear. Of course, the word didn''t go unnoticed by her.

    ¡ª How can you be so sure, you don''t even know him.

    ¡ª He wasn''t a healer, and he was of little use in a kingdom without magic.

    ¡ª If you''re trying to destroy something about my father, then you''re wasting your time.

    Because he died years ago. Yes, Ethan knew. Yago Matchstone... hanged to death.

    ¡ª I don''t want to destroy anything.

    In fact, he wanted to build. Build a small bond with Gwenda, a bond that only she could give him.

    ¡ª He was human, what does magic have to do with it? Healers with magic are called mystics, if you''re wondering.

    Ethan chuckled. Even weak and clumsy, Gwenda wanted to keep her tongue sharp, Ethan realized. Especially with him.

    ¡ª How did you know my father?

    A light question, without the venom in the words as Ethan had seen Gwenda direct at him before. Ethan leaned his hands on the sink and sighed silently.

    ¡ª I met him two or three times. ¡ª He paused and turned to her ¡ª Maybe six times.

    Gwenda narrowed her eyes for a brief second.

    ¡ª He never mentioned anything ¡ª she replied ¡ª Not even in his diaries.

    ¡ª He had diaries? ¡ª Ethan raised an eyebrow ¡ª Interesting.

    ¡ª How you two met. ¡ª It wasn''t a question this time.

    ¡ª I first met him in the imperial lands of Alphardj. We had a deep conversation. ¡ª Ethan smirked ¡ª Of course, if he had asked, I would have set him free, but that wasn''t the case.

    Gwenda seemed even more confused, and a line about to break reminded Ethan to keep his damn feet on the ground, to stop being so defensive. It was Gwenda, not just anyone.

    ¡ª Why would my father be in the imperial lands?

    ¡ª Because he lived there for a few years, Scar. ¡ª Ethan almost rolled his eyes. It was a secret of inexplicable size that he was about to reveal, but he couldn''t do that to her. He should go easy, be patient.

    Sinclair approached, his eyes on Gwenda''s. She didn''t look away, neither did he, he didn''t want to stop looking at her.

    ¡ª There are things I suppose your father never told you.

    ¡ª And how would you know. ¡ª Her voice was lifeless, defeated. Perhaps disappointed that he knew something and she didn''t.

    Ethan cursed himself for not being able to do anything, for being in a kingdom without magic, with only a miserable crack in the wall allowing the salvation of worlds to enter. Magic. Pure and full of light magic.

    ¡ª Remember what I said about my highly heroic journey? ¡ª The ironic smile took shape again on his face as he crawled across the mattress and sat next to Gwenda. Calculated and dangerous movements, ready to pounce as soon as she gave him an opening. She pretended to think.

    ¡ª I guess a part or two ¡ª she lied, and Ethan''s chest tightened with amusement ¡ª but nothing about deserts, volcanoes, or Dominique''s jungles. You traveled to the Opposite Continent more than you wandered in Alphardj, apparently.

    Gwenda narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned in closer, challenging him. Ethan''s eyes fell on her dry lips. He knew Gwenda could see the eagerness in that look, so much so that he didn''t hide it.

    ¡ª What did you mean about setting him free? ¡ª she asked, serious.

    Ethan''s throat dried up further as she recoiled with a passing breeze, briefly revealing the bare thigh she rubbed against the comforter.

    ¡ª Your father clearly had his ways of meddling with the wrong gods, I would just help him.

    ¡ª And what did you want in return?

    Gwenda''s face was unreadable.

    But because she thought that... Ethan rubbed his eyes.

    Indeed, he asked for something in return. It wouldn''t be him if he didn''t ask for such a thing. But Yago Matchstone knew him, knew the deaths he had left behind, knew his past like everyone else in Telomeron knew. Rumors spread throughout Alphardj as he fled from Deb and Ramelia, until the entire continent knew of his existence.

    The Opposite Continent was the only place where he might possibly live in peace, but everything seemed to start again. The money that changed hands, that they paid him to kill someone... he, for his own good, wouldn''t refuse. But he needed to know the story, the reason for eliminating such a target.

    But that went too far, and that continent also knew too much about him, and it would be much worse if he stayed there, in a territory that didn''t completely belong to him. He was from Telomeron, always had been.

    ¡ª A life that I could live without... being afraid.

    Gwenda remained motionless. Then she let out a laugh that Ethan had to look at her. The smile almost undid him right there.

    ¡ª The do-it-all from sector 9, after traveling miles and more miles in a few years, is afraid of something? Look, I think you''re going too far with these lies.

    ¡ª It''s not a lie, Scar. ¡ª Ethan started to lose patience and moved away from her. The absence of her body hit him hard and almost knocked him down.

    He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he twiddled the ring on his index finger back and forth, the green emerald shining under the lamplight.

    If Gwenda was even considering that it was a lie... Ethan didn''t know how he felt about that, how, then, he should reveal certain things to her. He knew he had to go slowly, but it was impossible to reveal something that he would have to see the little glint in her eyes vanish. A glint that still remained.

    Ethan gritted his teeth until he swore one would chip. If he met Rubben one more time, that man would be as screwed as anyone else Ethan had gutted or dismembered.

    ¡ª What are you afraid of?

    The question came out with a plea that Ethan heard well. Weak, yet vivid. Concern wrapped around her words, almost hidden by Gwenda''s tongue, but recognizable to Ethan. His throat closed up.

    He looked at the floor beyond his hands and swallowed hard. He was thinking about whether he would tell her, whether he could let go of it. And, once again, he forced himself to remember that it was Gwenda.

    ¡ª Of losing what I''ve gained. Losing what is meant to be mine. I needed his word that destiny would lead me to it. ¡ª To you ¡ª But he denied it. He said he''d rather waste away than accept that I found my way here. ¡ª To you.

    Ethan tensed his jaw, irritated with himself. Because Yago didn''t want his daughter to come across a murderer, he didn''t want his influence over Gwenda Matchstone, mainly because she would be the last ranger and she needed to focus on rebuilding the Guardians of the Infernal Beasts, bringing species back, just like peace.

    And because Ethan wasn''t the right person.

    ¡ª Why would my father tell you something like that? Why were you after him, and how the hell was he in the imperial lands? He wouldn''t be able to pass the wall, and much less have liked what were on the other side.

    ¡ª Your father is a different man, I admit. A bit peculiar. ¡ª Ethan still fiddled with the emerald ring as he let out a chuckle ¡ª He wanted freedom, I could provide it, but Yago didn''t like what I asked in return. He preferred to stay where he was, mistreating himself, rather than giving information to a cruel and bitter assassin who has been crawling in blood for years. And freedom is something that many don''t have the head to think about much. Freedom is divine. And your father chose to protect an unborn hope rather than have that power, feel the taste of the best feeling one could have.

    ¡ª What hope are you talking about?

    She didn''t even wait to ask.

    ¡ª You ¡ª he said, then ¡ª Daughter of Yago Matchstone, the Oracle, and Mary Jane Oxwinder, the last ranger in all of history. And finally, Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder, the hope of a new ranger era and the Infernal Beasts, as well as the heir of the Oracle. The hope for peace in the world. Are you up for knowing about your future? ¡ª Ethan turned to her with an arrogant smile, coming face to face with a shocked and pale face. ¡ª Because I''m dying to hear it.

    <hr>

    Gwenda would have burst into laughter if she hadn''t seen the gleam in Ethan''s eyes. Hope.

    Heir of the Oracle...

    So many stories she had already heard. What he was fated to live and to be.

    Gwenda would have laughed if her chest hadn''t started to ache, sickened by what had been revealed. Her destiny was in her hands, all she had to do was guide it towards success. Heir of the Oracle and the hope of the rangers. Hope of the Infernal Beasts.

    She was Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder and no matter what she said or did, she would never cease to be who she had always been.

    ¡ª You can''t be serious. ¡ª Gwenda''s voice stumbled, caught in her throat.

    Ethan nodded once.

    ¡ª Very serious. Although you still need a lot of training ahead, I admit we can achieve it. You and me.

    ¡ª What do you have to do with this? ¡ª She didn''t want to have asked, but could barely hold back.

    ¡ª A lot, Scar.

    Scar. A name that meant nothing. A name that meant no heir to anything and hope for nothing. Just... Scar.

    ¡ª My father... ¡ª she began, not knowing how she wanted to finish this sentence, but there was no choice ¡ª He was human.

    Ethan let out a sigh that Gwenda saw as impatience, but then he relaxed and looked at her. The charming face.

    ¡ª Yago Matchstone had his secrets.

    She swallowed hard.

    She had always heard that the Oracle wasn''t human, much less any other creature. It was just... the Oracle. Books flashed in her mind, the days she spent in the library with the table piled with pages on top of others.

    She frowned as she looked at Ethan. She was trembling, but she forced herself to stand firm. This went against everything she had ever believed, her entire journey was turning against her. The spilled blood left behind was now rubbing in her face, showing what she had done to her own people.

    Gwenda got out of bed quickly, breathing heavily. As soon as she stood up, her head spun once... twice. Ethan was already there, asking her to lie down. But his voice was nothing compared to the screams in her mind.

    Liar. Murderer.

    Soaked shadows passed in front of her, devouring her common sense. Laughter she knew well entered her ears.

    Murderer.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    You''re just like your father.

    Because her father always carried a weapon everywhere. Her father... who said there was no need to be afraid to defend oneself. And that included death.

    Gwenda wriggled away from Ethan enough to take two steps towards the exit. She wanted air. Fresh air. She stopped abruptly the exact moment a hand closed around her elbow and pulled her back, colliding with a firm body. Sinclair''s voice was all around, everywhere.

    But that wasn''t what made her stop running.

    On the balcony, where the two doors were open, a woman was there. Standing and smiling at Gwenda. That smile was familiar to her. It was... Gwenda''s own smile.

    Mary Jane let out a low laugh, running her tongue over one of her pointed canines as she stared at her daughter in the arms of someone like her. Assassin.

    You deserve him. You both deserve each other.

    But Ethan killed to survive, to have power. Gwenda... Gwenda killed because she always believed it was her job, what she needed to do to earn the pride of the dead. Of her father. And now she was here, lamenting as if there were no end.

    Tears began to well up in Gwenda''s eyes, her mother''s silhouette becoming increasingly blurred.

    Gwenda. A bitter laugh.

    What a joke.

    She closed her eyes, letting the tear cleanse the pain.

    Gwenda.

    Yes, that was her name. But she didn''t deserve it.

    Gwen...

    Scar.

    Scar. There it was, a life she should start over. A name that meant nothing, it was just a name.

    Scar...

    Gwenda.

    Scar.

    She opened her eyes. Her mother had disappeared. The balcony doors closed again.

    ¡ª Scar. ¡ª Ethan called her once again.

    A pleading noise escaped her throat as she fell to her knees, feeling the wood beneath her hollow bones. She was hollow.

    ¡ª Scar. ¡ª He knelt beside her, holding her face and turning it towards his. Their eyes met, and despair infested Sinclair''s. ¡ª What was there? ¡ª She tried to remove his hands, turning her face to the side. He didn''t allow it. ¡ª Scar, stop. Look at me. What did you see?

    Ethan''s voice was calm, affectionate, despite the furrowed brow and the eyes that didn''t leave hers. ¡ª My mother ¡ª she whispered softly, hoarsely

    ¡ª I... ¡ª She couldn''t stop the next tears from falling ¡ª I dishonored them... all of them... ¡ª She whispered, as if someone could emerge from the shadows and take her to the hell where the hands of the corpses once led her in her nightmares. ¡ª I killed them. ¡ª Her eyes were wide, incredulous at what she was admitting to herself ¡ª I killed my people. Assassinated them.

    Ethan''s face was impassive as he moved his eyes over hers. Searching for something, she realized.

    ¡ª Scar, you... ¡ª But he stopped himself from continuing, shaking his head at something she couldn''t decipher.

    Invisible claws of pain tore through her chest, letting her own blood and that of many others gush out. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. There was nothing more she could do, nothing Ethan would say would make any difference. She trembled under his hands.

    Sinclair sat on the floor, pulling her head to his chest. She felt one of his hands stroke her hair while the other comfortably adjusted her body against his. But she remained curled up like a ball, knees pressed to her body and trembling hands over her own pounding and faltering heart.

    She felt Ethan turn away from the bed, leaning against it, and he brought her with him. He put his feet on the ground around her, his knees raised like a protective barrier. His chin was resting on top of her head.

    ¡ª Your parents weren''t human.

    She sobbed.

    A series of emotions passed through her body, and she curled up even more. The arms around her tightened.

    ¡ª Your mother was born in Wild Winds ¡ª he continued ¡ª Where the purest breezes of Alphardj roam the flowered hills and magic sings back, both dancing in synchrony, one shaping the other. ¡ª A fresh rain began outside, calming her nerves ¡ª A fey amidst worrying choices. To stay with her family that raised her, or to go in search of her own. She went from kingdom to kingdom to train her skills until she could be welcomed at the Untouched Palace. When she did, the war was starting to unfold slowly. What she would carry in her womb was hope, so when everything collapsed into ashes, Mary Jane Oxwinder fled instead of staying. She was the last ranger for a long time before she met Yago Matchstone. ¡ª She lifted her head, feeling the side of her face touch Ethan''s warm skin, just below his chin. ¡ª Your father was born in Carliotis, around the Celestial Volcanoes and the floating embers. ¡ª His throat reverberated as he revealed ¡ª He lived among tribes of witches and was trained by them for many years until he discovered who he was. The Oracle roamed the imperial lands, seeking a place he could call home. It was destined for him to remain hidden, waiting for company. But that drove him crazy, he had few chances to escape and venture out before being sentenced to a cave near the volcanoes. The gods gave him mirrors so he could have his own company, he and only he living as one.

    Ethan paused for a second, and Gwenda closed her eyes. He continued:

    ¡ª Until your mother appeared, breaking down the barriers and reaching her beloved, saving him from his own curse. When conceiving you, they needed to find a place to lodge where they could protect their daughter with claws and teeth. Protect from the evil Alphardj would find if they knew there was a way for the Infernal Beasts to come back to life. The Oracle saw his future, knew you were the last hope of a better future to unite the races. He couldn''t let them lay a finger on you. Hunters outside Carsany couldn''t know about the existence of the ranger''s hope, just like any king or queen. Finding a home in Carsany was a clever act, locking the information inside the kingdom. Making deals with powerful people to keep the secret of the return of a long-lost era. ¡ª She felt Ethan swallow hard ¡ª And here we are.

    The ensuing silence was comforting. He moved his thumb on her ankle and shivers kissed her bones from top to bottom. His body was warm under hers and she breathed deeply, feeling Ethan''s heartbeat, the faint thunder outside mixing with the warm beats. The rain fell on the roof and the wind invaded the place through the cracks in the windows and doors, making her shiver.

    She closed her eyes and delicately wiped away a tear with her fingers.

    Her mother was a fey from Wild Winds, Telomeron, the neighboring kingdom of Carsany. While her father came from the imperial lands, Carliotis.

    She couldn''t feel anything other than pain or longing, hatred for herself, and terror of what she had done. She dishonored her parents and everything they represented. How many of those she killed were from the same lands? Mystics... people... it was all the same. How could she see it any other way?

    Guilt covered her like it had never covered her before, her shoulders began to weigh down and Ethan seemed to feel what ran through her body, as he held her tighter until she was chest to chest with him, feeling the scent of eucalyptus and honey, allowing it to permeate her lungs.

    Her father hid the true meaning of all that protection, and she felt rotten inside, someone who didn''t deserve the life her parents left behind in her hands. It was hard to think she was the hope of an entire species, of a ritual where every creature from all corners could participate. Being a ranger meant being a guardian, without belittling others. Because every ranger accepts their own and doesn''t care where they came from and what they are. Being a ranger meant peace between races.

    And Gwenda had become the opposite.

    It was time to change.

    Despite all the hatred for the mystics she had accumulated over the years, and now she had found out that she was one of them herself, everything remained quiet. The voice in her head was in eternal quietude, as if it had never existed, shocked by the revelation. The weight on her mind was empty, it was only peace and silence...

    She took a deep breath, feeling the power of having the control she never had, feeling the presence of that power, yet quiet. She swallowed hard before asking, softly as if she didn''t know how to pronounce the words correctly:

    ¡ª How do you know all of this?

    There was nothing in any book she had ventured into when she was younger. Nothing about the life of a last ranger and the relationship with the Oracle. Until now, all she knew was that rangers had left and her mother was just a human woman from the ranger lineage, and that the Oracle was just a solitary creature that tore out its own eyes so it didn''t have to see itself in the mirrors.

    She would bring the guardians back, she would make the Untouched Palace grow again. And all of this... was something of immeasurable value that couldn''t fall into the wrong hands. She knew that well. And the fact that the king is after it, left her in panic. Maybe dying as Gwenda was a good thing, and all because of Ethan. Because he probably knew from the beginning, because maybe he knows what the king is planning. And she knew enough about Ethan to believe he wouldn''t use her for his own good.

    At least she wanted her assumption about him to be right, or she would suffer more at Ethan''s hands than at the king''s.

    Ethan closed his legs around her a bit tighter in response and lowered his chin in front of her face. His forehead touched his cheek, and when he spoke, his breath caressed her lips.

    ¡ª Because your father made me promise that this story would be remembered, and that you would know how much he loved her.

    He lifted his head, stepping back.

    Empty tears rolled down her face, slowly descending until they reached her jaw. But her breath slowed, her heart raced. Something didn''t fit, it didn''t make sense...

    She moved away from him, and Ethan allowed it, letting his arms fall inertly around her. His eyes were ablaze with a hungry flame, his expression unreadable.

    Her chest was filled with anxiety and fear, her heart racing mercilessly.

    ¡ª You are one of them ¡ª she asserted.

    Ethan slowly closed his eyes, but not before she could decipher the truth in that look, the sadness.

    He was one of them. A mystic. He was like her.

    She was one of them. Everything crumbled and she shuddered as she felt Ethan''s hand caress her spine.

    ¡ª I am.

    That was enough, and she found herself in a completely different world. But now she was someone else... a new someone. And she could start over. Ethan was giving her a chance. Whatever he was, he was giving her a chance to start over and recreate what was lost.

    The denial of the assassin voice in her head began, screaming and writhing inside her, as if it held her face and shouted inches away: Stop, it''s all a lie. Don''t believe.

    She took the air she lacked in her lungs, her mouth trembling.

    He opened his eyes. A formidable gleam hit her, capturing her senses in a single blow, making her yield to something she feared and killed. But what he showed now, there in that look... was forgiveness. Forgiving her for what she did and didn''t do. Because now it was a fresh start. Gwenda was dead. And most importantly, she was seeing forgiveness in someone''s eyes after a long time.

    She cried, letting the tears sweep away the hatred and allowing something good to take over. But she was empty.

    ¡ª I''m sorry...

    Before she could even finish whispering, Ethan pulled her towards him and pressed his lips to hers.

    Her stomach tied in knots. Butterflies exploded through her body like a kick. She had no idea how she should react to this, if she should react. But when he pulled away to look into her eyes, searching for something that could allow him to continue what he was doing, all she could think of was the reason she hadn''t done this before.

    Her hands flew to each side of Ethan''s face and then she kissed him. Intense and fierce, desperate for it, for what he could give her and vice versa. She opened her mouth when his tongue brushed her lips in an invitation, and let out a low, hoarse sound as it slid over hers. Ethan helped her onto his lap, one knee on each side of his legs. His firm hands roamed her body from top to bottom, wandering over her curves she felt insecure about. But the possessive touch seemed to penetrate the thin fabric of her nightgown, Ethan''s cold and trembling fingers made her shiver.

    He lowered his mouth and kissed her neck, nibbled her jaw while his fingers dug into her hair in a caress she had no choice but to surrender to.

    Then she thrust his hips forward and she felt him underneath his pants. Ethan let out a moan from the depths of his throat that made her name on his lips just a purr.

    ¡ª Scar... ¡ª And he sought her mouth again.

    Scar. Yes, a new name. A new life. That''s what she needed, what she had sought for years.

    Yes. A little voice screamed in her head. A friendly little voice. Scar.

    Being called that wasn''t so bad. Changing her name didn''t seem to be a terrible thing. It was just... a new way of seeing things. Yes. She would see things the right way, move forward even with guilt corroding her. She could regain her place in the world. A place that she had lost already, but that she would regain.

    Once again, she rubbed against him.

    Ethan responded with a touch as he slid his hands under her nightgown, groping her bare skin, in search of that comfort and warmth. She wanted the same, she wanted him. So she grabbed the bottom hem and took off his shirt before kissing him again, caressing the scars on his abdomen.

    Ethan shuddered under her hand and she made sure to move away, but Sinclair held her wrist and slowly brought her hand back until the entire palm was touching him, feeling the warmth of his body.

    ¡ª Please, don''t pull away.

    Scar saw the plea in his eyes, in the words that made her melt completely. It wasn''t just now when she felt that maybe he didn''t want to be touched on past wounds tattooed on his skin, but rather that it was not to move away not now and never.

    She rested her forehead against his and put her free hand on his face. Then she shook her head slightly.

    ¡ª I won''t.

    That was enough for Ethan to seek her lips again. His mouth was in sync with hers when he bit Ethan''s lower lip. There was fire between them, alive and treacherous, something that Scar had never felt and didn''t want to stop. He ran his tongue over her teeth, on the roof of her mouth... tasting more and more.

    Until the nightgown bunched up around her hips. The thin straps fell to the sides before she could stop them, and fear took over. Fear and shame hit her face, but her heart calmed down again as soon as she saw Ethan''s devouring gaze on her, so bright and hungry that Scar could have reached the peak at that moment.

    She always had insecurities. She never felt completely comfortable in her own body but couldn''t avoid desire. But here... right in front of Ethan and feeling his eyes on her as if he were touching her...

    They told her it was just in her head. She saw a figure that wasn''t herself, some problem that settled in her mind from the moment some trauma occurred when she was younger.

    Scar opened her mouth to say something, but only a moan escaped her throat when Ethan kissed her again and took a hand to one of her breasts, squeezing and caressing. Her breathing slowed down, heavy, when he began to circle his index finger around her nipple. She curled her toes and surrendered to that kiss.

    The hands moved from his shoulders and went further down, feeling the robust skin with scars under her own calluses. She scraped her nails on his chest and abdomen before going to his arms and squeezing the muscles, the heat breaking something inside her.

    Ethan''s body stuck to hers, and that warm wall he was fictioned against her breasts took her breath away. When he pulled his mouth away from hers, Ethan moved away enough to stand up, taking her with him, her legs around his waist. She almost let out a murmur of admiration.

    He laid her down on the bed and began to nibble on her neck, kiss, and lick while holding her breasts. His hands went down further, shaping her curves, and his mouth captured one of her nipples. Scar moaned, more like a pleading sob, and arched her body towards Ethan, wanting more.

    A cruel little laugh escaped his lips, and the tremor against her skin made Scar close her legs around him and pull him towards her to feel him, to have him against her.

    ¡ª How desperate you are. ¡ª he purred, and went down again, preventing her from being able to respond.

    One of Ethan''s hands went down between their bodies, and Scar held her breath. A guttural noise escaped him when he realized she was without anything underneath, and a grim smile opened on her face before she pulled him until their lips were intertwined again.

    Scar moaned, as if that had opened something in Ethan, he became fierce, intensifying the kiss and digging his fingers into Scar''s body, as if he wanted to leave his mark on her.

    Scar''s heart sped up, warning her. But it was Ethan, and she was allowing it, so she told her heart to calm down, even though the damage was already done. She tensed, but Ethan may not have noticed when he pressed his thumb on that point. Scar dug her nails into his back and held back the moan.

    Ethan placed a kiss on her lips before speaking, his breath controlled:

    ¡ª I''ve imagined this moment for a long time.

    She couldn''t respond, her body was deciding whether to stiffen at his touch or not. Scar''s throat closed up.

    Ethan stopped the caresses and everything, and stared at her, his forehead resting against hers.

    She closed her eyes.

    ¡ª Sorry.

    Ethan held her chin, but patiently waited until she opened her eyes again to say:

    ¡ª Don''t apologize, Scar.

    She exhaled before burying her fingers in his hair and kissing him, invading his mouth with her tongue and allowing him to do the same.

    Slowly, the caresses started to come back. Ethan held one of her thighs as he brought his mouth down her neck, sucking on the skin and biting harder while Scar roamed her hands over his body. When she groped Ethan''s pants, he descended, tracing a line of wet kisses from the collarbone, between her breasts, and down to her abdomen. Until Scar could only see the blonde hair between her legs. She gasped, pushing towards him.

    ¡ª Ethan. ¡ª A plea. She wanted him completely.

    Stars exploded behind her eyes, beautiful and bright.

    The hands closed in his hair, until Scar barely understood what was happening when he got on top again and started to undo the belt buckle.

    Scar swallowed hard and ran her hand over his trunk when she found his lips. And when the pants were thrown to the floor, she didn''t let Ethan notice before she moved her hand between them. Ethan leaned into the touch with a groan and Scar was amazed, her mouth dry as she discovered what awaited her.

    Scar''s gasp and faltering breath were like begging for what she most longed for at the moment. Ethan lifted his face, looking into her eyes, and smiled at her, hungry and manipulative, just like Scar. The two were each other''s mirror.

    Ethan tore off her nightgown before ripping it off brutally and throwing it out of his way, and Scar felt him at the entrance, about to bury himself in her and all thought vanished. His hands still exploring her body, placing kisses all over her neck and just below her ear. She pushed on his back with her hands, encouraging him to go faster and harder. So he did, their breath mingled between them as one. Ethan swallowed Scar''s moans with a firm and suffocating kiss.

    She felt his body sliding over hers, which only heightened her senses. Scar licked the curve of Ethan''s neck, the sweat that had begun to sprout there, as she synchronized her hips with his and tried to contain her indecent moans by pressing her lips.

    ¡ª You have no idea what your presence does to me, Scar

    She barely had breath to respond:

    ¡ª Let me find out.

    She locked her legs around him and turned until Ethan was underneath. Their eyes met when Scar went down to the limit, filled completely by him and feeling his muscles protest before turning into pure pleasure. The moan of both echoed through the room and Ethan''s fingers dug into her hip. Something fragile and full of life seemed to intertwine in her soul and follow Ethan''s, a powerful and sinister force that connected Ethan to her. Scar threw her head back as she moved and let Ethan''s sounds affect her, feeling that connection materialize as if she could touch and protect it. So fragile and delicate... a thread bathed in gold that was finally in its rightful place, intertwining Ethan''s soul with hers in one.

    It was a divine feeling. A new and chilling feeling, but amazing and inexplicable. And, with that, as she felt her chest tighten with love, Scar knew she had found her home.

    A new home. A new life.

 28

    Ryxer Vannyer was at home, poring over papers stuffed with information about the famous casino and Sector 6 agent, Ethan Sinclair. Setting aside other issues to specifically pursue answers about Gwenda''s case might seem foolish to his boss''s eyes, and probably to everyone else''s. But not to him. Gwenda was his friend; leaving that aside would be the last thing he''d do.

    But there was a connection that Vannyer wasn''t understanding. He furrowed his brow at his own handwriting, at the mind map on one of the papers.

    The casino was closed, Rubben reacted to Gwenda''s death a bit differently than Ryxer expected. As Darcy warned: Rubben and Gwenda have a history that shouldn''t be talked about. And that clearly indicated something Vannyer should pursue and uncover, screaming in his head until he had the answers he needed.

    The arena was linked with Gwenda, which linked to Rubben and the casino and the strange man he saw when he was there. On the same day Ethan Sinclair showed up in the sector. The first reaction he had was to stare at his face, trying to match it with another he found strangely similar. Until he realized it was none other than the casino man, who probably worked for Rubben. But the question was whether he could be a brother, or maybe not. There was only one way to find out, even if going to Rubben would be risky.

    Ryxer diverted his eyes to the arrow on the table. It was wood from the Mystra forest, now dry and firm, impossible to break when the charm was lost. Pulling it out of one of the targets'' chests was... unsettling. But now it was there, studying the shape of the sharp tip, the crest of a throwing blade inside a circle. That led somewhere, but Darcy refused to admit it and ordered him to leave the arrow in the sector. Of course, he took it home.

    But this had to lead somewhere. Trytan''s killer and the men in the cart were still at large, and it seemed Vannyer was the only one who had no clue who he was or how to get to him. As if Darcy were in on the whole scheme. So his boss''s name was on that paper, interconnected with Rubben''s and Gwenda''s.

    The information he had was scant. Courvin, the man who fought with Gwenda in the arena, and lost every time as far as rumors went, was interrogated. But all that came out of him was something worthless and some flirtation directed at Raux. After a kneecap to the groin that made the blood drain from Vannyer''s face, Courvin shrank and fell asleep on the floor.

    Vannyer smiled to himself. He loved playing that scene in his head every time. But now the competitor was showing up almost every day in the sector with a bouquet of flowers for his stern boss, as if to redeem himself and seek forgiveness that was far from happening. The first time he showed up there, chattering with Darcy until he was thrown out of the place, made the boss freeze. Ryxer believed she didn''t know how to respond to it, so just staring at the flowers with slightly widened eyes was what gave away Raux on relationship matters. Vannyer didn''t have the opportunity to approach with a smirk and tease her before Darcy threw the bouquet in the trash, which spun twice before settling down. Raux returned to her desk, and the agents who held back smiles focused on their work too. Ryxer swallowed hard to remain quiet and returned to his search.

    Vannyer huffed and shook his head, returning to reality. The fact was, he was suspecting his boss. Darcy knew about the arrow and where it came from, and Ryxer probably did too. At first, Trytan''s death had been what prompted him to be awake in the middle of the night doing exactly what Darcy had ordered. But this search took another path, going through Ethan Sinclair, Darcy Raux, Rubben, and, unbelievably, Ramelia.

    Darcy was disappearing some afternoons, just like Ethan. Even though Gwenda was no longer here, Sinclair was still trying to unravel the case of the wall with Vannyer. And that clearly was absurd. He should be focused on his colleague''s case, something inside Ryxer screamed to let Ethan do the explosion case work alone. After all, he was great at what he did, wasn''t he?

    Ramelia was Sinclair''s boss; the idea of ??sending him to Sector 3 to be a spy was also on Ryxer''s mind. The truth was, he needed to figure out this symbol on the arrow, and then things could move more easily. It would be one of the steps that would unravel the rest, but Vannyer wasn''t sure, it was just a hypothesis.

    Tired of waiting for an order that made sense in his head, Ryxer got up and left home, ignoring the cold wind. He ran through the city streets until he reached that place he always imagined himself entering and unraveling everything. Vannyer looked at that symbol right above the entrance on the door. He swallowed hard before trying to open it. Locked.

    Ryxer cursed and turned around, looking around as if searching for someone who could help him. For a moment he thought of Gwenda, of the dimples on both sides of her mouth that rarely had a smile, but whatever movement she made, those depths in her cheeks appeared. When Gwenda was so focused she stuck her tongue out and licked her lips, the dimples appeared out of nowhere. And when she raised her big, sparkling brown eyes to Vannyer, what she let show in her gaze was so radiant and comforting that he needed to avoid eye contact. It was a sign of who Gwenda was, a sign of the incredible woman behind all that intense scheme the agent created for herself.

    Ryxer returned to reality at the moment he heard someone else further down the street. He furrowed his brow and followed the sound of laughter and nonsensical shouting.

    More than a month had passed since Gwenda had left, and things couldn''t be slower. Ethan was still on the wall case, which, in a way, was good when Vannyer needed to focus on unraveling Trytan''s death, as Darcy asked. But he had the feeling she already knew.

    Vannyer wandered down the almost deserted street, only the sound of his boots on the coarse sand was true to his own ears. A man was pushed out of a bar right across the street, and Ryxer stopped.

    ¡ª Get out of here!

    He staggered away, laughing, so drunk he thought he would fall flat on his face any moment.

    Something broke inside the bar, and the blond man who had pushed the drunkard turned around. Ryxer and he locked eyes. In the midst of the darkness and the light from a few local street lamps, Vannyer could see the fire in those eyes. So familiar even at night.

    ¡ª Ryxer? ¡ª The man asked ¡ª Ryxer Vannyer?

    The agent tilted his head, puzzled.

    ¡ª Do I know you? ¡ª he asked and approached cautiously.

    It''s true that a lot of people knew him, but not by that name.

    ¡ª Bruce ¡ª he said ¡ª Bruce Matchstone.

    Vannyer blinked. Bruce, Gwenda''s cousin. A faint smile appeared on the agent''s face, just as it did on Bruce''s, but his was filled with intense grief and pain. Ryxer felt bad.

    He cleared his throat and approached Bruce with more confidence.

    ¡ª I¡¯m sorry for your loss.

    The returning smile was weak.

    ¡ª Deaths happen all the time. Gwenda¡¯s days were numbered.

    Ryxer frowned.

    ¡ª You know. ¡ª Bruce swallowed hard and looked down at the ground. ¡ª She was in an eternal addiction. Always work and the arena. One day or another, it would have killed her even without the explosion. I wish I could have helped more.

    Vannyer began to lose strength. It wasn¡¯t pity, but understanding.

    ¡ª You''re doing a great job at the bar. That¡¯s already a big thing, especially when the owner herself couldn¡¯t take a break to manage it.

    Bruce started biting the inside of his cheek while looking at Ryxer. They were close enough now to see even the color of each other''s eyes. Bruce¡¯s caramel eyes were clear.

    ¡ª That¡¯s what killed her. ¡ª he said, dryly ¡ª Not stopping to take care of what mattered. I¡¯m the only family she had left, and even that didn¡¯t mean anything. I don''t know if she missed me like she missed her father, but I was here, waiting for her to ask for help and to start accepting what she once gave me. A new life. We both know she was too proud. ¡ª Bruce shook his head in denial, biting his lower lip harshly. ¡ª She was my family; it will always hurt. ¡ª He nodded towards the bar before heading to the small door. ¡ª Want to come in?

    Ryxer exhaled and nodded, feeling sleepy and not quite sure what he was doing there. Since the last time he had frequented this place, he had forced himself to forget where it was, and, mysteriously, there was Vannyer, entering and escaping the cold of the night.

    The stuffy, fragrant air hit him, along with the violins that played almost every night. The music filled his ears with weak, stormy joy and sadness.

    Bruce was already behind the counter, moving gently among the other attendants there, so flexible that his feelings were almost palpable. The grief lingered in this place, whether they liked it or not.

    Ryxer sat on a stool and rested his elbows on the counter before running a hand through his short hair, taking a deep breath. He let his arm drop, fist clenched, just as Gwenda¡¯s cousin appeared with a bottle of wine and two small glasses, skillfully serving them.

    They clinked their glasses in a toast to nothing and drank. When Vannyer finished his glass and Bruce was swirling his own, watching the whirlpool that formed, Ryxer asked:

    ¡ª Have you heard about Rubben?

    Bruce remained focused as he answered gently:

    ¡ª That son of a bitch Rubben locked himself in his own dungeon. ¡ª He shrugged and took the last sip before setting the glass down on the counter. ¡ª Doesn¡¯t surprise me.

    ¡ª Do you know what happened with Gwenda and him?

    Bruce sighed.

    ¡ª Knowing is a strong word. Gwen was never very open. I had to go after things on my own.

    Of course.

    It was Gwenda; Vannyer wouldn¡¯t expect less.

    Bruce patiently refilled the glasses once more.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡ª That bastard bought her and abused her in every possible way. I don¡¯t like talking about it. ¡ª He frowned and looked at his drink as if seeing his own reflection. Gwenda¡¯s reflection. ¡ª She relived that trauma again. I don¡¯t know the details, but I remember when I saw her for the first time after months, more destroyed than ever.

    Gwen''s cousin downed his drink as if desperate to drive himself crazy, get drunk, and forget his position.

    ¡ª What do you mean, relived it?

    He pounded the counter, and Vannyer thought it might be better to pull Bruce away before he ended up breaking something. It seemed he was a bit weak with alcohol or utterly shattered inside by grief. Probably the latter, because Ryxer remembered he was a man lost in drink before Gwenda found him this job. As far as he knew, Bruce had come to hate the taste of alcohol.

    ¡ª You worked with her and didn¡¯t know. ¡ª He stared at him. ¡ª I¡¯m not the one who should tell you this, and I doubt she would forgive you if you dug into past cases or asked your boss about it. ¡ª Bruce paused for a long time. ¡ª She was sold to Darcy, wasn¡¯t she? ¡ª Vannyer remained silent. ¡ª Arth Cheack invaded Carsany and captured Gwenda. The only victim of Arth Cheack that he kept captive, gagged when not eating, with her feet and hands bound from dawn till late at night. And the only thing he did was watch from afar with devouring death-filled eyes as my cousin withered away in that place. ¡ª Bruce removed his hand from the glass, avoiding gripping it too tightly, Ryxer noticed. ¡ª She didn¡¯t see sunlight, refused to eat and drink until forced. Gwen didn¡¯t give me details, but I could see what that guy did to her. Worse than Rubben. ¡ª Bruce sighed again. ¡ª Rubben had a certain limit, as far as I noticed. He liked Gwenda, might beat her after a failed mission, but didn¡¯t go beyond that. Arth Cheack invaded her privacy, invaded everything Gwenda was. In mind and body, he left his mark as a reminder. He made Gwen a weak woman wearing a deceitful layer, pretending to be strong while killing mystics and destroying opponents in the arena. But that¡¯s all she did, because it was all useless. The more recognition she got from the people, the more destruction she brought to her side, pretending to be someone she wasn¡¯t. Strong and fearless, courageous... a joke. Gwenda was weak, a little dog behind her master, unable to have her own life. She killed mystics for revenge for what was done to her and the people she loved, and she participated in the arena to show no mercy to anyone. Gwen didn¡¯t have the courage to face her true self; she was a cowardly liar and manipulator. All to convince herself she wasn¡¯t weak and could be a consequence-free assassin, smiling at the blood accumulating on her hands. She had been affected for a long time; it was only a matter of time before she left.

    Bruce swallowed hard, and continued:

    ¡ª I admire her. Don¡¯t take my rant as something bad, I¡¯m just marking the history of a woman who went through a lot and was still fighting, but Arth Cheack was practically the end of the Gwenda I knew. I love my cousin with all my being. Gwen was strong for enduring all that and wanting to give her best, but weak because she got carried away by the romanticization of things that shouldn¡¯t be romanticized. I don¡¯t know if you understand me; you seem to want to sleep while I¡¯m here telling the story of Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder, a side no one has ever heard. ¡ª Bruce paused, then let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, patting Vannyer¡¯s shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. ¡ª Don¡¯t worry, you can come ask me anything you want about her. But promise me you¡¯ll write a book, just like she wanted to do with the ideas she had when she was young.

    Vannyer remained silent for a long time.

    His chest was tight, eyelids heavy, and eyes burning as he held back the tears that could escape at any moment. Bruce, whether noticing or not, didn¡¯t comment on it.

    He never even suspected that Gwenda had been a victim of Arth Cheack. Darcy had made it clear it was another woman, the same one who died burned and Arth went after, ending up with scarred arms and hands.

    ¡ª Of course, my cousin was capable of anything, but she hid behind a veil of lies and disorder. She was broken. Without Darcy, Gwenda would panic. She never lived on her own; how could she know if she could? ¡ª Bruce grabbed a towel from the inner counter and threw it over his shoulder.

    ¡ª That¡¯s a good point. ¡ª Vannyer shot back.

    Gwenda¡¯s cousin gave a weak, awkward smile before picking up the empty glasses that had just arrived and taking them to the sink.

    Ryxer continued:

    ¡ª Gwenda became a different person after Arth Cheack. Obviously, she wouldn¡¯t stay the same. ¡ª He started to trace circles on his glass, following the line at the top. ¡ª All I saw in that woman was strength and determination, and I highly doubt that was a lie. Gwenda could be anything but a liar about her own personality.

    ¡ª That¡¯s the problem, she didn¡¯t have a personality anymore. She absorbed from Arth Cheack and Rubben and combined the two into one, forming Gwenda¡¯s.

    ¡ª And why not accept that Gwenda was never the same and move on? Are you saying you were disappointed that they destroyed who she was? That¡¯s a bit ignorant.

    Bruce shook his head.

    ¡ª No. All I know is that Gwen became someone else, hiding who she was before everything. The real Gwen wasn¡¯t dead, just locked away. Killing was painful for her, I could see it every time we talked, in her eyes consumed by regret. That¡¯s why she was weak, because the courage was a lie and she had pity, she just refused to show it.

    ¡ª I believe that. But I never saw pity in Gwenda when it came to outlaws, murderers, and unwelcome intruders. And if she didn¡¯t have the damn courage, I don¡¯t think she¡¯d be where she is now.

    ¡ª Dead. ¡ª Bruce finished.

    ¡ª Accomplished all of this. ¡ª Vannyer corrected.

    ¡ª It doesn¡¯t change the fact that she¡¯s dead.

    No, it didn¡¯t.

    ¡ª Accomplished what, exactly? ¡ª asked Gwenda¡¯s cousin. ¡ª A mountain of money? Yeah, because that was worth it in the end. ¡ª The irony in the last sentence didn¡¯t go unnoticed by Ryxer.

    He shrugged.

    ¡ª People change. Gwenda could very well have ended up being who she was today, even without Rubben and Arth Cheack. You¡¯re saying these things because you missed who Gwenda used to be.

    Bruce gave a small smile and almost laughed in Vannyer¡¯s face.

    ¡ª I¡¯m saying this because I loved her and knew her. I know she wasn¡¯t who she showed.

    Ryxer raised his hands in surrender and agreed, not in the mood to argue about it.

    Bruce clearly wanted his cousin back even before she died. And Gwenda might indeed have been lying about being merciless and completely out of control when she saw a mystic, but what Vannyer had seen in the agent... he highly doubted Bruce was right. Gwenda might have been weak before everything, but later she became ruthless.

    The thing was, Matchstone was tough and had many rivals, always wanting to go all the way and finish whatever she was doing. When drunk, on her birthday night, Ryxer saw who Gwenda once could have been, who she locked away inside herself.

    Her cousin might have an efficient point of view, but Ryxer had seen how the former agent was in the field, cleaning her weapons with indifference and blowing brains out as if she were hitting darts on a wall for fun. And then the little smile of victory.

    Bruce didn¡¯t see that part of the Shooter but had his own opinions.

    Someone entered the bar, and Ryxer glanced sideways at the robust figure barely fitting into his clothes.

    Courvin scanned the place until his eyes landed on Vannyer. A shiver ran down his spine as the competitor smiled at him. Ryxer looked away to his glass and drank the rest of what was left. Bruce was already taking some orders, his expression serious.

    ¡ª I¡¯m starting to believe in destiny.

    Ryxer closed his eyes, wondering if ignoring the man beside him was a good idea.

    ¡ª Wherever I go, you¡¯re there. Is this your doing, detective?

    Courvin grabbed the bottle and drank from the neck, chugging the alcohol. When he showed no sign of stopping anytime soon, Ryxer turned to him and watched as he gulped it all down at once.

    His throat barely moved, and his lips started to get wet and shiny. A drop ran down Courvin¡¯s jaw, and Vannyer followed it with his eyes to a thick scar cutting from the bottom of the chin to almost the middle of the cheek, passing over the firm jawline.

    When he nearly finished the bottle, Courvin squinted and swallowed whatever was in his mouth before licking his lips, sucking any trace of drink. He opened his eyes and placed the bottle in front of him before crossing his hands and looking at someone behind the counter, his face impassive.

    Vannyer followed his gaze and found Bruce staring at the competitor as if he were seeing a painting he found interesting. Ryxer raised his eyebrows.

    ¡ª I think your friend likes me.

    Something tightened in Vannyer, and he frowned. Bruce greeted the two with a nod before moving away again to serve other customers, his face a faint shade of red, but at least he wasn¡¯t pale like before. When they were talking about Gwenda.

    Ryxer sighed.

    ¡ª What do you want?

    Courvin shrugged, brushing his shoulder against the agent¡¯s, who pretended nothing happened.

    ¡ª From you? Nothing. But your little friend seems like a good match.

    Vannyer turned to the competitor, incredulous.

    ¡ª You came to talk to me about him?

    ¡ª I didn¡¯t come to talk to you. Like I said: this here ¡ª he indicated Ryxer and himself with his finger ¡ª is destiny¡¯s work.

    ¡ª You didn¡¯t say a fucking thing.

    Courvin tilted his head and stared at him, indignant.

    ¡ª You could be a little less rude, don¡¯t you think?

    Vannyer looked him up and down, taking in everything he should and letting the scars on Courvin¡¯s face and neck slide by.

    ¡ª You were interested in my boss. ¡ª he said, without enthusiasm ¡ª and suddenly, Bruce became your target. You''ll be burned at the stake if an old man discovers your crush.

    ¡ª Bruce? ¡ª Courvin seemed surprised, ignoring what Vannyer said ¡ª Matchstone? ¡ª The competitor looked again at Gwenda¡¯s cousin.

    ¡ª Any problem? ¡ª The question slipped out of Ryxer before he could contain it.

    ¡ª That family is a bit weird.

    ¡ª You¡¯re saying that because you lost to Gwenda every time you competed with her.

    ¡ª I¡¯d be an idiot to refuse Bruce just because Gwenda beat me. This guy is cute, don¡¯t you think?

    Ryxer rolled his eyes and huffed before turning back to his glass.

    ¡ª Bruce isn¡¯t my target. ¡ª Courvin admitted. ¡ª But he suits you.

    Ryxer narrowed his eyes and frowned.

    ¡ª I¡¯m not attracted to men.

    Courvin gave him a look that clearly said he didn¡¯t believe that for a second. His eyes were shining with dancing flames, as if challenging Ryxer.

    ¡ª Man. ¡ª Courvin slapped Ryxer¡¯s back ¡ª you send a very wrong message.

    The competitor ordered another drink, served by a too-shy Bruce to respond to Courvin, who smiled with feline gentleness, not taking his eyes off Bruce out of sheer teasing and provocation.

    Vannyer stared at his glass in the meantime.

    You send a very wrong message.

    And what did that mean, exactly? That he seemed to like men? He rubbed his face with one hand, refusing to remember Cressint.

    Tired and now with his hair messed up as if he¡¯d just woken up, he settled for beer for the rest of the night, lazily sharing it with the man beside him who started talking and didn¡¯t stop. Ryxer could only agree with anything, sometimes closing his eyes and almost letting nightmares drag him away from reality. Apparently, he¡¯d have to pay for the dozens of bottles.

    He couldn¡¯t tell if it was the drink keeping him warm inside and feeling safe there, he didn¡¯t know if it was the calm music making Ryxer feel good amidst all that, finding his rightful place. Courvin, the more he drank, the more agitated he seemed to get, and Vannyer more tired.

    Any discomfort faded, and his work became a lesser burden as he laughed at Courvin¡¯s endless stories and let the sound of the instruments invade his soul. Bruce commented one thing or another while working.

    Gwenda¡¯s cousin was calm, always making rational comments and laughing as gently as a prince, which impressed Ryxer. But Bruce¡¯s calm and patient temperament was divine, so different from Gwenda that it made Vannyer dizzy. Even knowing it was the drink messing with his brain.

    After that night, receiving peace and laughter from people different from the usual, there was no place to hide, and Vannyer was fully aware of the truth he carried. A truth outside his paradigms and beliefs.

 29

    Even after everything, hesitation still lingered in Scar. Leaving everything behind hadn''t exactly been her choice, and now there was no way to return to what once was. So, acceptance became the right and proper path, navigating through new twists and leaving the old ones behind¡ªas much as she could bear. Exactly like a cycle.

    Ethan kept going to the city and working as a Carvlinea while Scar stayed at the house, looking for new things to pass the time. There were days when she would just watch her horse until hunger roared louder than anything else, then she would go inside and look for a snack.

    Every evening and night, she would sit on the house steps and wait for him, bundled up in warm clothes and shielding herself from the cold while Ethan was expected to arrive at any moment. The smile on his face most nights was what warmed her, and they would finally go inside and light the fireplace.

    She had no idea what day of the week it was or if one or two months had passed, but it didn''t seem to matter when you were in the middle of nowhere doing nothing.

    Scar skipped breakfast and sneaked out of the house, wandering around and feeding the horses in the stable. When she found a barn some distance away, she hesitated to open the door simply because she didn''t know what she would find there and whether Ethan would be furious. After all, it was probably his stuff, or someone else''s who lived in the area. So Scar waited days to ask about it.

    ¡ª What¡¯s in that barn to the south? ¡ª she asked while shuffling the cards she found in a drawer.

    Ethan had come back for lunch that day, and at that moment he was putting on his coat to leave again.

    ¡ª I don''t know. I''ve been putting off my visit there.

    So it wasn¡¯t his.

    ¡ª Why?

    He went to the porch and turned in her direction.

    ¡ª Because I don''t know if I''ll like what''s in there.

    Before Scar could respond or ask again what he meant, Ethan said goodbye and disappeared.

    Of course, she wouldn¡¯t insist, but curiosity and that part of her that drove her crazy until she discovered things seemed to speak louder, like always. So she started snooping in the same drawers she had already seen and grabbed the papers and ink.

    It was hard to go back to doing something she had long stopped, but she still felt that this was for her, the words that came to her mind and the stories were a part of her that never left.

    Slowly, Scar began to write again, igniting her heart with a fire that became recognizable with every word she scribbled on the paper. The callus on her finger started to hurt, but she didn''t care. In the past, she ignored it easily.

    The pen was a sword, cutting the paper with a contagious song. Scar made careful and experienced movements, dipping the pen in ink and marking it with her crest, her handwriting, and her words.

    The feeling of doing this for the first time was like a warm blanket that warmed her heart. All the emotions she once felt could return from now on, could no longer be a legend to Scar. Phantom and old sensations, false. They could cease to be all that once she got used to having a pen between her fingers again.

    But she stopped midway, looking at what she had written, the handwriting more brusque than before, very different from the round and calm script that had a beautiful air when she was younger. After being a Carvlinea, hardly any agent or detective had breathtaking handwriting. Haste was everyone''s worst enemy. Time was the enemy of humans, and only them.

    Once upon a time, long ago, in a distant land where creatures...

    It wasn¡¯t about humans.

    Any story she had ever put on paper was never about humans and unknown territories where only humans existed. Humans, in fact, were extinct in her own stories.

    Scar sighed, tired. Maybe now she knew why.

    Over the years, in one way or another, she always admired the mystics. Considering the years she spent reading books about every detail of them.

    If not in writing preference, then in how she dealt with some mystical aspects throughout her journey as a Carvlinea, especially the last elf who must now be dead by the hands of Raux or anyone else in the sector brave enough to take his life. Upon leaving Carsany, only creatures not at all human were lurking, and Scar managed to follow a path, understanding that dead forest of magic.

    She still remembered the feeling, when she jumped from one tree to another, recalling her father''s teachings when she was only five years old. It was her heart that screamed to move forward, pumping blood throughout her body in a code only Scar could understand.

    Many theories were formed after she discovered her own origin. Who knows, maybe it was her power wanting to explode out of her, to feed on the things around her.

    Maybe that¡¯s why she preferred to stay inside the wall, where magic had long been extinguished, so she didn¡¯t have to worry about burning from the inside out when she unleashed whatever was inside her.

    But she knew little of the truth. Only that she felt so free and light outside the wall that it simply seemed wrong. The lack of magic comforted her, and she had no idea how to get rid of this grand trauma.

    Living with her master outside Carsany was like living with her second father. And both were mystics, powerful and well-trained. Yago never released a single spark of his power, but Scar could imagine what he carried, besides the future visions.

    If she combined the way her father looked at her and how he protected her as if she could trip and break her neck at any moment, Scar could judge from the beginning that, yes, there was something different and stranger than usual. But she grew up with it, always believed it was a standard for parents, until she reached a certain age and began to sneak out at night, wanting time outside their protection zone. Looking at the stars and the moon was something she started to enjoy doing, always on the roof and lying comfortably as if it were her bed.

    Scar sighed again and gathered the papers on the bed, tidying them up. She closed the ink and put everything in the drawer, stashing it inside without any patience and closing it quickly before heading to the porch with a dragging walk.

    It was almost night, but at least in winter, she didn¡¯t need to close the doors to combat the moribund insects she hated.

    Before she could sit on the steps after stepping down one, she swallowed hard when Ethan appeared among the trees. Injured.

    The problem was that no Carvlinea was released so early if they could still walk and fight, just as Ethan could. Even though she knew he would heal, Scar was worried.

    ¡ª What happened?

    Ethan didn¡¯t answer until he was right in front of her, one step below and still taller than Scar. The black bag he carried on one shoulder was the only thing clean of blood and dirt, the rest was a mess. Including his tangled blonde hair.

    The cheek and lips were cut, the neck looked like it had taken a kick to the side, the hands were dirty, and the knuckles were red and raw. There was a cut in the suit on the right chest, seeping a bright and superficial red.

    The amber in his eyes sparkled with what Scar imagined was accumulated tension. She was sure her eyes responded the same way.

    Ethan approached stealthily, and Scar met him halfway. The warm touch of his lips on hers made the nape of her neck tingle. The wound on his lower lip grazed Scar¡¯s, and Ethan seemed to enjoy it as much as she did with the fervor that welcomed him and the care she took while kissing him, delicate and letting Ethan take control.

    She didn¡¯t remember kissing him like this before, with so much affection involved, Ethan¡¯s tongue wanting to explore every corner of her mouth as if claiming it for himself, only for himself.

    It was enough for Scar to almost lose her breath completely.

    Ethan squeezed her waist with his free hand and pulled their bodies closer before breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against hers, their noses touching and mouths so close they couldn¡¯t stay apart for long.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Ethan caressed Scar¡¯s face, threading his fingers through her hair.

    ¡ª I''ve been assigned a job somewhere else. ¡ª he said, his voice husky.

    Scar blinked, uncomprehending, and pulled her forehead away when he continued:

    ¡ª We''re moving.

    It felt like a kick to the stomach that sent her flying five meters.

    She blinked again and stared at him, trying to decipher if she understood correctly. He couldn''t be serious.

    Moving. Ethan, after everything, wanted to move. After everything, the fake death, the case she could give her life to solve, the mysterious death of Trytan she had promised vengeance for, after suffering so much at Rubben¡¯s hands and not being able to retaliate, especially now. She had gotten used to the idea of not making him eat his own guts, since now it was she who was dead. But seeing it from this exact angle, it seemed Ethan had everything planned, everything a scheme going according to his plan.

    Scar had no idea how he could concoct a plan with these events, but something in her chest, that fine golden thread that could break with her own hands if she wished, a hesitant tremor shook her insides. She just couldn¡¯t tell if it was a warning to stay away from Ethan or to stay by his side no matter the cost.

    But Scar didn¡¯t give a damn about what Ethan was probably trying to convey through the bond that connected them. She had her own plans.

    Scar stepped back, stumbling on the top step and regaining her balance quickly.

    She took a few steps back, staring at him, before turning with a frown of frustration.

    This was out of the question until she found the answers. All this time... she stayed here, not taking the initiative, even dead to the world.

    ¡ª What do you mean move? ¡ª Scar turned to him. Ethan had just entered the house.

    ¡ª The Opposite Continent...

    ¡ª Opposite Continent? ¡ª she asked. ¡ª You were assigned to the Opposite Continent?

    He glared at her and, with heavy and deadly steps, Ethan went to the living room and dropped the bag on the round rug between the fireplace and the sofa. The thud that echoed made Scar grit her teeth.

    ¡ª We can''t stay here anymore, Scar. ¡ª Cold.

    Ethan was addressing her with coldness.

    ¡ª Why?

    Their eyes met.

    ¡ª I fought to be here. ¡ª Ethan remained serious. ¡ª And you have nothing to lose.

    Scar clenched her fists.

    ¡ª You don¡¯t get to decide that.

    ¡ª We need to leave. ¡ª Ethan spoke more rigidly.

    ¡ª You don¡¯t get to decide that. ¡ª she repeated with more determination and slowly.

    A muscle twitched in Ethan¡¯s jaw, and Scar could see the violence in his eyes that made her hesitate.

    ¡ª You know you¡¯re on the list of the dead. What¡¯s holding you here that you can¡¯t leave with me?

    His last word affected Scar in a different way. A way she had never felt. No one had ever said that with a second intention to her, as if inviting her to be part of their life, to stay by their side until the end.

    Yes. What held her there compared to the life he was offering her?

    Scar bit her lower lip hard.

    Ethan softened his expression as he walked around the sofa and approached Scar. With every step, it was a lost breath.

    ¡ª Scar. ¡ª She could compare it to a purr. Ethan lifted her chin with his finger and thumb, making her look into his eyes. ¡ª I¡¯m not doing this just for me. I¡¯m protecting you.

    ¡ª Protecting me from what, damn it? ¡ª she asked quickly.

    Ethan caressed her chin, his eyes roaming her face, unshaken.

    If she was in this house without being able to appear in public, what was he protecting her from? Who knew she was alive?

    Scar took a gentle step back, avoiding his hand.

    But instead of asking the obvious, she countered with another:

    ¡ª I can take care of myself.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª Ethan shot back. ¡ª Not anymore.

    She felt the fury heat her body.

    ¡ª I did until that day in the arena.

    ¡ª That was the easy part. You¡¯re not safe, Scar. Not here.

    ¡ª Then where? ¡ª she dared to ask.

    Ethan shook his head.

    ¡ª Honestly, nowhere.

    That made her look away to the porch, waiting for something to enter and drag her into the shadows. Scar shuddered.

    ¡ª I thought I could keep you safe here. ¡ª He also looked at the porch. ¡ª I was wrong. ¡ª And then he walked to the bag in front of the sofa with long strides.

    ¡ª What¡¯s the threat? ¡ª she asked.

    ¡ª One that everyone fears.

    ¡ª Be more specific. ¡ª she demanded, rigid and impatient.

    Ethan turned to her as he opened the bag. Scar couldn¡¯t see what was inside.

    ¡ª Someone like us. ¡ª The blood drained from her face at the answer. ¡ª More specifically, like me. A cold-blooded killer, manipulative, and many other bad things someone could easily describe.

    He wasn¡¯t going to give a name, and Scar didn¡¯t care. This was madness. If there was someone worse than Rubben and Arth Cheack after her, she would know very well. She hadn¡¯t lived her entire life blindfolded not to be aware of the problems she caused. And not once was it with a creature as dark as Ethan was saying. Unless... Ethan was a possessive fae male.

    ¡ª I have a lot to lose, Ethan. ¡ª she said calmly. ¡ª Don¡¯t make me do this, please.

    Scar felt the absence of this word in her vocabulary. Please.

    With Darcy Raux, she learned she shouldn¡¯t give orders to superiors. With Ethan, she learned she shouldn¡¯t give orders to anyone because everyone is equal, everyone is in the same position despite their personal and social differences.

    Ethan rubbed his face in frustration.

    ¡ª If we don¡¯t leave soon, things will get ugly. I don¡¯t want to have to clean up your blood, Scar.

    ¡ª You won¡¯t clean up anything. ¡ª she refused to go to him; she didn¡¯t want to see what was in the bag. Her back had started to ache since she noticed the bag, increasing so slowly she barely realized it. ¡ª I¡¯m not going with you. I¡¯m not leaving all this behind. ¡ª She pointed to the shutters.

    ¡ª All this what? ¡ª Ethan¡¯s eyes never left hers. ¡ª A coffin? Dead loved ones? All the past you already left behind? You¡¯re not Gwenda anymore.

    Scar knew, with absolute certainty, that Ethan had always been responsible for her false death.

    However, the reason he hadn''t taken her to the sector while she was unconscious, but instead had distanced her from everything and everyone, was more than clear now. At the first opportunity, that gold-threaded bond between her and Ethan had formed into one, connecting them both.

    And from the beginning, he knew. He knew who Scar was, what she was destined for, and who they were. Ethan was protecting what was his, disappearing with his belongings.

    Scar grunted in response and said:

    ¡ª I might not be, but a part of her is still in me. ¡ª Scar pointed to her own chest. ¡ª And she wants answers. I can¡¯t leave the city, let alone Carsany.

    Carsany was out of the question.

    ¡ª You can. ¡ª he murmured ¡ª You¡¯re just too weak to move on. It¡¯s the only thing you should do right now.

    Too weak...

    Anger coursed through every nerve in Scar.

    ¡ª And running away is something brave? Where I come from, people would carve coward into your back. Weak for running from a threat...

    ¡ª That could kill you. ¡ª Ethan stood up.

    ¡ª And you won¡¯t? ¡ª she asked, indignantly.

    He exhaled with intensity.

    ¡ª I¡¯m different.

    Scar frowned and tilted her head, mocking.

    Ethan explained:

    ¡ª I know what I¡¯m dealing with. I was trained my whole life and I¡¯m qualified. You¡¯re nothing but an easy and inattentive target. I¡¯m from magic lands, Scar.

    Scar blinked, disbelieving.

    Was he really saying that?

    ¡ª Go fuck yourself. ¡ª  she cursed, slowly and with all the damn letters. ¡ª Don¡¯t you dare compare your training to mine. You¡¯re built for your damn magic land, where everything happens with a snap of your fingers. Here, you¡¯re an aberration and a target. Here, you¡¯re nothing. ¡ª Scar pointed below her feet, to the non-magical land she was standing on. Her home. ¡ª I¡¯m at an advantage here. It¡¯s my kingdom.

    Which was about to be destroyed, if the wall fell, but she decided to keep that part to herself, even though Ethan probably read it in her eyes. But this was the kingdom of humans, of firearms. Surviving without magic was only for them. Humans.

    This was another reason to continue with this case. If the wall was the target of the mystics, Carsany would be unprotected. Having the kingdom invaded was one of the few things Scar feared if the wall fell.

    Maybe Ethan wanted to protect her from that, from the imminent invasion. But he hadn¡¯t made it clear, never did. He never would. Scar had to find out everything on her own.

    She marched toward the exit with confident steps but stopped to say:

    ¡ª If you want, go, I don¡¯t care. But don¡¯t wait for my return.

    And with that, she went down the stairs, grabbed the lantern outside, and mounted her horse. Luckily, she had left the saddle on earlier when she went for a ride to get back into the habit.

    She was wrong. Leaving these things behind would be the last thing she¡¯d want to do. She needed to unearth who she was before. She needed to be Gwenda for a while longer and then move on with her life.

    Among the trees and the starry dark sky, Twilight ran in a single direction. The same direction where the moon was in the sky.

 30

    The city was silent. Only the hooves of Crep¨²sculo on the road echoed around. No bar was open.

    Scar automatically regretted not grabbing a cloak before leaving. But how could she remember such a thing when all she had in her head was Ethan¡¯s refusal to see her side. The fact that he saw himself as someone more powerful and skilled, all because he had magic running through his veins.

    There were many reasons for Scar to hate mystics. She thought they had changed, that only the elves of the North still carried that superior air everyone knew. But it seems she was wrong about that too.

    If Ethan thought he was the hotshot, there was no reason to think others would be different. Scar had seen it all, she didn''t need to be sure of anything more about mystics.

    On the way, she took a dark green cloak from a clothesline outside a house, one that some women wore daily to protect themselves from the rain. She threw it over her shoulders with ease and fastened it in front with a brooch ¡ª probably very expensive ¡ª and hooded herself at the exact moment she spotted her own bar.

    The lanterns were lit, a low sound coming from inside. A song of deep, out-of-tune voices, along with laughter and shouts of joy.

    Scar made her horse stop at a suitable distance. The noise circled her body, and chills ran down her arms and legs, feeling that she could still enter there, that she deserved to have fun.

    But over the wooden gate, what she saw left her shaken, her chest heavy. Ryxer Vannyer was next to Courvin, leaning over the counter while Bruce Matchstone gestured to the air, all smiling and listening to Gwenda¡¯s cousin tell his stories before arriving there.

    But Bruce was staggering, drunk.

    She could have been worried, but Scar remained neutral. She knew her cousin hadn¡¯t drunk that much since she practically saved him from his own hands. Ryxer and Courvin were equally drunk, so much that Vannyer could fall asleep at any moment, and the competitor was just waiting for the grand finale of Bruce¡¯s story, his eyes wide while staring at the adventurer in front of him.

    Courvin laughed so loudly that the sound of his laughter reached Scar with clarity. Bruce laughed along and threw his arms on the counter before reaching for the drink with his fingers, and Ryxer startled, rubbing his face while laughing.

    Her cousin turned the beer bottle and wiped his mouth with his arm.

    Scar lingered on those light brown eyes like hers, as vivid as the last time she saw him in person. She didn¡¯t even go to her bar to see Bruce, but to pay her employees. The guilt was already ingrained in her body and mind, so it just became deeper, like a weight that someday she wouldn¡¯t be able to bear.

    Before anyone saw her there or she lost the courage to leave this life behind once again, Scar dug her heels into Crep¨²sculo¡¯s flanks. The horse moved, and only when her cousin disappeared from sight inside the bar did Scar look away at her own hands holding the reins, light.

    She took a deep breath, feeling a twinge in her ribs, and licked her dry lips.

    For the rest of the way, Scar refused to think about her family and all those who meant something to her. Because when she returned¡­ when she returned home and didn¡¯t find Ethan, she was absolutely sure that the only thing that would cross her mind was these same people and everything she could no longer do. Because she was dead. Falsely dead.

    She would no longer have Ethan. The only one who could live at Scar¡¯s expense for her.

    It was funny to think that the same one who caused her disappearance was the one who had permission to see her. The one who knew she was alive, the only one. When she returned, Ethan would no longer be there; he would have gone to the Opposite Continent.

    I fought to be here.

    Scar sent the consequences to hell as soon as she got off the horse, softening the sound her steps made on the coarse sand of the road. She looked around, the place she knew so well, and for that reason, it made her nauseous.

    She pushed the door carefully but didn¡¯t prevent the creak it caused. Quickly, she squeezed her body through and passed, as silent as death. However, she let the door fall and bang with the intention of drawing attention if they hadn¡¯t noticed her presence yet.

    It worked.

    But he knew Scar was trying to draw attention.

    A match struck in the dark, illuminating Rubben¡¯s face in a macabre way.

    ¡ª Hello, love.

    Lanterns lit up on the walls, one by one, so quickly that Scar¡¯s heart pounded in her chest, and she had to put an arm in front of her eyes.

    ¡ª You know, I really believed you were dead. ¡ª he said as Scar¡¯s vision recovered. ¡ª I went to your funeral. How depressing.

    Lie. If she had seen him, she would have remembered.

    Scar blinked one last time and managed to see Rubben flick the match before the blue flame vanished.

    The casino tables were arranged as always, nothing out of place. His thugs surrounded him. Two positioned right behind and three slowly walking among the tables towards Scar. One had a closed wound on his neck that would leave an ugly scar, another had a black eye being healed slowly.

    ¡ª What brings my dear friend back from the dead? ¡ª Rubben asked sarcastically. ¡ª Did the desire for company speak louder? I believe the disturbing news made you appear. Or rather, look for me, to be more specific.

    The smile on his face sent chills down Scar¡¯s spine, but she narrowed her eyes. She had no idea what news he was referring to, but she¡¯d love to stay and find out. So she abandoned the idea of turning back, knowing that there was probably another thug waiting for her at the exit.

    Rubben raised his eyebrows.

    ¡ª I believe you don¡¯t know ¡ª he lifted his chin and tilted his head slightly to the side, reciting slowly ¡ª what I¡¯m talking about.

    Scar remained still, in position. The thugs continued to approach stealthily.

    ¡ª Well, ¡ª Rubben continued ¡ª we can make things easier and get straight to the point. If you don¡¯t know the marvelous news, then what¡¯s the reason for this unexpected visit?

    The three thugs stopped, erect as rods and at least three meters from Scar. She observed them all with keen eyes, looking for weapons inside their clothes and boots. One had two pistols under his clothes, one on each hip; another had the tip of a dagger glinting at the end of his sleeve. The rest probably had firearms. Rubben wouldn¡¯t be stupid enough not to arm his personal guards.

    ¡ª Be direct ¡ª Scar muttered, bored.

    Rubben gave a half-smile.

    ¡ª So the undead speaks. How interesting.

    Scar clenched her fists inside her cloak.

    ¡ª I suppose your friend is completely shaken. What was his name again? Triron?

    Scar closed her eyes.

    ¡ª Trytan. ¡ª she said angrily.

    ¡ª That¡¯s it. That¡¯s right. ¡ª Scar could feel the grin in his voice.

    Every nerve in her body yielded to it, and she let her hands fall open, her arms so inert they might have been amputated.

    ¡ª Why?

    Rubben frowned.

    Scar asked more rigidly, taking a step towards him:

    ¡ª Why did you kill him?

    ¡ª I didn¡¯t kill anyone.

    And he said it with such conviction that Scar almost believed him. But she let out a laugh.

    ¡ª You¡¯re nothing but a lying, opportunistic bastard.

    One of the thugs advanced.

    Scar bent her knees.

    The other did the same and touched the weapon on his hip.

    ¡ª No.

    He stopped advancing, capturing his boss¡¯s order, but remained where he was, glaring at Scar with hatred. She laughed with a shrug and showed him the middle finger. What she got in return was a gnashing of teeth.

    She always found it strange how they acted like animals.

    ¡ª It seems to me that there¡¯s only one liar here. ¡ª said Rubben ¡ª With all your... means of coming back from the dead. Since you were never really dead, were you?

    Scar felt anger rushing through her veins. That scoundrel kept smiling.

    ¡ª I¡¯m curious. ¡ª he inquired ¡ª Have you ever been truthful? Because your little friend Triron was quite convincing when he talked about you.

    Her legs went weak.

    Rubben picked up a deck of cards from a table and started shuffling them skillfully. In her entire life, Scar had only seen Rubben shuffle like that. Without dropping a single card.

    ¡ª So much about you, what you do in life, and what you¡¯ve been through. But nothing about me, can you believe it? ¡ª Rubben had the nerve to look Scar in the eye. ¡ª You never told him that you belonged to me?

    ¡ª I never belonged to you the same way I belonged to Trytan.

    And that opened a wound in Rubben, enough to make him stop shuffling the cards, but only that. Scar observed and prepared herself.

    ¡ª He didn¡¯t deserve you.

    ¡ª Are we talking about you now?

    Rubben glared at her from under his lashes. Let him get irritated.

    ¡ª I would hate to spoil that spectacular vision you have of Triron. What an incredible little man, respectful, humble... a killer. Your boyfriend had some debts.

    Rubben gave an amused smile when Scar tensed up. He continued:

    ¡ª How did he manage to get that body in the cart? ¡ª Rubben resumed shuffling the cards skillfully. ¡ª The poison is no longer a poison; it¡¯s a drug. And your friend knew that; he was more doped up than the addicted rebels.

    A strong buzzing started close to her ear.

    ¡ª You¡¯re lying. ¡ª she said, breathless.

    Rubben sighed.

    ¡ª I wish I were. ¡ª Rubben carefully placed the cards on the table and began to walk around, his eyes always on hers. ¡ª Your former boyfriend got addicted, and when he discovered he knew the next dealer, he seized the idea of going there. The rebel who escaped from you on the day of the Sector 9 explosion had stolen an enigmatic amount of poison and started selling it around. Fortunately, before the drug spread further, Triron killed him, of course. Too bad it was for a personal reason.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Scar growled and dug her nails into her palms.

    ¡ª Stop talking crap. ¡ª she snapped.

    ¡ª The dealer mutated the poison; it was not for nothing that I had sent my men after him, to stop him before the worst happened. And Trytan knew it, so when he was denied the drug, he killed the bearer and tried to hide the body. He just wasn¡¯t so addicted as to go after the drug stash and ignore that he had just drowned someone in a barrel of water.

    Scar didn¡¯t know if she could breathe or defend Trytan. She didn¡¯t know whom to believe.

    The worst part is that I can¡¯t even get high. I¡¯ll be taken to Wind Prison like a doped puppet.

    She closed her eyes.

    Trytan had been planning all that, and Gwenda had turned a blind eye to it because it was Trytan, and she thought she knew him.

    ¡ª He wasn¡¯t as innocent as you imagined him to be.

    ¡ª But he wasn¡¯t a monster like you. ¡ª she said. ¡ª He was just lost.

    ¡ª Lost in his own discoveries and foolish choices. He chose to act that way. It could have been avoided.

    ¡ª And you simply killed him. ¡ª Scar growled.

    ¡ª If you want to believe so much that Triron did none of this, I won¡¯t interrupt while you delude yourself.

    She couldn¡¯t believe Trytan would have the capacity to betray like that. To ingest a mutant drug and go crazy for more to the point of killing someone. He wasn¡¯t like that.

    Not as far as she knew.

    ¡ª Come back to me.

    Scar stared at him, as immobile as a stone.

    It was the only thing Rubben said after giving away Trytan, and in a way too painful to have come from him.

    Scar wasn¡¯t crazy enough to accept something like that. Not again. So she chose to remain silent or turn around and face the thug outside. The second option wouldn¡¯t be so hard to handle. Training with Ethan had put Scar in a different position.

    She shook her head in denial.

    ¡ª You killed him.

    Rubben closed his eyes.

    ¡ª You¡¯re mistaken.

    ¡ª You threatened him in front of me. ¡ª Scar shot back. ¡ª Are you trying to say he dug his own grave? No. He¡¯s dead because of you.

    ¡ª No. I¡¯m not the one responsible for Trytan¡¯s death. ¡ª Rubben replied impatiently.

    Trytan had set his own trap, but it was Rubben who didn¡¯t give him a chance. The men he sent after the dealer were probably looking to bring him to Rubben, and killing Trytan and the others in the cart was a way to protect the drug.

    Rubben could sell it.

    ¡ª Lie. ¡ª Scar took another step forward, as if holding herself back from running and choking her former master.

    ¡ª Stop blaming the innocent. Don¡¯t you think you¡¯ve done that enough? Aren¡¯t you tired?

    Scar averted her gaze to her own feet. He said it in such a guilty and disappointed tone...

    But she blamed herself. And she was innocent of many things.

    Scar did everything to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

    Tired? Who wouldn¡¯t be tired in this state, with everything happening? Scar was just a victim, always had been. All she wanted was to fix the past, finish these cases, and get some peace, to be able to rest. She didn¡¯t want to look at any more faces, just live the life that had never been planned and never involved killing anyone.

    She wanted to be normal.

    But this was normal. And why? It didn¡¯t have to be.

    ¡ª Let me go.

    Rubben was already shaking his head.

    ¡ª You can¡¯t...

    ¡ª Let me go. ¡ª This time, her voice broke, and Rubben seemed to notice, softening his expression.

    She swore he would deny it again, even if he was shaken by her. Rubben was never good with feelings, despite always showing what he felt for Gwenda. She saw so openly how bad he felt for her, got angry with himself when he exploded with Gwenda.

    He had no idea that Gwenda no longer existed, and Scar didn¡¯t give a damn.

    And then, without another word, without any recollection or request, Rubben nodded.

    And Scar left into the cold night, not caring about the bodyguard outside who followed her with his eyes until she reached her horse. Not even when Twilight ran away, its powerful hooves thundering on the ground.

    <hr>

    As soon as Gwenda left, Rubben''s heart ceased to be made of stone, finally.

    What he felt for her was a demonstration of affection that no one had ever shown him. That¡¯s why he was incapable of being more affectionate; he never had been. He had never been as merciful as he was now, and, surprisingly, everything felt lighter.

    Rubben took a deep breath, knowing his men were watching him, waiting for an order to go after her. But he remained silent, staring at the door through which his former agent had left.

    Knowing that Gwenda was alive was like a stake through his neck because he was sure she would come after him sooner or later, accuse him of things he had never done, and blame him until the end, even discovering the truth. And Rubben was ready to face the consequences that his past had condemned him to.

    He didn¡¯t regret anything he had done in the past, but he felt hatred for himself for not making good choices. And now he smiled as he said:

    ¡ª It¡¯s not every day we miss a visit from you.

    The door opened, and Rubben turned to see who had just entered from the back, still smiling as if he were welcoming them.

    He wished Gwenda would come back to him, stay there, thus preventing this hooded man from entering the casino. He wouldn¡¯t like to ruin the disguise for Gwenda, and Rubben had almost done so, so he had appeared to sort out his shit.

    The man pulled the hood back.

    ¡ª I¡¯m still surprised by the way you appear in my casino.

    Anyone inside there, Rubben was aware of. Like a pirate captain with his ship. Every body in his territory was never hidden from the captain¡¯s eyes and senses.

    ¡ª The contract ends here. ¡ª said the fae at the door.

    Rubben just raised his chin. His men began to walk towards the fae.

    ¡ª I was going to say the same.

    It was annoying to think that he had signed this contract.

    Despite looking for any trick, Rubben hadn¡¯t found one. But now it made sense. The mystic wanted to come out on top of whatever shit was going to happen, wanted to leave his tracks clean, and thus direct them to Rubben. That¡¯s what happened, what Gwenda deluded herself into. And now he was guilty of Trytan¡¯s death and many other things, including the arena explosion and the deaths of the agents in the Sector Tower.

    Darcy Raux was probably just waiting for the right moment to end his kind.

    He had placed his trust in the mystic who was now there, ready to put an end to it because Rubben had almost exposed the truth that Gwenda wasn¡¯t ready to hear. And if he was now willing to be truthful for the first time with his former agent, why wouldn¡¯t he do the same the next time he saw her? The mystic was there to make sure he wouldn¡¯t take risks again.

    The fae advanced, and Rubben conjured the blue fire spark that ran in his veins.

    <hr>

    Scar entered the work area in complete silence, the stuffy, warm air inside sector 3 almost knocking her down. After closing the door gently, she didn¡¯t remove her hood as she had imagined doing seconds earlier. Anyone could appear at any moment.

    She had no idea why the door was open but ignored the fact and decided to think about it later.

    After leaving the casino, Scar went to the sector to retrieve the case she was working on with Vannyer and, if she could find it, Trytan''s case. Who knows, they might have found more in the meantime. And who knows if Rubben was telling the truth... and if he wasn¡¯t, Scar would make it clear that she wouldn¡¯t be returning there for games. She would be armed to the teeth.

    Without wasting time, she zigzagged between the tables of the Carvlineas who were still working there, ignoring any information about their cases, and suddenly stopped right in front of Darcy¡¯s desk.

    Memories surged in her mind, and Scar felt more shaken than she already was.

    Raux''s desk always had papers of all kinds, but the cases Scar worked on had to be there, thrown in some corner. They always went to the boss when the agent working on them was disqualified or assigned to another post. In short, when they could no longer work there.

    So Scar searched the desk, messing up and turning over every paper. Looking for information that could give some answers and for all the signs the interrogator had extracted from the fae. She would finish the wall case, no matter what it cost. She was there, wasn¡¯t she? There was no way to make the situation worse to get back into action, even if as a ghost.

    In the midst of everything, the top of a paper had Rubben¡¯s casino name written in tangled cursive, circled twice. Scar frowned at this and picked up the information with trembling hands. As she pulled it from under the others, a drawing of an arrow was in the center of the paper, with indications on the sides.

    Scar scanned that perfectly drawn arrow. Indeed, the sector 3 artist never missed.

    But the symbol, Scar would recognize that symbol even blindfolded, and connecting it with the circled casino at the top of the sheet... there was no doubt.

    It was such an emotional pain that Scar¡¯s eyes watered. Yes, she had faced Trytan¡¯s killer, the killer of many people.

    She never really got to know Rubben¡¯s weapons. Each time he was changing them so that people like Scar wouldn¡¯t uncover mysteries around the city. But that symbol could not be anything else.

    Beside it, in hurried and diligent handwriting, it said: Weapon of Trytan¡¯s death; Rubben: guilty.

    Scar gritted her teeth and clenched her fist, crumpling the paper.

    Rage prevented Scar from thinking clearly about Rubben¡¯s weapon changes. Because he wouldn¡¯t leave the damn famous symbol on his weapons if it wasn¡¯t to be caught. Maybe he wanted to come out as a hero when the drug story broke. After all, the body in the cart also made Trytan a culprit, and eliminating him would automatically become something heroic on Rubben¡¯s part.

    But, above all, his death was no complete mystery.

    Darcy knew. Her boss knew it had been Rubben who killed Trytan from the beginning. Because she knew the damn arrows, she knew everything that came from Rubben, especially the hateful symbol. And even so... even so, she hid it from her, probably thinking that this way she would protect her from something.

    Stupid. The boss had no idea that Scar was more capable than anyone in this place to exterminate Rubben and bring down that entire casino.

    And so she would. She just had to get weapons and...

    Scar felt the presence before a hand closed around her wrist on the desk. But it was too late when she raised her free fist and aimed at whoever it was because another scarred hand dampened her blow and closed around it.

    Scar looked at that face close to hers and couldn¡¯t hold back the sob.

    Darcy was as serious as Scar remembered, looking at the former agent from under her lashes and revealing the deep dark circles.

    Scar swallowed hard, waiting for the boss to recognize her at any moment and hit her. But the only thing Darcy did was remove her hand from around her wrist and pick up a letter from her desk, handing it to Scar.

    The sector 3 boss nodded slowly just once, as if encouraging Scar to take the letter and disappear again.

    ¡ª Take it to the king. ¡ª murmured Raux, hoarse. ¡ª There¡¯s no more time.

    ¡ª What...? ¡ª whispered Scar just as Darcy pushed her away from the desk.

    ¡ª Now. ¡ª said the boss. ¡ª Go.

    Scar weighed those words. Was Raux expelling her? Did she want her to leave and never come back? She didn¡¯t understand a damn thing.

    Scar shook her head and yanked her hood back. The two stared at each other.

    ¡ª What the hell is going on? ¡ª she asked the boss. ¡ª I just got here and you¡¯re sending me away. What¡¯s the problem?

    ¡ª The problem, Matchstone. ¡ª Darcy circled the desk and stopped in front of Scar, only a few centimeters separating them. ¡ª Is that you¡¯re being threatened and don¡¯t realize it. You fell into a trap a long time ago. ¡ª The boss pushed her again, and Scar grabbed a nearby table. ¡ª Go to the king and fix this, we don¡¯t have more time.

    Scar scrutinized those blue eyes of Darcy¡¯s in the dark, like a pool of clear water.

    ¡ª What the hell does the king have to do with this?

    ¡ª Not the king, but you. You¡¯re the cause of this, so do as I say as soon as you leave here.

    Darcy grabbed Scar¡¯s arm and directed her to the exit. But she growled and planted her feet on the ground, breaking free from Raux with brutality.

    ¡ª You knew from the beginning, ¡ª Scar accused. ¡ª From the beginning when you went to that damn funeral, you knew it was all a fucking lie.

    ¡ª No, I didn¡¯t know. But I found out. ¡ª the boss replied. ¡ª But by the time I understood what it was about, your death gave me more headaches than I imagined it would.

    Scar blinked.

    Was she really talking about the problems her fake death caused her?

    ¡ª You¡¯re in trouble, Matchstone. ¡ª said Darcy, slowly. ¡ª And I¡¯m giving you a chance. We are all giving you a chance to do the right thing and live for what you must live for.

    ¡ª Why does everything have to seem like a riddle, damn it?

    ¡ª Because you¡¯re the daughter of mysteries, and nothing in your life will be different. I thought you were used to it.

    Scar rubbed her forehead hard and brushed the hair from her face, growling.

    Was that why she had become a Carvlinea? To solve mysteries? Is that why she had become so good at it?

    Darcy sought Scar¡¯s face again, wanting to look the former agent in the eye so that Scar would pay attention to her.

    ¡ª I don¡¯t know what¡¯s keeping you here, Matchstone, but you must fulfill your destiny.

    ¡ª Since when do you know anything about my destiny?!

    ¡ª Because your father was the damn Oracle! ¡ª Raux gripped Scar¡¯s shoulders so hard that the former agent gritted her teeth. ¡ª Go to King Hendrix and give him the letter. Don¡¯t let anyone tell you what to do, follow who you are and claim your rightful place.

    Scar thought of saying that there was nothing more to claim, but a beep sounded in the silence that had settled for a while. She frowned as Darcy¡¯s eyes widened.

    ¡ª GO!

    Raux pushed Scar towards the exit, and her legs seemed to come to life as she ran to the door and managed to get out.

    Scar glanced over her shoulder as she ran to the other side of the street, looking for Darcy, but the boss had stayed behind, looking for the source of the noise. And when she turned to the former agent, worry and fear crossing those deep blue eyes, sector 3 exploded.

 31

    There were two choices.

    Either run and get out of reach, or stay and die.

    Darcy Raux chose the latter, and the flames engulfed her body until nothing was left, turning everything to charcoal.

    Scar didn¡¯t know what she was seeing. Whether it was the destruction of her former sector, or if she was searching for the boss now missing among the rubble.

    People in the neighborhood came out of their houses screaming, but everything was muffled for Scar, everything was a false hope. It was all happening slowly as she searched through the smoke and the fire still burning in the scattered pieces of the sector on the ground.

    The stable next door creaked, and Scar just watched as it collapsed to one side. Injured horses ran out in desperation, almost trampling civilians as they fled in all directions. She was sure some of them were left behind, dead or trapped.

    There was no point in blinking to regain her vision because Scar¡¯s ears didn¡¯t seem to work well, and her head was throbbing. It wasn¡¯t the first time this had happened, and certainly not the last. It seemed she was destined to suffer from explosions for the rest of her life.

    Her ankle was injured and hurting, but she still tried to move it, to get it out from under a piece of cement. An involuntary groan escaped her throat, and her breath faltered.

    She still held Darcy¡¯s damn letter, so, carefully, she stuffed it into her pants with trembling, bloody hands.

    Scar didn¡¯t care when hands closed around her shoulders and arms, pulling her to her feet. The cement slipped off her ankle, and she screamed in pain.

    In the midst of so much muffled noise, she managed to identify someone shouting:

    ¡ª The Shooter!

    And then it all went downhill.

    Scar was punched in the left eye by someone.

    Before staggering and falling to the ground, the same people who had lifted her held her tighter, setting her up to take more blows.

    Another fist hit her stomach.

    Everything was slow.

    The people around started shouting more angrily, blaming Scar, blaming everything she was and had been. Blaming Scar¡¯s parents and everything else she called family.

    They blamed her for the explosions and, for that, she had to pay, for that she had to take the blows without flinching.

    Others struck her jaw, followed by a kick to the ribs.

    The crowd was angry, shouting that Scar was a thief, that she had stolen from the arena factions, that she didn¡¯t deserve all this recognition. But the more they shouted, the more recognition they were giving her, even if it was as a thief or a murderer.

    Scar¡¯s ears were becoming more attuned, recovering. But her vision had returned to normal.

    Scar dodged the sole of a foot aimed directly at her face and twisted her arms backward, breaking free from those holding her. She advanced with her fist to someone¡¯s nose and kicked another in the knee, breaking it with a satisfying sound.

    The man in front attacked, but Scar saw an opening on the right and dodged the blow before punching his ribs and grabbing one of his arms, twisting it until his shoulder popped. His scream reverberated through her bones, and Scar couldn¡¯t hold back the small smile that formed on her face.

    The people around backed off when she raised her head to look at them. All frightened, but Scar was more so. Scared, injured, and angry. She didn¡¯t want this anymore.

    She swallowed hard, feeling her throat crack from dryness, and refused to shout at the crowd. Because now they knew she was alive, that she had cheated death, or that she was a ghost.

    Scar wiped the blood dripping from her nose and walked over the sector¡¯s debris, refusing to look where Darcy¡¯s body probably was. A redhead was pulled from beneath, encrusted with dust, and Scar turned her painful gaze away.

    Her ankle hurt, but she swallowed the pain as if it were something normal and walked to where she had left her horse, far from all this, as if she could predict this shit would happen.

    Daughter of the Oracle. Enigmas were part of her life, just like the future. Sensing things, in the end, was normal.

    Even though the night was above everyone, people brought torches to the street and threatened Scar with them, wanting to burn her as she walked through the crowd. But the Shooter had returned from the dead, she was the villain there, walking over blood and ashes, creating her own storm with her deadly lightning.

    Everyone was afraid of her now, and gradually the insults diminished until only the crying of children and babies remained, just one family hugging while looking at Scar with disgust.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    She bared her teeth at those who didn¡¯t avert their gazes, and when she saw a little girl clinging to her mother¡¯s leg who was carrying another child in her arms, Scar smiled with amusement, watching the funny scene. The little girl cringed. The father was almost in front, protecting his family from the Shooter walking through the streets while there were still brave ones burning her now-exposed arm with glowing torches, throwing them in her direction while refusing to approach, out of fear and remorse.

    Cowards. Scar spat at their feet.

    The explosion had destroyed her clothes and almost all her tunic. Scar tore the brooch from the fabric and left the tunic on the ground indifferently as she paraded away from everything. She didn¡¯t need it anymore, she was free to show herself to the world again. The hatred she would receive was her fuel, so she just smiled all the way to her horse, even when the crowd had long ended.

    <hr>

    Once again, Scar recited Darcy¡¯s words in her mind.

    Take it to the king.

    If she showed up, she would be exiled.

    Take it to the king.

    And that meant being killed.

    Scar huffed at the letter she held in her hands. She watched one of them tremble in a way she had never seen before, and then rubbed it on her leg to shake off the sensation. But she couldn¡¯t stop the tears from streaming down her face. In a few seconds, Scar was crying.

    She stood up with a grunt and screamed as she kicked one stone, then another.

    Twilight watched from a distance, its breath condensing in front of it.

    Scar stopped, breathing heavily, and looked up at the starry sky. Was some god watching her? Dictating her steps? Scar muttered to herself; it didn¡¯t matter at the moment. But if it were true, it mattered little as well, because she couldn¡¯t do anything about it. Just exist.

    Darcy Raux was someone who rarely came close to death. Scar wondered what the boss was doing in there, what the hell got into Darcy¡¯s head to stay inside the sector when that single beep had given the answer. But she knew very well that her boss wouldn¡¯t leave all those cases behind, knew they were important, and trying to save evidence cost Raux her life. Looking for the source of the noise was also a huge mistake, as if she could save all the pending cases. It was a warning beep, one that only Scar had escaped from. And now she had a new case to solve. Unfortunately, without evidence and solutions from the most recent cases that could help.

    Why would they blow up a sector tonight? Maybe they knew Scar would be there at that moment, but it would be impossible. Or maybe they were just waiting to trigger the bomb, but they had planted it long ago.

    Scar closed her eyes and lowered her chin, giving up on anything now. She just wanted to go home and rest.

    They had arrived at the city¡¯s exit, at the bridge that passed over a river. Scar had sat at the bridge¡¯s side, tired, but now she was climbing back onto Twilight.

    For a while on the way back, lighting the way with the lantern she had stolen from a bar outside, Scar wished she didn¡¯t have to worry about anything other than finding the way home. She wished she didn¡¯t have to think about anything. And it worked, for a while.

    Halfway through, her mind returned to all the moments with Darcy, the way she made Scar remember her actions with superiors, or when she saved her from certain deaths when she plunged headfirst into a terrorist attack by mystics or rebels. She owed Darcy her life. But after months, the boss didn¡¯t seem so happy to see Scar, and she admitted, she felt hurt by the way Raux had acted.

    The house was dark when she arrived. The moon and the starry sky provided a view of the house¡¯s top, and no light came from inside.

    Scar sighed and got off Twilight, then felt her legs wobble and weaken. Her ankle was throbbing hard. Gods, she just wanted to lie down and wake up with the morning sun streaming through the doors and windows.

    Scar didn¡¯t bother to unsaddle her horse, patting its cheek and heading toward the house. No sound of another horse was around.

    She climbed the stairs carefully in the dark and placed her hand on the doors, praying they were open, that Ethan had the good sense to leave the house for her.

    The doors opened, and Scar exhaled. The relief was short-lived because Ethan wasn¡¯t home. In no time, she was inside, the lantern illuminating what it could around. Scar placed it on the kitchen counter and went in search of firewood. She lit the fireplace and stayed there for a while until the fire took shape, staring at those embers for a long time before settling on the floor in front of it.

    She barely noticed how cold she was until she felt the warmth on her skin, giving her comforting shivers. But it was that dancing fire that seemed to devour her boss alive, circling her body and trapping her inside.

    Scar closed her eyes, and a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away indifferently and stood up, looking for clothes and praying once more that Ethan had left something for her.

    But she stopped midway, about to pass by the couch.

    Scar¡¯s mind was screaming non-stop, and her heart was racing as she turned her head towards the rug on the floor in front of the couch.

    The black bag was there, now closed.

    Scar thought and rethought the idea of messing with it. But if Ethan had left the bag there, he would probably come back for it. Which means Ethan Sinclair hadn¡¯t left.

    She glanced at the now-closed doors, seriously considering locking them. Her hands began to tremble slightly with fear. Ethan could show up at any moment, and she was afraid of any proximity to the assassin on the silent night. Scar wouldn¡¯t have the patience to continue the discussion if he brought it up too. She couldn¡¯t. She knew very well what he was capable of and didn¡¯t want to face him. The fear she had never felt when confronting Ethan seemed to want to take hold.

    So Scar turned and went to the bag, curiosity taking over her body. She should do this before Ethan showed up.

    The zipper slid perfectly when Scar opened it quickly. She threw the flaps wide open and felt her soul leave her body.

    It wasn¡¯t things for the journey to the Opposite Continent as Scar had imagined. It was far from it.

    As much as her heart and skin were collapsing upon seeing all that, Scar knew it was a problem. A bag full of firearms was not something to be happy about, even though she felt she could handle them very well.

    But Scar stepped back when she saw the bombs placed gently, as if they could explode at any moment. The air escaped her lungs, and she had to breathe through her mouth.

    Scar grabbed a pistol and opened it. It was loaded. Scar closed it and unlocked it before getting up and pointing at a specific wooden plank. But that was it.

    She locked the gun again, feeling the familiar weight she had once been so used to. Now she could take advantage. She could go after the culprit, make them pay. And now it would be easier.

    So she dressed appropriately and waited.

 32

    It wasn¡¯t as if she was one step away from ruining everything. Ethan had already ruined it.

    After openly suggesting what he wanted, and Scar inevitably refusing, Ethan had gone for a ride with his mare. Of course, there were other plans in between, but that didn¡¯t matter now. He had done what he should have done a long time ago and felt lighter. Despite the blood of his kind being on his hands at that very moment.

    But what was there to blame himself for? He had broken protocol, and Ethan had only retaliated. Scar didn¡¯t need to know that. That¡¯s why he was washing himself at the fountain in the middle of the Capital¡¯s square, removing the blood of his enemies that seemed to cling to his skin.

    His stomach growled with hunger, and Ethan was as famished as an animal that hadn¡¯t eaten for a whole day.

    As soon as he finished scrubbing his hands, he put on the white shirt he had found on a clothesline and shook his hair to dry it. He was eager to get home and take a bath, to clean off all the dirt.

    Ethan mounted his mare and headed home, carrying the coat he always left on Aurora¡¯s saddle. The cold didn¡¯t bother him as much now; he wanted to feel the icy wind kissing his wet skin and needed his body to dry, especially his chest, where half of the shirt was sticking to him.

    The whole way, Ethan could only think about Scar. The hunger seemed to prevent him from thinking about anything else but her, as if forcing him to see the mess he had made. Scar would never forgive him, but Ethan was willing to beg for forgiveness until his knees hurt. Because if it wasn¡¯t her, he had no idea who it could be or how long he would have to wait until he found the right person.

    Twilight was grazing outside when he arrived. Scar¡¯s horse watched attentively as Ethan dismounted Aurora and unsaddled her, placing the gear on the log he had there for exactly that purpose. But it seemed Scar didn¡¯t care much to unsaddle her horse. Or maybe she couldn¡¯t see in the dark as he could.

    A flickering light came from inside the house, and Ethan sighed in relief at the brief scent of her there, almost hidden under his own. He couldn¡¯t help but feel a wave of emotion as he remembered the days when he was connected to Scar.

    But at least now he didn¡¯t have to worry about anyone or anything smelling her around. He had risked taking so long to have any reaction to that when he brought her to that corner of the forest, and now the scents were mixed.

    Ethan climbed the stairs silently and opened the door.

    The armchair on the other side of the sofa was turned away, Scar¡¯s bare leg shining with the embers of the fireplace. The bag in front of the couch was open, and as Ethan closed the door, the armchair turned.

    Maybe it was the most attractive thing Ethan had ever seen in his life, or the most terrifying.

    Scar was sitting in the armchair, her fingers moving over the firearm, her wild eyes fixed on Ethan¡¯s. The torn white hoodie exposed the full length of her belly, her arms completely hidden by the sleeves. And the questionable underwear was clinging to her thighs, leaving her sweaty legs exposed, the fireplace¡¯s fire reflecting on the sweat.

    But it wasn¡¯t Scar almost naked that left him stunned; it wasn¡¯t the gun in her hands, but the wounds all over her body, everything she was displaying from her legs to her face. He restrained himself from going to her and looking for more. Scar would probably shoot him if he approached like that.

    Ethan didn¡¯t dare take his eyes off her, searching for some answer he could find in that passive and, apparently, sickly face.

    A pang of concern hit Ethan¡¯s chest.

    Her left eye was bruised and slightly swollen, her ribcage was equally bruised and injured, as was the red mark on her belly. A cut stood out on her jaw, and Ethan saw the dried blood streak that stained Scar¡¯s face.

    One of her legs was stained with dried blood, as if a good amount had flowed from the thigh wound. Sinclair clenched his jaw.

    He wondered how she had managed to get those injuries and why the hell she was dressed that way, holding a damn firearm. As far as he remembered, he had made more than hundreds of mental notes to keep those weapons out of Scar¡¯s reach, just like treating children near dangerous toys.

    The truth is, he had left it in front of the couch. Because he wanted to.

    Ethan threw his coat on the counter and began to approach Scar.

    ¡ª What are you doing? ¡ª he asked, innocently.

    Scar looked at the gun, a small smile appearing on her wounded face.

    Ethan decided to take a different approach:

    ¡ª Who did this to you?

    Scar stared at him, and he almost lost his breath once more. As soon as he laid hands on those bastards...

    ¡ª You did. ¡ª she replied.

    Ethan must have shown his confusion through his expression, so much that Scar laughed and stood up, walking around while admiring the pistol.

    ¡ª While you weren¡¯t here, I was asking myself how long this would last. All this I want to protect you and don¡¯t want to hurt you was pure lies. Or rather, you would have kept those things if you had left me alone from the start.

    ¡ª I can explain.

    Scar unlocked and pointed the gun at him without directly looking at Ethan. And she didn¡¯t need to; it was Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder he was facing at that moment, the fierce competitor who never missed a shot. A pitiless legend.

    ¡ª I didn¡¯t ask for an explanation ¡ª she replied.

    Ethan tilted his head.

    ¡ª You know. ¡ª she began, now completely serious ¡ª I¡¯ve been fooled many times. But I admit, you were the worst of them, certainly the worst of all. I wish I could say I trust you, but unfortunately, I feel disgusted with myself for ever doing that as if it were my greatest certainty. ¡ª The look she gave Ethan was with such deep pain that he had to look away, thankful that the gun pointed at him was a good excuse. ¡ª I trusted my body to you, my whole life and everything I am. And you repaid me with the reminder that no one should be trusted. The reminder that you are trash.

    ¡ª Scar... ¡ª Ethan risked a step towards her.

    She pulled the trigger.

    He barely felt the pain in his shoulder when he focused his attention on Scar¡¯s arm, which had risen with the gun¡¯s impulse.

    ¡ª Oops ¡ª she murmured.

    Ethan clenched his teeth, feeling the warm blood trickling down his arm inside the white shirt.

    Scar resumed pacing patiently, running her fingers along the gun¡¯s barrel while staring at the floor under Ethan¡¯s feet, as if she could bore a hole with her eyes.

    But this was some kind of torture. Not the injury she had just inflicted on his shoulder, but what she was seeing. Scar injured and semi-naked carrying a firearm, her long, slightly wavy hair falling wildly over her back, so different from what he had imagined when he first saw her, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body. Scar¡¯s hair was wild, one of Ethan¡¯s weak points.

    In those days, no plan had taken such shape, and the ending he had imagined was so distant now that Ethan was angry with himself for having ruined everything. Anyway, they needed to get out of there as soon as possible. The idea of leaving this continent was still at the top of the list, and he intended to take Scar with him at all costs. He wouldn¡¯t let her leave again; who knows what could happen if she went to the city once more.

    That¡¯s why he had taken precautions.

    ¡ª From the beginning. ¡ª Scar started again, now completely serious ¡ª Everything was a lie.

    ¡ª No. ¡ª Ethan fired back, knowing he needed to stop there because not everything was a lie. ¡ª No, you and I are a truth you can''t deny, Scar.

    Scar pointed the gun at him.

    ¡ª You know I can, Sinclair.

    Ethan growled at that name. And because he knew she could. Scar could deny and move on without Ethan.

    ¡ª Nothing I feel for you was a lie, Scar. ¡ª Despite his insides shaking and screaming at him, Ethan remained neutral, speaking as calmly as possible.

    ¡ª You''re lying again ¡ª she accused ¡ª Aren''t you tired? I''m the heir to the Oracle, daughter of Mary Jane Oxwinder. What a great way to conquer what shouldn''t be conquered.

    Ethan looked at her.

    Conquer what shouldn''t be conquered.

    ¡ª You''re mistaken. ¡ª he said.

    ¡ª You want the rangers'' leadership? Why not? What stops me from passing it to you? After all, they''re different species. You''d get along well among dwarves, elves, and humans, wouldn''t you?

    ¡ª Scar, I never wanted to take your leadership with the guardians.

    She snarled.

    ¡ª Damn it, you blew up everything in sight, killed Trytan, faked my death, and blew up Darcy Raux. Who do you think you are, Ethan Sinclair? An assassin? With all your stories of overcoming? You''re a treacherous faerie male. ¡ª Her hand turned white from gripping the gun so tightly, and Ethan feared she might pull the trigger unintentionally. She was aiming between his eyes. ¡ª You made me believe I could reclaim my rightful place in this world, made me believe in myself and what I was capable of. You deceived me all this time. You caused all of this.

    He couldn''t deny it; Ethan had, indeed, caused all of that.

    The hole in the wall had felt like he could breathe again. However, his participation in the wall''s explosion was zero.

    ¡ª You''re as faerie as I am, Scar. ¡ª he said, and she growled in response. ¡ª The wall was mainly destroyed by you, to feel the power you carry. You should be grateful.

    Scar seemed to snarl as she said.

    ¡ª Whoever blew up our only form of protection against you killed in the process.

    Ethan grunted.

    ¡ª You can''t protect yourself from yourself. Accept who you are and come with me. I blew up the arena to remove you from this mortal world. To put you back on track, and now you refuse to come with me.

    Scar bared her teeth.

    ¡ª You killed in the process of your illusion. If you think I''ll go with you far from here, you''re very mistaken. I don''t care who you are or were.

    Ethan knew he might lose his patience any minute.

    ¡ª Darcy Raux was declaring herself an enemy. ¡ª Scar turned white as the blood drained from her face, Ethan noticed. ¡ª She joined with those here to limit you, to hide you from the world before they take you from them. Because here on these lands, you''re not safe. If you go with me to the Opposite Continent, I can protect you and teach you to live in this unknown faerie body, Scar.

    She tilted her head, her brow furrowed with complete attention to Sinclair''s movements.

    ¡ª You''re delusional, Ethan.

    He grunted.

    ¡ª I blew up her sector because Darcy was finding answers and documents about my journey that shouldn''t fall into any vagrant''s hands.

    Scar pulled the trigger.

    The bullet hit Ethan''s other shoulder, and he felt it go through, hearing it clink on the floor.

    ¡ª You prove yourself more and more to be an aberration. ¡ª Scar fired. ¡ª A useless one who thinks he''s doing something good, but in fact, wants to control what you can''t and shouldn''t.

    Ethan stared at her expressionless.

    ¡ª And you with your manners being a Carvlinean agent. Do you think I don''t know how your ego kept you off track? How you spent days walking the same path as many detectives just to see where you went wrong? Why didn''t you find the clue first, Scar? One of the times, you were sleeping with Trytan and were so mesmerized you left the case in others'' hands. ¡ª Ethan felt his body roar with horror. Because back then, he couldn''t do anything. ¡ª Your consequence was exhausting to watch.

    Scar slowly lifted her chin, her eyes shining with the fire of the fireplace. Her hair was stuck to her sweaty neck and forehead.

    But Sinclair still had the damn bullet in his shoulder, the hot blood slowly trickling down. And at that moment, the fact that he''d been following her since Scar was in Rubben''s hands and was beaten for failures didn''t even take away the pain. The pain Scar was causing.

    Scar lowered her chin, looking at Ethan from under her eyelashes. That expression was pure hatred that Sinclair felt on his skin.

    ¡ª I bet you loved being my shadow, faerie.

    Ethan clenched his teeth.

    ¡ª The one you slept with had poison in his hands.

    Scar gripped the gun tightly.

    ¡ª And you thought it smart to kill him in broad daylight? How can you be a faerie and so stupid at the same time?

    Ethan forced a weak smile and replied low and slow.

    ¡ª Not even you could find me.

    Scar growled and pulled the trigger. And again.

    When the sound ceased, Ethan blinked with his vision blurring and felt his ear throbbing.

    ¡ª You managed to go without an eye for a while. ¡ª it was her turn to smile. ¡ª If you want, I can finish the job and make you deaf.

    His ear throbbed. Or rather, what was left of it beside his head.

    Ethan tensed his jaw, focusing on the wounds all over his body. They were like daggers slowly cutting his skin, the sharp pain intensifying. He brought his fingers to the wound on his shoulder, which was already wide enough to pull out the last bullet lodged in his flesh.

    His ear, or what remained of it, would heal. But Scar had shot the tip, exactly where the characteristic point of faeries and elves was beautifully drawn.

    Sinclair wanted to curse her in every way. He was so fed up with bullets and holes in his body that he could go blind with rage if he continued to be provoked. His nostrils flared in anger, and Scar watched him, studying him.

    You maintain your sanity, my Lord.

    A figure was behind Scar, in a black tunic with a hood covering its face. Nothing was seen, nothing was felt. It was a presence Ethan didn''t know when it came, where it would appear, or if it would come. He brushed it off with cuts on his arm.

    Scar exhaled slowly through her mouth and spoke.

    ¡ª You were paid by Rubben to kill him, weren''t you?

    The figure was still beside her, waiting quietly. She wouldn''t do anything. Couldn''t. But Ethan''s heart started to gallop in his chest.

    It wasn''t there for Scar. It was one of Ethan''s shadows.

    He nodded slowly, returning to Scar''s hazel eyes.

    ¡ª I was.

    Scar shifted in place.

    ¡ª What was your connection to that son of a bitch? ¡ª she asked.

    Ethan shrugged, and his whole body screamed in response.

    ¡ª He did some right-hand work for me. He was my right hand.

    And that meant he did the closest, most risky jobs that required the most attention and loyalty.

    Scar raised her chin slightly, the only sign of surprise.

    ¡ª Rubben doesn''t work for anyone.

    ¡ª Well ¡ª said Ethan, hoarse. ¡ª What was offered to him was not to be refused. He worked for me. We had a contract.

    She narrowed her eyes.

    ¡ª What happened to the contract, Sinclair?

    ¡ª It ended. ¡ª he replied.

    Scar tilted her head, doubtful.

    What Sinclair had done with Rubben mattered little. He couldn''t decipher what Scar was thinking or feeling about the revelation. But he didn''t need to worry about anything when she pulled the trigger once again.

    His right hand started throbbing, and Ethan curled up to his chest, growling at Scar.

    ¡ª Stop shooting, fuck!

    Ethan took two steps forward and reached Scar. His hand flew to her wrist, holding it so tightly he knew he could break it if he wanted to. Her wrist was thin and elegant, always carrying a thin gold chain with her own name.

    Gwenda.

    Sinclair blinked. He lost his posture and loosened his grip on Scar. She giggled, and her breath kissed Sinclair''s neck as she leaned close to his almost missing ear.

    ¡ª You''re a waste. ¡ª she whispered.

    Ethan knew there was a gun pointed right next to his head, the barrel touching his hair, probably dirty with his own blood. He still held the wrist with the gun pointed upwards, but Scar had pulled another gun from her back and pointed it at his temple so quickly that Ethan didn''t even notice. When it came to firearms, Scar was hardly sabotaged or defeated.

    She stepped back again, the expression of satisfaction still etched on her face. But then she became serious.

    ¡ª Five steps back. Now.

    Ethan obeyed. He took five steps back and one more to avoid more bullets in his body. His hand throbbed so much he couldn''t even feel his fingers.

    ¡ª It¡¯s been a while since I held a gun. ¡ª she said, completely delirious with Ethan''s blood dripping on the floor. ¡ª I believe you did everything possible to keep me away from that. ¡ª Scar indicated the bag in front of the sofa with her chin. ¡ª Pathetic.

    He was taking shots for free and knew it, paying for what he had done to Scar.

    ¡ª I would love for you to explain. ¡ª Scar said amidst Ethan''s suffering, spinning the gun in her fingers as she walked to the bed, moving her body in such a graceful and alluring way that he could barely look away. Despite the anguish that left him unable to think, he only wanted to hold that gun.

    The figure was still there, staring at him. And Ethan growled at her, who didn''t respond. But the blood dripping from his body brought him back to reality.

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    ¡ª You have a powerful enemy. ¡ª Ethan explained finally. He knew he would have to expose this sooner or later. ¡ª And he is on his way.

    Scar stopped, her arms limp at her sides, and slowly turned around.

    Ethan continued:

    ¡ª I searched for you for many years, without hope that I would ever find you. Forgive me if my possessive side wanted to keep you safe.

    Scar frowned, and a small smile appeared on her face.

    ¡ª By your side. ¡ª she said. ¡ª You forgot to add that. ¡ª Scar moved away from the bed, walking toward Ethan with small and gentle steps. She pointed the gun at him as soon as she was less than a meter away.

    Scar''s scent beneath all the blood warmed Ethan''s heart and filled his lungs. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and savor it while he could.

    ¡ª Why would I have a powerful enemy now? ¡ª she asked, innocently. ¡ª I don''t remember anyone who would dare come after me.

    Ethan swallowed hard against the pain that wouldn''t let him think straight.

    ¡ª You know nothing about him. ¡ª Ethan practically whispered, even more hoarse. His entire body throbbed, and his heart raced every time he looked at Scar. ¡ª He''s not just anyone. You''ve never faced him.

    She tilted her head.

    ¡ª I think this idea is splendid. Knowing that someone feels threatened by me without ever having faced me.

    Scar took a step forward, the gun barrel pressing into Ethan''s abdomen. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and he could feel every drop of control leaving his body. Scar smiled.

    ¡ª What''s his name?

    Ethan remained silent. He knew that if he gave the name, Scar might run away or attack him when she met him, which would please Ethan. But he would be screwed if he even pronounced that name.

    Scar stared at him, hungry for an answer.

    ¡ª I don''t know. He doesn''t have a name; he''s just a fucked-up shadow that roams the lands of Alphardj.

    Scar raised her eyebrows, a hint of a smile appeared.

    The gun pressed more firmly into Ethan''s body, but he didn''t care as he brought his hand to her face. Scar tensed and dug the gun barrel into his abdomen as Ethan caressed her face.

    ¡ª I wanted to take you away.

    Scar pulled back from his touch, stepping back, and Ethan missed her warmth.

    ¡ª I can handle myself.

    No. Not with that. Not with this enemy that even Ethan feared at the moment.

    One of the few things Ethan didn''t trust Scar alone with was this creature. And Ethan couldn''t lose Scar, couldn''t lose his soulmate for various reasons. Mainly because he loved her.

    The one coming after her would steal Scar in every possible way, would take away that sparkle in her eyes that Ethan had started to see since she smiled genuinely at him for the first time. He was blind for Scar. And blind with hatred.

    And that figure wouldn''t leave him alone. Ethan could be dangerous, but not for Scar, never for Scar. But the rest were. For Scar, the fucked-up shadow could be everything, and that tore Ethan''s chest, leaving him exhausted from his own thoughts and a completely possessive savage.

    Her gaze was pure doubt and a panic hidden for a long time. Ethan knew everything Scar had been through. Arth Cheack and Rubben would be jokes compared to what was coming if Scar stayed behind.

    And he let her see the fear in his eyes, the terror. Feelings he never showed.

    ¡ª What do you want me to do? ¡ª he asked, closing the distance Scar had opened between them. She was thinking too much to worry about pulling the trigger.

    ¡ª Nothing. ¡ª she replied, looking into his eyes. ¡ª Never do anything unless it''s to get out of my life.

    A kick in the stomach would have hurt less.

    Scar walked away, heading toward the bed with determination. She grabbed the pants lying on top and quickly put them on without letting go of either gun.

    ¡ª Scar. ¡ª Ethan could have pleaded with that tone ¡ª I just want your safety. I can''t lose you.

    She stopped, about to put her other leg into the pants, watching him with a slightly furrowed brow.

    Ethan whispered:

    ¡ª I couldn''t bear it.

    Scar resumed getting dressed:

    ¡ª I don''t care what you can or can''t bear. You''ve already lost me.

    It was like a stab to the heart.

    Ethan ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He barely felt the pain in his shoulder with the movement.

    ¡ª Believe me, as soon as you leave here, things will only get worse.

    ¡ª You''ve already done the worst, and I hope you''re as aware of that as I am.

    ¡ª I did what had to be done. ¡ª he replied, completely oblivious to the fact that, in the end, he messed up a lot.

    ¡ª You killed them all! ¡ª Scar was already aiming at Ethan again.

    ¡ª All to keep you alive!

    ¡ª Do you want me to thank you? Do you want my fucking gratitude?! ¡ª Scar was shouting, even as she approached with trembling hands of rage. ¡ª Then go fuck yourself!

    ¡ª You have a life to live, and you were wasting it. ¡ª Ethan replied in the same tone, irritated at having to explain to her once again. ¡ª Everything I did was for a reason. Trytan couldn''t sell that amount of poison he found, so I had Rubben send his men to snoop around the hideout while I went after him. I studied your relationship with everyone around you before I could act, and you have no idea how long I sat just watching and watching. ¡ª Ethan clenched his fists. ¡ª I knew you would recognize the casino symbols; I just didn''t expect you to go after him so late. You could have spared a lot of pain and suffering.

    The trigger was pulled once again.

    Ethan grunted as the bullet grazed the right side of his hip. He bared his teeth at her so fiercely he could have lunged again. But he wasn''t that stupid. Scar was neutral.

    ¡ª You''re blaming me. ¡ª she murmured.

    Ethan cursed.

    ¡ª No, Scar. I knew you would go after Rubben as soon as you saw the damn symbol, but even Darcy chickened out when she found out. ¡ª Scar''s expression changed to shock but only for a moment. ¡ª I killed the guards in the tower of one of the sectors to draw attention, to inform that I had arrived.

    Scar squinted her eyes.

    ¡ª For whom?

    Ethan hissed through his teeth as he tested the weight on his right leg. But he remained silent as he stared at the woman in front of him. His eyes must have expressed enough for Scar to ask:

    ¡ª And does he know?

    Ethan nodded.

    ¡ª Absolutely.

    ¡ª He must be quite an enemy for you.

    Ethan tilted his head. For going after Scar and encountering countless times across the continent for nearly a century.

    ¡ª You have no idea.

    If not regarding the past, then regarding the fae in front of him, holding a gun pointed at him without fear of burying a bullet in his head. Like a game.

    ¡ª The arena explosion was a failure. I planned to collapse that place when you left, but I had to intervene a bit earlier to get you out of there.

    ¡ª Yeah. ¡ª she said. ¡ª Courvin wasn''t very kind.

    Ethan stared at her, or rather, at the corner of the gun aimed at his heart.

    ¡ª Courvin was with me. A friend I made when I arrived in the city and trusted enough to help me.

    Scar laughed.

    ¡ª What do you have in your veins? Or are you very observant and analytical to be sure the lousy competitor wouldn''t betray you?

    Ethan gave a faint smile.

    ¡ª More or less. ¡ª His shoulder wounds were almost healed, as well as his hand. ¡ª In the end, when everything was as planned, I planted a bomb in Darcy''s sector as soon as you left here earlier today. I ran into her on the way out. ¡ª Scar took a long breath ¡ª but she told me to go to hell and crawl back from where I came. So, I made sure the bomb was hidden and followed you the rest of the way to Rubben''s casino. They let me in through the back, and I listened to your conversation with that guy. When you left, I finished my job as I should have done long ago.

    Scar turned pale as death, and Ethan blinked, confused. Wasn''t that what she wanted? To put an end to the one who made her suffer? She moved the hand holding the gun, and Ethan smelled the sweat, the fear. Fear for Rubben. Ethan stifled a grunt.

    ¡ª You hated him. ¡ª he said.

    ¡ª Yes, but you manipulated him.

    ¡ª You can''t think Rubben would have changed just because he wasn''t the one who created your latest nightmares.

    ¡ª No, but you''re not exactly innocent either.

    ¡ª Rubben is still alive, if you want to know. ¡ª Ethan admitted. ¡ª He''s in his casino, breathing for a little longer until I go back and finish the job.

    Scar stood still, processing something Ethan had no idea about.

    He continued:

    ¡ª I blew up Darcy''s sector to prevent the information about the cases I created from spreading. Information about me from spreading. You can''t blame me, damn it!

    ¡ª You killed Darcy!

    Scar gripped the gun tighter as she spoke, incredulous.

    Ethan might have gone into shock if he weren''t consumed by hatred.

    ¡ª I didn''t know she was still inside, damn it.

    And it was true. Darcy Raux always stayed late in the sector, keeping an eye out to ensure Scar was safe downstairs. But when Scar disappeared, Darcy started going home. That time was outside his plans, and Ethan truly believed it was empty after that random encounter with Raux. Scar pressed her lips into a thin line, blinking rapidly. Ethan knew she might shed tears right there, remembering the now-dead chief.

    ¡ª I was there. ¡ª Scar said, her voice thick. ¡ª I watched as the flames consumed her alive.

    Ethan felt his heart drop, his body heavy before her.

    ¡ª Explain yourself. ¡ª he demanded.

    He risked a step towards her, but only that. Scar ignored this brief closing of the distance. Scar shook her head and cursed.

    ¡ª Darcy pulled me out of the sector before it exploded.

    A white mist crossed Ethan''s eyes. Scar was there, had put the person he loved in danger, and felt useless when he remembered the reason for all this. To protect her. And he had done the opposite. Ethan didn''t know if he could speak, so he remained silent as he observed and studied her exposed wounds.

    ¡ª I was beaten after the explosion. ¡ª she explained to Ethan, who was now scanning every inch of her injured body.

    ¡ª Who? ¡ª the tone could have scared anyone there. But Scar closed her expression to him.

    ¡ª The question would be why.

    Ethan searched her gaze. He knew the reason well. He had caused it himself. And that was why he didn''t want Scar to appear before the people. He shook his head and rubbed his face with one hand.

    ¡ª I faked your death so they would stop looking for you. I needed to get you out of the mortal world, I needed to get you out of Carsany and start training you. But they found out you were alive, and they''re just steps away from getting here.

    ¡ª I don''t give a damn who shows up right now. I want to hear it.

    Ethan sighed, knowing Scar wanted all the answers to all the questions in her head.

    ¡ª I didn''t bring down Ramelia''s sector. ¡ª he said finally. ¡ª That was the rebels'' doing.

    Scar shrugged.

    ¡ª That really changes a lot. ¡ª the irony made Ethan roll his eyes. ¡ª What does Ramelia have to do with all this?

    Sinclair took some time, deciding whether to speak or not.

    ¡ª He has allies. Ramelia and her twin sister are on his side, working for the future.

    Scar frowned.

    ¡ª What do you mean?

    ¡ª That you are too valuable.

    He didn''t expect her to say anything about that. Scar was valuable to Ethan in every way he could think of.

    ¡ª And that''s why they want me dead.

    Ethan was uncertain about that. Scar saw it peculiarly, just as Ethan had planted in her mind. If he wasn''t careful, Scar was just pretending, feigning ignorance. After all, they didn''t want her dead. They wanted her for themselves. Each one chasing her wanted Scar for themselves, to prove themselves as good allies. They didn''t want to be in the Shooter¡¯s sights.

    And Ethan was one of them and always had been. Sinclair had observed her long enough from rooftops and among the crowd to know that the Shooter was a dishonorable thief who disguised herself as a silly and defenseless woman when needed. Her elegant and delicate manner was admirable when she switched characters according to her missions.

    It was not unexpected for any detective from Carsany. Even Ethan was capable of disguising himself as something he wasn''t.

    ¡ª Yes. ¡ª he agreed. ¡ª That''s why many want you dead.

    He couldn¡¯t deny it. Scar dead was almost a universal desire, and she had no idea.

    Scar took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on Ethan¡¯s. Then she slipped her feet into the worn slippers by the bed and walked quickly to the door, still aiming the gun at him.

    ¡ª What are you doing? ¡ª Ethan asked in one breath, afraid she was leaving.

    ¡ª Going away. ¡ª she replied, and Ethan felt his body slowly decomposing. ¡ª Isn¡¯t that what you wanted too? Well, we part ways here.

    ¡ª Scar¡­

    ¡ª I won¡¯t live with someone like you.

    Ethan complained.

    ¡ª I couldn¡¯t just show up and say: Hi, I¡¯m your soulmate, let¡¯s run away together to other lands.

    ¡ª It would have worked better.

    He grunted and took heavy steps toward her as Scar grabbed a lantern and descended the stairs. Ethan could see Scar trembling with cold, and his blood screamed to go to her, to embrace her. Just as he always imagined doing and always would imagine.

    ¡ª I needed a distraction.

    ¡ª And I was the fucking distraction, a bait. A damn victim.

    Those words pierced Ethan¡¯s chest like two knives.

    ¡ª I would never use you as bait.

    Scar clenched her teeth, and a muscle in her jaw twitched.

    But the trigger was pulled twice in quick succession.

    One moment, Ethan was ready to descend the stairs and stop her however he could, and the next, he was on the ground, clutching the tendons of his two shattered knees, groaning in pain.

    ¡ª Scar¡­ ¡ª he tried.

    But she climbed onto Twilight and ignored him.

    It wasn¡¯t for a pathetic reason that Ethan was trying to keep her close. The enemy could be anywhere during the night, roaming like a specter. If Scar disappeared from his sight, Ethan would never forgive himself.

    But she seemed to want to face death and enjoyed doing so.

    ¡ª I couldn¡¯t put everything on you. ¡ª he said between gasps. He could be dying at that very moment. ¡ª Liking to kill mystics, being one makes you a last-class assassin and could end up killing yourself. I had to go slowly.

    Ethan needed to catch his breath, digging his nails into his palms as he leaned on his elbows, unable to move much. His legs felt amputated. His whole body was numb.

    He barely discerned when Scar had left the front of the house, with Twilight running so wildly that Ethan could hear it clearly even from a distance.

    There was nothing more to do but wait for that opening in the wall to have some effect. Ethan blamed the one who blew up the wall for not making a bigger hole, to prevent situations like these. But he could never have known that Scar would revolt like this, that his soulmate was a natural sharpshooter.

    All he knew was that he had found the Oracle¡¯s daughter and needed magic if he wanted to survive in that realm. Magic was his foundation, unfortunately. Ethan wished it wasn¡¯t, so he could walk on lands devoid of magic. So he could live the same way Scar did and learn every part of Carsany. And then tear it apart from the inside out, starting with those who wronged the one he loved.

    When he began to know Scar from afar, he started to fall in love. And when he refused to complete his mission. Sinclair always had more to do before meeting Scar. But he had been looking for that part of himself for a long time, and when he gave up, he found it. And he couldn¡¯t let it go.

    And now he was there. Without his knees and with his wounds slowly healing. His vision was blurred, and he was about to faint, but he knew he would wake up as he always did after losing blood. The magic would do its job. And if not the magic, then those who needed Ethan alive.

    He was alone in that house, along with that figure that would terrify the purest heart, waiting for the worst until he could get up and finish everything the way he wanted.

    He was going to stain the hell that he was with blood.

    <hr>

    There was nothing more to care about, so she just focused on that letter as if it were the only hope that something would go right from then on.

    Twilight ran as fast as Scar could remember since the last time she saved her own life with this horse. But maybe she was just so angry and terrified that everything was just an illusion.

    They crossed the bridge and entered the city beyond the permitted speed, running between houses and bars for what seemed like centuries.

    It had been the worst of the worst revelations, and Scar was broken. Although she hadn¡¯t shed a tear since she left, she felt her face burning with rage and humiliation.

    She could have killed him. Ethan was right in front of her; she could have ended it. But her instinct screamed louder, and it was totally opposite of what Scar¡¯s mind and heart were telling her to do. And she knew she wouldn¡¯t forgive herself afterward, not completely.

    Everything had come to an end. Scar just needed to deliver the letter and get out of the castle alive. She could do it. She would do it.

    The guards at the gate were alerted by Twilight¡¯s speed and drew their weapons from their hips. But it didn¡¯t matter when her horse stopped abruptly and Scar dismounted while it was still moving. Her feet burned on the soles, but she walked up to the guards.

    She raised the letter so they could see it clearly.

    ¡ª I have a letter for the king. ¡ª she said, and raised her own weapon high when one of the guards laid eyes on her. ¡ª From Darcy Raux.

    Scar let the firearm drop to the ground. It was out of ammunition and she wouldn¡¯t need it anymore anyway.

    The guards patted her down, and Scar didn¡¯t dare take her eyes off the one searching her clothes for a weapon. He swallowed hard, and a wave of satisfaction washed over Scar.

    One of the guards addressed another.

    ¡ª Tell His Majesty that the Shooter wants to see him.

    Of course they knew her.

    The guard saluted and quickly marched toward the castle.

    Scar was about to say that wasn¡¯t why she had come, but they pushed her inside the gate, looking around as if they were doing something dirty, hiding from others.

    The whole way, Scar remained silent while accompanied by a royal guard.

    Everything inside the castle was divine. The polished marble floor reflected her reflection, the enormous wine-red curtains were huge and striking, highlighting the dark green walls with old pillar patterns where they set fires for rituals and competitions.

    The huge windows along the corridors shone with the lanterns along the way. It was all very beautiful and well-kept. Scar wondered how many servants the king needed to keep everything shining for unexpected visitors like her.

    She still remembered all the times she was approached to be a private agent for the king. And she always told herself it was the last thing in the world she would do, but now she was rethinking that possibility. There was no more sector, no more the woman she was before the explosion in the arena, no more job that would accept her, and Scar was openly in danger, just as Ethan had made clear. There weren¡¯t many options she could consider.

    The tall doors of the main hall were opened, and a blinding light almost blinded Scar. She stepped forward, dazzled by the beauty of that hall.

    In the middle of it, three people were standing, talking and pointing to the sides, but they stopped to receive the visitor. The guard who had gone to inform the king stood by the door, as still as a statue, and Scar glanced at him before turning to... the king.

    Hendrix wore casual clothes for a casual night, his curly brown hair on top of his head shining as it always did.

    Scar looked away to the rest of the hall, where decorations were being put on the walls, the pillars were being cleaned by servants, and the king was deciding the colors of the napkins and fabrics that everyone was organizing.

    She didn¡¯t expect, in any way, to see King Hendrix doing something like this. She always envisioned him as a complete brute and clueless bastard. But he was kind to the servants and even patted them on the back.

    Scar wrinkled her nose in disgust when he excused himself and walked toward her. Everything was a lie.

    ¡ª Your Majesty. ¡ª one of the guards said when Hendrix stopped a safe distance from Scar. ¡ª The Shooter claims to have a letter for you.

    Scar turned to the guard.

    Claims nothing, she had the letter in her hand.

    ¡ª Good to see you, miss. ¡ª murmured the king, and Scar turned to him again. ¡ª I believe you haven¡¯t changed your mind about my terms the last time we talked.

    Scar watched those eyes fixed on hers, not even an inch away, looking at her facial wounds as she imagined him doing.

    The last time they talked was on the day of the branding. That mark was ingrained in her body, and Ethan reminded her every night when he refused to touch it. The only place Ethan didn¡¯t mind exploring.

    ¡ª Not at all. ¡ª Scar replied and quickly extended the letter to Hendrix. One of the guards beside him moved slightly. ¡ª I came to deliver a letter from Darcy Raux.

    Hendrix raised an eyebrow and took the letter. But Scar tightened her fingers on the paper, and the king couldn¡¯t pull it from her hand.

    Their eyes met again, and Hendrix smirked, both holding the letter.

    The guards quickly drew their swords, orders echoing through the hall from some guard captain Scar had not yet identified around. Many servants stopped to look.

    A guard stepped beside the king.

    Scar raised her chin.

    ¡ª You knew I was alive.

    The king¡¯s smile grew.

    ¡ª I always knew.

    Indecision coursed through Scar¡¯s body as she dangerously considered whether she should even deliver that letter. It didn¡¯t seem like one of the best things to do.

    But it was from Darcy, and Scar couldn¡¯t disappoint her. And if the king knew she was alive, more people knew.

    She released the letter.

    Hendrix¡¯s smile was so convincing that Scar restrained herself from breaking those white teeth with a single punch.

    ¡ª Thank you. ¡ª he said before starting to open the letter.

    The guards were still ready to cut off her head.

    Hendrix¡¯s eyes moved to the bottom of the letter, perhaps checking if Darcy¡¯s signature was there and matched the handwriting and whatever else was in the letter. Scar shifted in place, restless and nervous.

    But the king ignored everything her boss had written on that paper, folding it again.

    Scar frowned in anger.

    ¡ª What did it say? ¡ª she found herself asking before she could hold back.

    Hendrix looked at her from under his eyelashes for a moment and then handed the letter to one of his servants standing nearby. Scar watched as he took the letter away. She had the brief sensation that she would have to read it herself.

    The king gave a smile, and Scar realized it was fake.

    ¡ª Darcy has just transferred her resources to me. You have become my property.

    An intense roar began in her mind. The blood drained from her face, and she felt pale.

    Darcy had just handed Scar over to the king, and her mind was racing.

    Hendrix continued, almost unshaken

    ¡ª I see you didn¡¯t expect this.

    Not even if they had warned her.

    But it was almost... the debt was almost paid, and now Scar was in his hands. Darcy could free Scar once the debt was paid; it was the boss¡¯s choice, and she would have done that. Among all the certainties in the world, that Raux wanted Scar free was the greatest. But now... she had definitely become a citizen of Carsany and a servant of the king, his property in every way the law allowed. She belonged to Hendrix, the man she had been trying to stay away from for a long time, the same one who was investigating the Rangers. About who Scar was destined to be, and now she couldn¡¯t. For now.

    With that letter from Raux, Scar was trapped. And with that, she imagined she was completely trapped, with no research on Rangers, no comments about the Oracle... nothing. The Infernal Beasts would have to wait, and Scar had no idea how long she could endure this silence. She was tired of staying in the shadows, but now she had to continue.

    When Scar arrived and showed the letter, the guards knew what it was about. That¡¯s why they pushed her inside without delay, looking for anyone who might be with Scar to defend her. But she believed in her boss. In Darcy. And still, she was given to the king.

    It wasn¡¯t the end of the agreement with Raux; it was the beginning of another in which Scar would be in the sovereign¡¯s hands. And who knows how long this would last.

    The mark began to burn on her collarbone, reminding her of who she was and to whom she belonged. Hendrix had looked for Raux¡¯s signature at the end of the paper.

    Scar was terribly screwed.