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Tears welled in her eyes for him, for herself, but she made sure his white orbs couldn’t see them.What right do I have to cry? I’m not the one suffering.

Since they’d informed her she wouldn’t be permitted to leave until every inch of this room was spotless, she began cleaning. She desperately wanted out.

She avoided getting close to him for as long as possible, starting with the edges of the room. However, the bulk of blood and questionable lumps were most present around his knees.

He weakly growled when she came too close.How is he still alive, let alone... conscious?

When something caught on the fibres of her mop, and she knew she had to fish it out to clean properly, she threatened to make a new bile puddle. She’d already cleaned the first. She backed up while shaking her head, dropping the mop to the stone ground with a clatter.

Falling against the wall, she pulled her mask down and her hood back, needing unfiltered air. The coppery stench twisted her stomach with nausea, but she couldn’t take the way her clothing was suffocating her.

Considering he wasn’t reacting to her, she knew it must not be fear she was feeling. How could she fear him when he looked so pitiful?

“Shit,” she whispered, choosing to look up at the ceiling. “Shit, shit,shit.I can’t do this.” Over the course of the last day, those four words were becoming her mantra. She couldn’t recount how many times she’d either thought or said them, or how many times she persevered through them. “I signed up to kill Demons, not be a spectator to a Duskwalker’s torture. It’s not fair.”

He let out a bubbling huff. She bet he was thinking she didn’t have the right to say that, considering his state.

She wanted to apologise to him, but the weight of anything she said would be pointless. Nothing she did – no apology – would ever make up for this.

Instead, the silence between them was heavy, and after what could only be an hour of her sitting there, her eyes grew unfocussed. Her face turned cold in lethargy, her mind fuzzy with exhaustion. She needed to get up. Any second longer and she would...

“Hey! Get back to work,” someone shouted as they bashed on the door.

Emerie jolted from her sleep, finding herself partially bent over on her side. Her eyes squinted with grogginess, even more tired than before.

The peephole thudded shut.

She straightened up in her seated position and rubbed at her face.How long was I asleep for?Her gaze found the Duskwalker. His orbs were still a stark white, and she was unsure if they were staring upon her or not.

It was a little creepy to think he’d been watching her sleep. Had he been kneeling there, planning every way to torture her in return for what he’d suffered?

The little hairs on her body stood on end at the idea of someone wishing that upon her while she vulnerably slept before them. She wanted out of this dungeon even more. She didn’t want this Duskwalker to remember her face, her scent, her voice.

If only she could turn invisible and disappear.

She crawled over to her discarded mop and bucket and stood.

“Listen,” she croaked out, holding the mop handle with both hands. His skull rattled as he jerked it. “I don’t want to be here, just as much as I’m sure you don’t want me here.” His orbs flared red before quickly dulling and returning to white. “But I have to clean this room. I-I have to approach you, but I’ll try not to hurt you, okay?”

His orbs didn’t change, nor did he move to indicate that he heard or even understood her.

Emerie cautiously stepped closer. When he didn’t do anything, she grew bolder as she swiped the mop against the ground to clean up his blood. To keep to her promise, she moved slowly to avoid knocking into his gaping torso.

She tried not to take in his raven skull, or the fact that purple blood had tracked from his nose and ear holes, and through the seam of his beak.

He’s a statue. I’m just going to pretend he’s a really delicate statue.He wasn’t alive, or letting out shallow, shuddering breaths. No, not at all.

The worst of the gory puddle was between his knees, and it brought her far too close for comfort. He jerked his entire body forward as hard as he could.

Emerie let out a squeal of surprise, before quickly covering her mouth. Startled, she backed up in case she was producing a strong fear scent, assuming he reacted to it like Demons did.

Like he’d been waiting for her to be just beyond his beak, despite his wounds and how much he would have known it would hurt, he’d purposefully tried to scare her.

The chuckle behind the door was joined by the Duskwalker’s wheezy snicker.

“You are lucky I am chained to this room,”he grated, causing her eyes to widen. He spoke! With his beak tied shut, he fucking talked!“And that my nose is too blocked to fully take in your delectable scent of fear.”

Great, he was going out of his way to be adick.