Page 42 of Dustwalker

She stepped forward and reached for it, halting before her fingers would’ve touched the metal. A single cut could be the end for a human, but Ronin hadn’t been stopped by three bullets to his abdomen. They hadn’t even scratched his metal. This little gun wouldn’t be a threat to him.

Why had he left it behind?

A test, perhaps, and one that posed minimal risk to him. Because if she fired it at him and somehow managed to hit her target, it wouldn’t do enough damage to save her from retaliation.

She swallowed her temptation and dropped her hand to her side, moving on to the double doors on the opposite wall. They slid open on hidden rails, revealing a little room, even smaller than her shack, with clothing hanging on rods to either side. Ronin’sclothing.

Leaning in, Lara drew in a deep breath. The potent mix of dust, sunshine, gunpowder, and steel filled her nose with a strange, warming familiarity, and she jerked back after realizing what she’d done. But now that she had, she couldn’t help but feel as though Ronin’s scent was ingrained into her. He smelled like the Dust…and war.

Wanderer, dustwalker. How much time had he spent out there? How often did he fight? How many times had he been shot?

“Why am I thinking about him so much?”

Annoyed, she returned to her room, closing the door behind her. Without meaning to, she compared the space to Ronin’s. What would he think if he saw her bedroom now, with the blankets rumpled and the pillows squished in?

She kept the image of Ronin’s bed in mind as she made her own. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how careful she was, the blanket always hung off one side more than the other, and every time she smoothed out an unsightly wrinkle or flattened a bump a new one appeared somewhere else. And she couldn’t figure out how he’d made the corners so perfectly squared.

It’s going to get messed up again when I sleep. Why am I bothering?

With a huff, she sat on the edge of the bed, drumming her fingers atop the soft blanket. Her gaze wandered, eventually stopping on the window. Afternoon light filtered through the plastic coverings, filling the room with warmth, and the shadows of the trees danced on the bottom panes.

When she’d stared up at Ronin’s home yesterday, she’d seen three rows of windows, but this was only the second floor. There had to be another level directly above her room.

So, where was the staircase leading up? That seemed like too big a thing to have missed while she’d explored the other rooms.

She went to the sliding door on one of her walls. It opened to a recess barely large enough for a child to lie in, a smaller version of the room where Ronin kept his clothing. But this one didn’t possess his metal and gunpowder scent.

“Enough already,” she muttered.

Her search of the bedroom was quick but thorough, ending when she wrestled the heavy dresser forward to reveal the solid wall behind it.

Lara entered the hallway and paced its length, brow furrowed, as she considered the mystery.

Maybe the upper window is just for show?

“No. There’s definitely another floor.”

Frustrated and disappointed, she tilted her head back and sighed. Her eyes caught on a short, frayed string dangling from the ceiling. There was a rectangle cut in the material around it, as though it were an oddly placed door. It was bordered by the same sort of wood strips that edged the floor, doors, and windows.

Lara’s eyes widened.

Could that be…?

Standing on the balls of her feet, she reached for the string. It was too high. She jumped, brushing the end and making it to sway wildly. On her second attempt, she caught a solid hold of the string, and she used her weight to yank it down.

Dust showered her, and pain exploded in her head as a ladder slid down from the door and struck her temple.

Lara stumbled back, eyes squeezed shut as she pressed a hand over the throbbing point of impact.

“Fuck!” she gritted through clenched teeth. Tears well behind her eyelids, and she placed her other hand on the ladder to steady herself as she breathed through the pain and a wave of dizziness.

“Someone should have posted a warning or something. Like a picture, making the danger clear—possible beheading when opened.”

Lara opened her eyes and looked up at the hole in the ceiling. Motes of dust floated lazily through the air all around it. And, to her annoyance, she noticed a little sign on the side of the ladder. Black writing and images of little stick people getting hit by the ladder.

She glared at the sign. “Yeah, that’s the perfect place for it. Thanks for the fucking warning.”

The ache in her head continued as she climbed the wooden ladder. Its old springs squeaked in protest.