Page 21 of Soul Hate

T he moon doesn’t show her face. The stars have been banished from the sky and the breeze has died, rendering the world silent and still, as if holding its breath and waiting for death herself to finish stalking our painted columns.

Further proof the gods have turned their backs on Halice.

Fine. Let us be godless.

Watch how heathens fight back.

Alfieri and I don’t wait immediately outside the bank. I’m not that stupid. The Church Militia will be on the lookout for anyone spotting what they’re up to.

Instead we wait down the street, around a building corner with my ears open and eyes flickering back to the bank building. The heat of the day is winding down now, thank Fate’s Mercy. Breathing is easier, the cool shadows a welcome embrace. Wrapped in a black cloak and smothered in shadows, I’m all but invisible to any prying eyes.

Nouis wasn’t home when I got back, so I didn’t need to do an awkward dance with him about why I was leaving in such simple clothing. Plain trousers, boots, and a simple dark tunic were much more practical for this. If uncomfortably warm for this time of year.

My pulse thunders in my ears. My fingers itching and tingling to do something. My very blood has taken a chill, sending nervous shivers up and down my limbs.

This is not my thing. I’m not trained to skulk in shadows and trail armed and experienced soldiers when they commit crimes. Alfieri, though, is a natural. So at ease in the dark and not at all uncomfortable in this role of a spy. Part of me wonders exactly how many times he’s done something similar.

Fate’s Fury, I’m glad to have Serra’s dagger at my waist. Its wooden handle presses into my soft flesh as I wait, its security sometimes the only threadbare reason I don’t give up and go home.

A faint clipping of hooves and the rattling of a vaulted wagon pierce the stillness, each second growing louder and louder. I dare to peek around the corner again, looking down to see almost twenty Church Militia swarming a small black wagon.

It stops outside the bank. Three men march up the steps into the bank foyer, and reappear moments later hauling large, locked boxes. I swallow, aiming to release the tightness in my throat but finding no relief. They load the boxes into the back of the wagon, securing it tight.

That’s when Dorado stands in the doorway, talking intently with one of the Militia. Their leader—the one that swung for me back at the New College school—he’s coordinating this.

He’ll rot. I’ll see to it personally.

Dorado suddenly doubles over, gasping as he collapses to the floor. I flinch, realising what’s just happened as the Militia leader just walks away barking orders. The wagon sets off, its rhythmic beat swaying side to side on the cobbled floors. I ready myself to run for Dorado but Alfieri holds me back.

“No, they’ll see you,” he hisses frantically.

“We can’t let Dorado die,” I argue quietly but firmly. “He’s our witness. Evidence. He’s in on this whole thing.”

“Fine, I’ll go. You just … stay here.” Alfieri whispers the command uneasily, appearing to melt into the shadows. I hold back, bouncing on my toes as the carriage disappears down the street, the noise of the horses hooves getting fainter and fainter.

That’s it. I can’t just let the carriage leave.

I set off making sure no one sees me as I trail behind. Thank Fate they make so much noise. I’m hardly heavy footed but I can follow at least one or two turns behind them without being spotted or losing them. I keep to the side of the road, flitting from shadow to shadow as best I can. Alfieri would certainly be better at this than me.

This is our main road through the centre of Halice. The city is washed with navy, but illuminated by tall columns holding bowls of slow-burning oil. They’ll keep burning through the whole night until they are put out in the morning. They flicker the world with streaks of crimson and amber, trying to wash away the safety of the ebony shadows.

As my pulse throbs in my ears and tingles in my fingertips, a sinking feeling starts to settle in my gut. I hesitate at the next corner, knowing the western gate will appear around the next turn. I slip closer to the corner, daring to edge just one eye around the stone.

Yes, as I suspected. Church Militia all over that entrance. Not a single City Guard to be seen.

In the distance, the vaulted wagon is now far outside the city, disappearing into the luscious green hills of the horizon with my city’s money in its belly.

So, the money is leaving the city.

That still doesn’t tell me where it’s going.

Disgust pools in my gut. Bitterness coats my tongue as the urge to scream and rip my way through each of the guards scratches at the tips of my fingers.

Wait, no. It’s not the guards.

Every hair on my arm snaps to attention. My stomach coils, my breath curdling on my tongue. I spin around, as someone leaps forwards. My enemy’s hands are strong as I’m shoved back against the wall. My head hits the stone hard and my assailant’s elbow goes to my throat. The dark silk of my hood falls around my shoulders as I stare up into the hazel eyes of an enraged Idris Patricelli.

“You!” I hiss throwing my chin to the side, desperate to break from his gaze. As I fight back against his grip, he only digs his hands in harder, his muscled body flush with mine against the hard stone.

“You,” he retorts, his voice low and brimming with dark anger. He leans closer and pushes his elbow deeper into my throat. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

Blood crashes like thunder in my ears. My vision is tinted red, and my limbs throb with rage and revulsion.

“Get off me.” I try to push back but he doesn’t give me any room. He leans in closer, his warm breath breaks across my nose. My pulse races under my skin, as I stare up at him once more. He looks so furious he might rip my head off with his teeth. I scrabble against his marble grip, hissing with rage.

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to breathe through his nose as he closes his eyes.

“Close. Your. Eyes,” he commands, voice like scalding nails to my mind. My entire being rages against the gall he has to attempt to control me.

“Up yours,” I snap back, loathing boiling over as I thrash against his grip. His other hand leaps for my mouth, slamming my lips shut and my head back against the wall. My protesting growls are pathetic as he squeezes our bodies even closer together. The heat of his grip sinks its claws through my flesh and sends shivers running across my bones.

“Shut. Up,” he snarls, head dropping next to mine as he tries to slow his breathing. “Just shut up. Don’t look at me.”

My world is tinted red. Disgust writhes around my throat and my fingers itch with the urge to claw out his eyes. All my limbs tremble as I force my eyes away from his face. The fire begins to ebb away, but far too slowly. It aches in my bones. In through my nose—like I have any other choice with his large, calloused hands wrapped firmly around my lips. I close my eyes, in through my nose, count for four, release. In, count to four, release. Next to me, Idris is unbearably still. His shoulders and chest move slowly, and I realise, he’s mind-stilling too.

He’s the one who sent the books.

I throw my head side to side, ripping my lips free from his hand.

“You’re the one who left me those books?” I spit at him. Idris takes a deep breath, nodding sharply once before opening his eyes.

“Obviously, who else do you think sent them?”

“I had no clue, dimwit. You didn’t leave a note! Fate’s Fury, you went to Malaya?”

“Yes. Nouis didn’t mention it?” Idris snipes back, lip curling in disgust. I blink in shock, filing that away to discuss with Nouis at a later date.

“Surprisingly you’re not a topic of mine and Nouis’s conversations. What are you even doing here?” I hiss, realising he’s pressing so hard against my chest that it’s hard to breathe properly. My nose fills with his scent, aromatic mint and delicate lavender. It burns at the back of my throat. “How did you know about this?”

“Michelle told me that you went back to the bank with Alfieri. Who seems to have vanished.” Idris’s tone makes it clear Alfieri will be in trouble at their next meeting.

“He’s trying to save Dorado. He’s most definitely an accomplice but was stabbed by the Militia. We need him as a witness,” I argue.

“Alfieri shouldn’t have left you alone,” Idris growls.

“Well, now you’re here, would you kindly get off me .”

“What the hell were you thinking going after these people on your own?” he growls, not moving. There’s no space between us, only the thin silk of our tunics between me and his heaving, muscled body. I swear I can feel his pulse, his arms pressing so firmly against mine. “Do you have any idea?—”

The night shatters in a second.

“Over there! Spies!”

Idris and I spin around. Church Militia are tearing our way, vicious blades already in their hands. My heart drops and my mind empties. Fear snakes a clawed grip around my throat. My mouth fills with ash. Idris swears loudly.

“Run!” Idris grabs my hand and pulls. I sprint with him down the road. The Church Militia aren’t far behind, yelling and screaming for us to stop, for their companions to join the hunt. I pant, lungs aching, legs screaming with the effort to put as much space between us as Fate will allow. Every nerve comes alive, sparking as fear shoots through me cold and sharp.

I don’t know where we’re going, but I follow Idris’s lead. Without looking, I know exactly where he is. His dark, hot aura shifts around the edges of my vision. His footsteps are quieter on the cobbles than mine. His breathing steadier.

He’s holding back to run with me.

“Go,” I pant, tearing my hand free of his. “If we split?—”

“You’ll die. Not an option. Just move faster!” snaps Idris. Gasping for breath I race down the hills towards the docks. Salt fills my nose and the sound of creaking boats floats softly in the air. Idris pushes around a corner, and we skid to a stop. The old city wall blocks off the end of the small alleyway, the abandoned stonework stretching like a prison.

Dead end.

My heart drops.

Behind us two of the Church Militia cut off our exit.

A trembling gasp escapes my lips. I shrink back against the wall, clenching my fingers to keep them steady.

“Climb,” instructs Idris, reaching for something at his hip. The flash of a sword passes through my vision as he turns around.

“What?”

“Climb!” he commands again, swinging the sword with expert precision. I gape at the man instantly transforming into a soldier I don’t recognise.

“But you?—”

“I’ll be fine. I studied for three years in Coari with the Princess of War herself. I can handle some Church Militia.”

Wow, that’s a name and a half. Okay then.

Deciding to process that later, I tear towards the old stone wall and grab hold of the ruined brickwork. The ancient cement turns to dust beneath my fingers as I pull myself up. I move quickly, scaling inelegantly up the wall. My boots scrabble against the weathered stone, my fingers screaming as they support my weight. Centuries-old dust falls in my eyes as the swords crash behind me.

Someone yelps, not Idris, before suddenly being cut silent and dropping to the floor.

“You’ll pay for that!”

“No, I won’t,” Idris snarks behind me. My stomach rolls.

My heart thunders as I get to the top of the wall. I straddle it, a leg on both sides. I should drop to the other side, leave Idris to his fight and keep running.

Guilt knots through my stomach.

I can’t leave him.

I turn my head slightly, watching the two inky shadows wobble against the cobbled ground. I might not be able to look at him, but his shadow doesn’t seem to stoke the rage in our bond.

The two people circle each other, poised to strike.

“He’s buying time,” I hiss at Idris. “He’s waiting for backup.”

“I know,” snaps Idris launching into movement. Their foggy black shadows ripple over the old stones, the street light turning their theatre into a world of flickering orange and yellow streaks as they slash violently at each other with whistling blades.

Idris ducks and parries, putting his opponent on the back foot. With one more sure swing, the soldier’s blood sprays over the cobbles and his corpse collapses to the floor.

“Come on,” I hiss, relief battling with rage in my gut. I reach down with one hand, turning my head away as Idris’s warm palm fits in mine. I pull hard, slipping over the other side of the wall and using my weight to pull him up.

The two of us drop down on the other side, landing with short breaths. We crouch, the two of us pressed together for a long moment as we assess this new scene. Empty, dark, quiet. Idris adjusts the sword in his grip, his hand brushing against the small of my back as he steps around me and out into the alleyway.

“This way,” Idris pants, his head tilt suggesting I follow, “quietly.”

We hurry down the dark streets. We round a corner and skid to a stop, more Church Militia right down the other end.

We silently backtrack the safety of our dark alleyway. The air is thick with salt. Sweat coating my neck and arm, we press our backs against the building wall. My hands drop down the wall, the sound of our breath taints the air. My little finger brushes his hand, red-hot fire racing up my arm like a river.

“What now?” I gasp.

“Working on it,” Idris growls, eyes cutting around for something.

“Pst. Pst.” A man leans out of a low window. He gestures to us frantically, eyes darting down the road where the Militia are searching.

“In here,” he calls, then disappears into his dark house.

Idris takes off after him. Seeing him, no matter how brief, slaps me with an urge to leap at him. To drive my dagger into his stupid blond head.

But I can’t. I need him.

I hurl myself through the open window, landing inelegantly on the floor. I close my eyes, lying there panting for a moment, not prepared to face whatever is inside. The strange man shuts the window tightly, before putting up boards to cut off the outside world completely.

“You can both hide here while the Militia are searching,” the man says, moving to light a candle in the darkness. Now he’s illuminated, I can see his balding salt and pepper hair and large frame.

“Thank you, Franco,” says Idris, setting his sword on the table. My eyes catch on its vicious silver edges, spattered with fresh scarlet.

“Of course, signore. Anything for the Patricellis. Now I don’t want no bodies on my hands. Particularly not yours. Are you two really able not to kill each other?”

“I don’t think I’d stand much of a chance, signore,” I admit dryly, shifting to a seated position on the floor, my eyes still fixed on Idris’s weapon.

“Renza, this is Franco. He works in our shipping yard.” Idris explains, raking a hand through his blond hair. I meet the man’s gaze with a grateful nod.

“I’m in your debt, signore.”

“And yes, Franco, we’ll both be alive come dawn,” Idris answers. He sounds so sure.

I’m certainly not.

“Fine. This way.”

The man leads us up the stairs to a small bedroom. The narrow double bed swamps the room. A dirty window overlooks a narrow alleyway right down to the end of the docks. The man sets the candle down on a thin dresser.

“Hide here until morning if you like. There’s water in the bedside cabinet.” He nods at Patricelli before closing the wonky door with a clatter.

The air in the rooms gets heavy and tense. Sweat turns my silk tunic into a clingy second skin. My hairline feels damp; my feet hurt; my legs protest from the frantic chase.

Alone, with Idris, everything rushes back. Hot, thick revulsion grinds my teeth together, welding my feet to the floor. Idris walks to the bedside. I force myself to turn away, facing the chipped wooden wall with my back to him. He clatters two wooden cups onto the surface. The water he pours gurgles on its short slide down.

“Let’s … stick to our sides,” I suggest, letting out a slow, calming breath. Breathe. Just breathe. Control your pulse, control your mind.

“Yes,” agrees Idris. “And don’t look.”

“Don’t look. Yes. Good idea.”

“Reach behind you,” Idris says quietly. I frown and then hold out my hand. Idris places a wooden cup in my sweaty fingers.

“Drink. That was a long run.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, perching on the edge of the bed. My skin jumps; my lips itch; my fingers and toes won’t stop clenching. “And thank you … for saving me back there. You could’ve left me to die.”

“Thank you for waiting and pulling me over.”

The awkward silence passes between us. I sip on my water, clearing my throat only for bile to pool at the back of my mouth. I suck it back down.

“How are you so good at this?” I groan, gripping my head. “How are you so calm?”

“Trust me, I’m not,” Idris barks dryly.

“Better than me.”

“As you know, I spent some time in Malaya, far to the West. They don’t believe in the gods there. Instead they practise spirituality and presence of mind through a practice called mind-stilling. I got to study with Eshin Shakya, their spiritual leader, for about six months. It helps … to keep me centred.”

I roll my eyes, rubbing my brow. “Well, I’m rather new to it. Got any tips?”

Idris rasps a short, surprised laugh. “Try searching for a distraction. Something to focus your whole attention on, a sound to listen to. A conversation even, that will take up your whole mind.”

I rock back on the bed, the creaking of the springs crackling like static between us.

I imagine spinning around, wrapping my fingers around his throat and dragging him back against these patchy blankets.

No, don’t be stupid. He’s an expert fighter. You saw him earlier, taking down those Militia soldiers with confidence and ease.

I could surprise him. I still have my knife, and he left his sword downstairs. One blow is all it would take. His blood would be so soothing against my clammy fingers.

No .

I desperately throw my mind back to something else, retracing what I’ve learnt this evening. Dorado collapsing to the ground replays in my mind. That traitor makes my blood boil. Hopefully Alfieri will keep him alive long enough to be questioned, even if he did leave me. I should try and warn him about Idris’s ire before those two meet next.

The memory of Idris’s hand radiates sparks across my lips. How his unforgiving, marble-like arms had held me against the hard stone of that wall.

No. Something other than Idris. Why do my thoughts always come back to him?

I fix my eyes on a particularly large chip in the wooden floor. My throat feels tight, my breath shallow and trapped. I reach up, deftly unlatching the cloak binding around my throat. It falls to the itchy bed sheets with a short plop. Something to focus on, that’s what Idris had said. Like a problem, like the one facing us right now.

“What’s the money for? Why are they stealing it?” I croak, desperately trying to work what we now know into an answer. Yet all I have is more questions.

Idris lets out a sharp sigh. “It’s leaving the city,” he grumbles.

“Yes. What do you think it’s for?”

Irritation licks at my teeth as I tap my foot on the floor. Idris walks to the window, looking out over the dank alleyway.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Nothing good, that’s for certain.”

What a useless answer!

I grit my teeth, tapping my fingers against the wooden cup in my hands.

“Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“I’m fine,” Idris answers. “Takes a lot more than two soldiers to get the better of me.”

“Good.” The silence stretches, until I blurt out whatever is waiting on my tongue. “I never learnt to fight. I wasn’t interested in it. It always seemed so pointless … until now.”

“I know,” snorts Idris. I hear the sound of another drink being poured as he talks.

“You know?”

“You really think I came back to Halice without doing my research? You’re a key political player in this city, and if history holds, my biggest opposition.”

“You think you know me?”

“No, but I know a lot of facts about you.”

“Go on then. Where did I go to school?”

“Trick question. You and your sister were tutored privately. Both of you had a thorough education in languages, the arts, philosophy, ethics, mathematics, and the law. As a young girl you showed promise as an orator, and it was apparent by age ten that you’d be your father’s political successor. You enjoy all forms of art and engineering but prefer to admire rather than partake. You enjoy being outdoors and have a penchant for clever, comedic writers. You started shadowing your father in the High Chamber at thirteen, you started speaking at fifteen. You were elected to your chair a week after your sixteenth birthday and in the five and a half years since that day, you’ve only five times voted in a way that differs from your father.”

Only five times, like it was all I dared to do? I voted how I believed was right, not because my father told me to. I grit my teeth, my heart thumping in my chest so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear it. My blood boils inside me.

“Believe me yet?” The grubby smugness that radiates off his voice is acid to the brain.

“You think I didn’t keep tabs on you? I can recite your history too. The only child to your parents, you were sent away at eleven for your education. You jumped from one expensive school to the next, moving every few years in the name of ‘cultural education’. You haven’t been back to the city in years. It’s almost as if you were…”

I trail off as one thought explodes in my head.

It’s as if you were avoiding Halice.

I’ve loathed every minute I’ve spent with this man, but I don’t question that he loves this city. He can’t fake it. That kind of passion and resolve, the willpower to put up with this Soulhatred … it can’t be fake. Yet he never came back here. Not even for a day. Not once since he left.

He wasn’t avoiding Halice. He was avoiding something in Halice.

It isn’t hard to piece together what that was.

He had spent time studying mind-stilling in Malaya. Why go all that way for something so obscure? Why bring the books back with him? Why surrender them just when he might need them most? Unless he didn’t bring them back for himself, but for someone else.

Meeting on the temple steps wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t luck. It was by design—his design. No one can carry weapons into the temple, meaning I wouldn’t be armed when I finally saw him, when I finally learnt what he already knew. I thought it was luck, but look at us. Look at all of this. When has luck ever been on my side?

I bolt off the bed. I turn slowly, my eyes locking on the back of his golden head. He sits facing the dusty window, the shallow wooden cup in his hands. Fire throbs in my brain, my fingers itching for the blade at my waist. My breaths come short and hard as I grit my teeth together.

“You knew,” I accuse, venom dripping off my tongue. Idris’s shoulders pinch together, lips thinning in his reflection.

“Don’t look,” he says quietly, taking a large swig of his water.

“You knew!” I’m so furious spittle flies from my lips. “All these years away—it was to avoid me. You knew I was your Soulhate!”

“Yes.” He glares at the drink in his hands, closing his free fingers into a fist. “I knew.”

He knew.

He always knew.

My blood is screaming. My mind is raging. Every fibre of my being feels like it’s being ripped apart, splinter by splinter, by boiling hot pokers. It takes every ounce of self-control I ever possessed not to tear him limb from limb. Instead, I spit my words like poison.

“You should’ve said something. To someone. To anyone.”

“My parents knew.”

“Why didn’t they?—”

“Because we were children!” He slams his drink on the windowsill. “Because back then the Church still had huge political sway in this city. They would’ve forced us to obey tradition. I would’ve been forced to kill you. You weren’t even nine years old. Now, do us both a favour and turn around.”

My jaw aches with the force of holding myself back. My teeth feel like they’re welded together. I force my eyes back to the wall, my heart slapping in my ears like a war drum. I slam a fist into the wall.

“This explains so much. Why Jacopo tried so hard to tear the Church out of the city?—”

“It was for us.”

“For you!” I snarl, slamming my fist against the wall again in rage.

“For you too. You also benefit.” Idris’s self-righteous anger cuts across the room. “Don’t pretend if this ever came to blows it wouldn’t be a hard fight.”

A hard fight? He’d slaughter me in seconds. He knew and spent years studying the art of the blade, studying mind-stilling, getting to process what that meant for the future. That fact blisters in my skull. I kick the wall, hands on my hips. I shake my head, heart throbbing in my throat.

“I deserved to know.” My voice is thick and shaking. “I deserved to know I had a Fated. This is my life, my decision to make.”

A moment of quiet passes, the only sound is my racing, gasping breaths.

“I wanted to tell you.” Idris’s deep voice is low and soft. “I drafted the letter so many times…”

“What stopped you?”

“If you demanded to duel, which is your right, I wanted to wait until you were an adult and stood a chance. I couldn’t have the murder of a child on my hands, Soulhate or not.”

Oh so noble, robbing me of the chance to arm myself with skills while he gallivanted off to study swordsmanship and meditation and everything he needed to master this. He left me in the dark, utterly clueless and without any preparation.

Silence reigns between us. Thick and heavy. My eyes fill with tears as I struggle to work out which demand he answer first.

“When?” I hate that my voice croaks in that one syllable. Idris sighs. I hear him scratching his stubbled jaw.

“Your mother’s funeral. I was in the carriage. You were outside the Grand Temple, sitting on the steps with Giulia, comforting her as she cried. You gave her a giant sunflower and wiped away her tears with a small white hanky, ignoring your own. You wore a black satin dress and had your hair in a low ponytail, like you prefer to wear now…”

He trails off.

I’m not surprised that day is burned into his mind. The first time I saw him lives like an infectious mould in mine, no matter how hard I try to wash it away. It replays over and over again, the golden sheen of his hair, the light gleaming off his pearly skin. His warm hazel eyes filled with loathing. I remember it all, down to every minute detail.

“That’s why your family missed the funeral.”

“My parents held me back and took me home.”

I pant, desperately trying to suck enough air into my lungs. I can’t. I can’t be here with him. I just can’t. I march for the door, Idris darts for me. He grabs hold of my arm, pulling me back.

“Renza—” he starts but I slam my hands hard against his chest, trying to pry him off me.

“How dare you keep it from me!” I seethe at him, hating how my voice shakes and cracks. “Don’t tell the Church. Don’t tell anyone. Fine, I get it. But me? I deserved to know.”

“No, you didn’t want to.” Idris’s voice takes on a rueful jealousy, his hands tightening on my forearms and the gap between us shrinks. “I grew up wondering my entire life if one day I’m going to kill you. You, a little girl crying at her mother’s funeral. You, who’s devoted to this city, who’s good and kind and passionate, whose only crime is being Fated to me. I spent the best part of a decade hanging on to every story of you like a prayer, and all I heard about you made me hate myself. That self-loathing and horror was a lead weight around my neck for years. Trust me, ignorance is bliss.”

“Ignorance is risk. I could’ve prepared better. Searched for coping mechanisms, like you did. Planned with you on how to handle things. We could’ve been a team. But no, instead you left me in the dark. You left me vulnerable and weak.”

“I left this city. I left my family for you.” Idris’s voice splits with pain. “I spent years away from my parents, all of it for you . And now they’re dead, and I’ll never get that time back with them. Never.”

My eyes fill with hot tears, my voice quaking at the rage and grief churning inside me.

“I never asked.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I grip my head, the feeling of my nails pushing into my skull provides relief from the dizzying weight of this reality that threatens to crush me. My lungs can’t get enough air. My eyes are lined with blistering silver tears.

“I need air.”

“Renza—”

“Don’t!” I shove against him as hard as I can, throwing all my weight behind it to rip myself free. I tear through the door, marching down the stairs.

“Renza, stop! It’s not safe! Renza!”

I ignore him and race for the front door, yanking it open. I have to get away. Away from him. Away from the deceit and the treachery. If I stay with that traitor a moment longer my restraint will shatter. I’ll kill him, and perhaps now he deserves it.

I race into the cold night air, the pounding in my veins so desperately needed. I run. Lungs aching, blood pumping, legs throbbing. I follow my feet, avoiding the Guard’s detection by staying in the shadows. For once in my life, luck appears to be on my side. I take a path I could walk blindfolded all the way home.

Back to the people I love and trust, who would never betray me like this.