Even as the belief that all around me is a dream drifts away, its touch remains, twisted with that odd sense of reliving a warped version of past events. Edita's hand slips into the pocket of her trousers, emerging a moment later with a pair of thin, wiry cylinders of metal.

Recognition strikes me in a burst. Lockpicks. The very same tools she used to crack open the lock to my cell, the first time I saw her. They granted me freedom once, and now they do so again.

She flashes me a teasing smile that so eerily echoes the look she cast at her brother in that moment. "Bear with me."

The lockpicks jam into the door's lock, stuck in beneath the handle. Swallowing the remainder of my bread, I comb my fingers through my hair, wincing at the high-pitched scraping of metal on metal. They snag on a web of tangled strands. I give a tug, then awkwardly extract my hand, wringing the edge of my tunic instead. Every nerve jitters, bound tight in anxiety and swelling in a thin, itching, blanket kind of fear.

I can barely think. All I can cling to is that shred of hope, the idea of survival, of fixing myself. There's no sense or logic to ground it on. It all suddenly feels so fragile.

Sarielle's pleading gaze surfaces at the back of my mind, the phantom warm of her hand squeezing mine. My resolve hardens.

She would want this. If I know that to be true, then little else matters.

"Aha!" A sharp click splits the air, chiming in sync with Edita's exclamation. She wrenches out her second lockpick, shoves them both back into her pocket and reaches for her sword instead. It scrapes awfully against the side of her sheath as she draws it out. She holds it with the same honed skill she embodied when she was alive, so much so that it almost appears natural for her blade to be nothing but bloodstained fragments. Her hand rests keenly on its hilt as she lowers it to her side and twists the door's handle.

It creaks, whining in feeble alarm as she pulls it inward and elbows it aside. The hallway beyond is empty. A frown creases my brow.

Should there not be a guard posted here? I thought Harlow was more careful than this.

Edita must share my confusion, for she hums doubtfully, lifting her broken sword to jab at the shadows. She advances, waving a hand for me to follow. Forcing myself not to hesitate, I do so.

The mosaic of wooden floorboards is cool beneath my bare feet, enough to lace my spine with a shiver. I wish I had my boots. I long for something to hold in my hands too, for they feel far too empty right now, clawing at one another in a futile attempt to dispel the feeling. My boots, my dagger, my tunic marked with the Oscensi symbol, anything. Harlow has stripped me of everything I might have considered mine.

My sliding grip knocks against one of my binds, and I grit my teeth. When I have my flame again, I'll defend myself. I'll get it all back. He won't trap me again.

"This way," Edita hisses, lingering against the bend of a right turning for a moment before darting beyond it. She vanishes briefly. I hurry to catch up, although stop short when a foreign cry reaches my ears, followed by the sound of blades clashing together.

Shrinking into the wall, I curl my fingers around the corner, daring to stick my head out beyond it. Edita's half-blade tangles with the sword of a soldier in navy. He takes a swing at her arm, and she dodges aside, light and nimble on her feet. Her silver overshirt flutters with the movement. A low growl reverberates to match her bared teeth, and her sword slices through the air. It cuts cleanly through the soldier's wrist.

Breath catching, I flinch back, a bout of dizziness rocking through me without warning. The soldier's hand hits the floor in tandem with his sword, the sound hitting my ears dully. He barely has chance to scream before Edita's dripping blade plunges into his gut.

She pauses, silent for a moment, her expression hidden from me, before wrenching the blade out again. The soldier's face is ghostly white. He collapses, eyes fixed on her even as they lose focus. Blood stains the hallway in a dark pool, steadily creeping outwards from his body, glazed in the shining light cast by the lantern above so that its surface is almost mirrored. I can make out Edita's hazy silhouette cast over it. A numb, senseless pang of sympathy for the tavern's owners aches somewhere in my chest.

Fear soon trickles in to fill the space. Crimson beads run along Edita's downturned blade, plummeting to join the pool at her feet, as she spins to face me. My feet urge me backward in an involuntary step. With her back turned to the ceiling lantern, shadows cling to her corpse-like skin, bloodied droplets scattered across her face. Her smile is empty, her eyes blank.

I wonder if I should run. But where else is there to go?

She blinks, her smile twitching upwards into something a tad more human. "Sorry about that." She tugs her sleeve over her hand, wiping it over her face, the blood fading to lighter smudges. "Stars, killing is so messy. I tire of it."

A cracked, weak laugh just barely makes it past my lips. "I--I guess so."

Her fangs show as she grins back. Bending down, she snatches up the soldier's sword. It's shorter than some I've seen, though longer than a dagger, its blade broad and flat right up until the tip. She holds it out to me, hilt pointed my way. "Here. You know how to use it?"

I give a hesitant nod, taking it from her with care. It weighs in my grip, though admittedly not as much as the one I took from Katamen. It's usable. I swallow, bile burning the back of my throat despite my attempt not to look down at the blood again. "We... we're not going to kill all of them, are we?"

She shrugs, turning on her heel and stepping casually over the soldier's body. Her leather shoes leave bloodstained prints behind. "Depends. I like to think not." She casts me a glance. "That one annoyed me, though. He tore my shirt. Look."

Her shoulder lifts, enough for me to see a small nick in the upper part of her sleeve, sliding one fold over the other. It seems too small a thing to cost a life, but she's already walking away, humming under her breath, likely deaf to my protests. Biting down on my tongue, I edge around the pool of blood and hurry after her, clutching the stolen sword close to my side. I have no other choice. She's my best hope. She's showing me kindness, despite the malice I expected her to hold.

Besides, Sarielle kills Neyaibet soldiers when she has to. This shouldn't be any different. I breathe out a controlled exhale, shaking away my doubt. I can be cautious, but there's no need to overthink every step. There's enough cluttering my head without an excess of paranoia.

Even so... I study the back of her head, the dirty white tie holding her hair together swaying as she surveys the corridor ahead. It won't hurt to pass her the burden of a few of my questions.

"Found the stairs," she whispers, waving a hand to beckon me closer to her. Sure enough, a staircase descends to our left, slotted into the wall and spiralling downwards. She leads the way. I can't help but wince with every step. The edge of each stair digs into the sole of my foot.

"Hey!"

I freeze halfway down the stairs, just beneath the jut of the ceiling. Two more soldiers are racing towards us, a third leaned against the bar, fumbling for an arrow to slot onto her bowstring. Swift and lithe, Edita leaps from the fourth to last stair, immediately clashing with the nearest soldier's blade. She shoots me a hurried glance. "Stay up there, Noli!"

The idea of retreating chafes with my desire to fight, to be of use, yet I obey, backing up the staircase. My sword crosses my chest in some attempt at a defensive stance. I don't get the chance to reach the upper floor before I catch sight of the second soldier sprinting past Edita, dodging her misaimed swipe and charging up the stairs after me. He wields twin blades, each sparking a dulled grey as he passes into the dimmer, lantern-spread light up here. Fear squeezing my heart, I heft up my sword to block his strike, but he keeps pushing, driving me sideways and into the wall as my brittle strength crumbles under his. I have to clench my hilt with both hands just to keep his blade from cutting into my chest.

My knuckles turn white with the desperation of my grip. He still has another blade. It flies up, tip scraping the wall as it slots into place over my throat.

"Trying to escape again?" His eyes narrow. "That won't--"

He chokes on whatever the rest of his proclamation might have been. A sword's fragment protrudes just barely from his stomach, shoved all the way through. It wrenches out, and I heave his sword away, panting as I duck under the tangle of blades. His second sword comes down with a shudder in the place my head was a moment ago, though it's with no real purpose. He collapses, slipping down a couple of stairs. Blood soaks the back of his dark tunic and drips down the staircase ahead of him.

"It will work, actually," Edita says, expression somewhat musing as she watches the life drain steadily out of him. Her blade spins in her fingers as she glances over at me. She winks. "Your rescuer is me this time. Far better than some flame-wielding idiot, right?"

"Right," I say without really thinking, stunned. I can't look at her without every nerve in my body tensing up.

She merely chuckles, flicks her blade in beckoning and returns to the tavern's ground floor. This time, I follow, pressed into the wall to dodge the blood. The other soldier is dead at the bottom of the stairs. The archer is sprawled at the foot of a barstool, her own arrow embedded in her heart. How quickly Edita slaughtered them. Jaw clenched, I pick up my pace, hurrying to join her at the open door.

"Hm." Her brow furrows as she peers beyond it. "Perhaps I really did take out all of Rakis's security. It seems to be safe."

My skin crawls, taut with discontent. "You're sure?"

Her lips curl in a half-smile that she tosses my way. "Deadly." She shrugs, stepping out into the street, sword roughly shoved back into her sheath. "Ah, well. Perhaps something distracted them." She wipes her hands on her tunic, scarlet streaks left in their wake. "We might as well accept it as luck rather than worrying. The sooner we get out of this town, the sooner we can be on our way."

The air's chill nips at my exposed skin. Wrapping my arms around my midsection, I shiver, shrinking in closer to her as Kavas bears down on us. Every building here is tall, great towering structures formed of wooden panels, frosted windows leering at us as we enter their maze. The grey sky above patches it all in endless shadow. The gravel-mixed earth that forms its path scratches at the soles of my feet. As if foreboding is a fog hanging in the air, anxiety seeps back into my thoughts, clenching my lungs. I steal a glance at Edita. She looks rather at home in the dusty hues of this winter morning, coloured in the pale hues of the dead. Shadows might as well have taken up residence in her eyes.

Inhaling to steady myself, I stop in the middle of the path. "Wait."

She takes an extra step before registering my quiet command. Exasperation sharpens her features as she turns. "Whatever it is, we can sort it once we are safe."

"No." Forcing my hands to drop to my sides, I stand as tall as I can, tilting up my chin to meet her eyes. At least the height advantage she has on me is only small. "I'm not going anywhere with you until you explain a few things."

I've spent too long blindly following others around. I won't make the same mistake again.

Her expression softens. "Right. That makes sense." She jerks her head, sliding back into a walk again. "I will explain everything, Noli. I promise that." Her voice fades a little as she moves away. Genuine, perhaps even understanding, but dismissive. My fists curl.

My gaze darts sideways, picking out a narrow alley to our left. Before I can think better of it, I lunge forward, grab her arm with my free hand, and wrench her sideways. The action must take her by surprise; she stumbles, carried by the movement, allowing me to shove her into the alley's mouth. Her back hits the wall. She jerks free, but I'm already raising my sword, pointing it at her chest in careful warning. Its tip holds the slightest unsteady bounce as it drifts up to brush her overshirt. I'm weak, but I could still drive it into her flesh if I wished to.

I do my best to channel the truth in that statement in my stance, summoning the element of intimidation I've managed to scrape up in the past. My eyes narrow. "No," I say again, the rough edge to my voice dragging it a touch lower. "You'll answer me now."

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

It's been too long since this book's last murder, so of course I needed another few to fill the quota. Not my fault, just the natural order of things D:

On another note, Nathan is being smart!! For once. Kind of. Time to find out what the deal is with our dead girl :eyes:

- Pup