A cold splash of ale to the face woke Macayla. She recoiled from it and blinked to clear the liquid blurring her eyes.

Now conscious, she noticed the burn of her shoulders and arms from being pulled down and recognized the tight ropes on her wrists; on impulse, she struggled to find her hands tied to the legs of the chair. Her feet were also tied together. A dirty piece of fabric gagged her tightly—it was even a struggle to swallow.

Brynjolf sat directly across from her, gagged and bound to a chair just like her; his green eyes were trained on her, full of concern. He didn't look hurt.

Unfortunately, she recognized the wooden infrastructure with dread—the abandoned shack. No. Not again. She felt a familiar presence looming on her right. Macayla looked up to meet the smug face of Edvar Clear-Blood with her glare. Teane stood at his right, arms crossed and staring unblinkingly at Brynjolf.

"Here we are again, Macayla," he said with scorn. "Sithis knows I wish we weren't."

He looked at Brynjolf. "But at least you won't be alone this time."

Macayla wished she could bite through the gag and scream curses at him, but she couldn't even move her tongue to get it wet.

Edvar turned back to her. "How did you survive? You had no pulse; trust me, I checked. And I'm sure you're wondering how I figured out you were alive. Well, it was before my men found you in Riften.

"I will commend your smarts on destroying my office like bandits when you broke into Yondis Trading Warehouse. Set me back for a bit." His gray eyes steeled, the wittiness gone—she bet he gritted his teeth. "Then one of my guards told me that he had heard laughter—specifically a man and woman's. Now, I knew that couldn't be right because I had you killed, but I still sent my men out to every Hold capital to make sure. By the gods, it shocked me to hear that you were back from the dead, but you weren't all they found."

Edvar reached into a pocket and pulled out a golden medallion the size of his palm—she had sold that medallion as soon as she got done with Brynjolf's scheme in the marketplace with Brand-Shei.

He admired it. "It was hard for me to believe you were alive, but once I saw this, I knew they weren't mistaken."

His face suddenly contorted with rage, and he threw it at her like a saucer. She tried to move her head to miss it, but it glanced off the corner of her right eye, leaving a searing cut. She heard Brynjolf struggling against his restraints.

Edvar roughly grabbed her face and yanked her head up to meet his furious one. "You're a little bitch! You took what was mine and because of your lying tongue, Jonnir is dead!"

Good. He was no better than you.

He had her head in his hand as he turned back to look at Brynjolf. "So, what did this little succubus do to snag you, hmm? A good ride? A hollow lie that she loved you? She has told that to many before."

She looked at Brynjolf fearfully—she never wanted him to know what she really was for Edvar. He caught Brynjolf's confusion in not knowing what he was talking about.

"Oh, you don't know? She not only brought in my most gold as a thief, but she was my best assassin too. Macayla here would flounce around on men's arms, crawl into bed with them, profess she loved them, make them fall in love with her, then slip a knife between their ribs before stealing their valuables and returning them to me. She did this to countless men; I've long forgotten the count." He turned to her. "Do you remember how many?"

Macayla's neck burned with shame. She couldn't meet Brynjolf's gaze, but felt it on her.

"So, no matter what she has led you to believe, she doesn't care for you." Edvar looked back at her with a sly grin. "This vixen is a master at manipulation and killing."

Her eyes stung with tears of rage; she had never felt this angry before. Oh, how she wanted to spit in his face.

Edvar chuckled, reading the thought in her eyes. He tapped the gag, nearly choking her. "I've learned."

He suddenly whipped out a blade and laid it against her cheek; the shining steel froze her skin. "I've also learned not to assume you're dead. To make sure, I'm going to slit your throat and watch the life fade out of your eyes."

A deep thud sounded behind Edvar, followed by another, sounding like powerful blows striking a body. Macayla squirmed, hearing Brynjolf being beaten by Teane.

A wicked smile grew on Edvar's face. "You care for him. Very well, I'll let you watch him die."

He moved to get his eyes levelled perfectly with hers. "But first, I want you to know something: your parents were never in debt to me. Once your whore mother realized I had lied, I had her and that fool she had as a husband killed." He moved his lips to her ear to whisper. "Everything you did for me was free."

The blood ran out of her face as his words resonated within her. Disbelief turned into blinding anger; she raged to get free and stab his heart with his own knife, over and over again.

Edvar laughed as he watched her rage. "You gave me such pleasure; you truly did."

Suddenly an arrow went whizzing by, piercing Teane in the back by his startled cry. Edvar flinched, turned to see his henchman crumpling to the floor, then began to crouch down to use Macayla as a shield when he turned to face where the arrow came from.

He had stepped back when he recoiled, practically straddling Macayla's tied feet. She took her chance and brought her knees up into his groin.

A painful gasp escaped Edvar as he doubled over, a hand moving to cradle his injured member. She shot her feet out at a kneecap to force him away from her; at the same time, he slashed at her neck. Her hit reached him first, throwing off his aim and loosening his grip on the knife as he fell.

But the wild swipe still got the top of her right cheek. She hissed at the sharp slice but pushed the pain away. Macayla pushed off the floor to fall back and break the chair; she slipped the ropes binding her hands off the broken chair legs.

Edvar abandoned reaching for the knife and pushed to his feet to flee. Macayla threw a broken leg to trip him—it slipped under foot and sent him sprawling to the ground.

Macayla snatched the knife, cut the binds at her feet, and ran after him. He had gotten back to his feet and sprinted toward another exit. She hurled the knife after him and it found its mark in his back. He jolted in pain and halted long enough for Macayla to lunge at him.

They tumbled until Macayla ended up on top of him; she wrapped her hands around his neck and pushed down with all her strength. Edvar's eyes bulged as he struggled to breathe, body spasming beneath her and arms flailing wildly at her, trying to pry open her hands or push her off.

When his fight started to wane, Macayla took a hand off his neck, ripped down her gag, then returned it. "This is how you kill someone: you don't talk."

As his hands slowly slid off her, she watched the light die in his eyes. Macayla removed her hands around his red and bruising neck when the black eyes stared at her lifelessly. No life was left in Edvar Clear-Blood.

Macayla sat back with a huff; she was now truly free of him—she didn't have to watch over her shoulder anymore. He could never threaten her again.

She felt two presences behind her; she looked to find Karliah supporting a bruised and bloody Brynjolf. His large frame looked to be squashing the small Dunmer, but she held her own.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'll make it, lass."

Silence developed between them. "We need to get the translation to Enthir." She pushed herself up to her feet. Macayla turned away from Edvar's body without another look. "Let's go."

She slipped under Brynjolf's other side and helped him stagger out of the abandoned shack.