Will exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re spending too much.”
“There’s always more gold,” Aran said with a flick of his hand, like that somehow settled it.
Will muttered, “That’s not how money works.”
But Aran was already pushing the door open.
The smell hit me first, like it usually did. Roasted meat, garlic, warm bread. Something floral too, sweet and powdery, drifting from the women seated near the windows. The place gleamed. Velvet chairs, gilded mirrors, and chandeliers spilling gold across polished floors.
A server led us to a table near a window and handed us menus written in curling, ornate script. I could read enough to guess a few dishes, and pointed at something safe. Herb stew and fresh bread.
I wasn’t hungry. I just didn’t want them to know that.
Will ordered something small too, without even glancing at the rest. And Aran picked the loudest thing on the menu, because of course he did. Glazed ribs with potatoes, greens slick with butter, and a sauce so dark it looked like ink. When the plate landed in front of him, he tore into it like he hadn’t eaten in days, sauce dripping down his fingers and staining his shirt. He groaned through a mouthful.
“Gods, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Another rib disappeared, his eyes half-closed in bliss. “You want some, Kera? You should eat more.” He licked his fingers, humming as if every bite was a revelation.
A flicker of movement outside caught my attention, and I turned to the window. A girl ran barefoot across the square outside, her clothes torn and slipping from her shoulders, hair wild in the wind. Each step slapped the cobblestones in fast, frantic bursts. She looked back over her shoulder, terrified. A man followed her. Huge, broad, slow. He didn’t need to run. His stride was heavy and confident.
My hands clenched the tablecloth. My lungs locked.Around me the room carried on as if nothing had happened. Servers continued pouring wine. People laughed. Forks scraped plates. Eyes slid past the scene like it wasn’t there. I looked at Will, leaning over his plate, cutting neat slices of food, and Aran was still pulling meat from the bone, sauce shining on his chin.
They hadn’t seen her. But I had. And the girl was already disappearing into the side street. My chair scraped back loud against the floor. Will’s head snapped up.
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer.
I spotted the girl turning a corner, her feet slipping against the cobblestones, her thin legs scrambling to keep her body moving. The man followed, steady and unhurried, like he already knew he'd catch her.
I moved without thinking.
No plan. No strategy. Almost dying—more than once—had stripped the fear out of me. Pain didn’t scare me anymore. Maybe nothing did.
Somewhere up ahead, I heard her cry out, faint, choked. I didn’t stop to check if Will or Aran were behind me. Maybe they trusted that I could handle myself.
The alley opened into a small courtyard. Vines clawed up the stone walls, tangled through murals that had long since peeled and faded. A fountain stood crooked in the middle, long dry, its basin filled with dirt and dead leaves. The man stood just beyond it, and the girl was pressed against the wall, chest heaving, blood running down her leg.
My pulse pounded, my skin tingled like the air before a storm. The heat inside me stirred.
Scars wrapped the man’s arms, veins bulging under battered skin. One hand clamped over the girl’s mouth, pinning her against the wall while the rest of his body caged her in. She was tiny, starved, bones jutting beneath the rag of a dress barely clinging to her. Tangled darkhair fell across her face, but her eyes were wide and glassy, terror spilling from them. She wasn’t fighting anymore, only trembling, gasping into his palm.
He spoke as he held her, voice slow and slurred, the kind of sound that hurts. He didn’t care who heard him, and he wasn’t worried about being stopped.
The girl whimpered beneath his hand. “Please… I’m sorry…” she pleaded.
I didn’t know what she was apologizing for.
I didn’t care.
“Let. Her. Go.” I ordered. Not that I really believed he’d listen to me. But I wanted his attention. And I got it.
The man didn’t flinch as he peered over his shoulder at me. He didn’t look afraid, but he should have been. He should have seen me for what I was, dropped her, and ran. Instead, he turned his body toward me, still pressing her to the wall.
“Who the fuck are you?” he spat.
Then he shoved her aside and started toward me. She hit the ground hard, knees scraping stone.
“Run!” she screamed.
