In reality, Nykander has been a better friend to me than I’ve ever had before—certainly a better one than I’ve been. All this time I’ve been scheming to leave, thinking of him as this imminent danger while he’s done nothing but be nice to me. In return, I’ve been a bitch to him.
I shamefully look away as I realize just how bad my behavior has been. He saved me and I treated him with suspicion. It’s not fair to him at all. And now I’m interrogating him as if I have a right to know everything he does in his spare time.
“I took on another job. It doesn’t have set hours, so I don’t know when I’ll be away. But it pays very well,” he adds proudly.
A feeling of relief hits me straight in the chest: it’s not another female.
Huh?Where did that come from?
But before I can examine that further, it dawns on me the reasonwhyhe had to take on another job: me. He not only has another mouth to feed, but he also needs to pay me a wage.
“Why would you need another job?” I ask him directly. He’s a public servant—already a respectable job. He should earn quite a good salary.
He bites his lip shyly. “My job at the War Department is an entry level one so my wage is not significant. I also want to save up more money for the future.”
I nod slowly. That makes sense. I did not think about the disparity between entry-level jobs and senior-level ones. He’s in his first year as a public servant, so it wouldn’t bethatmuch.
“It’s not because of me, is it?”
“No, no, please don’t even think of that.”
“All right,” I murmur. I shouldn’t pry anymore. “Is it possible to let me know when you’ll be late? To prepare food that will be good reheated,” I lie.
Goodness, Moe, that’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard!
But how could I say that I need to know so I will not worry? That would reveal far too much.
“Some errands might be last minute, but I will do my best to let you know when I will be late,” he says with a smile.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He musters a smile, though it feels a bit forced. Just as he finishes his food, he suddenly stands up.
“I—” He bites his lip. “I’ll go to bed now. Thank you, Moe.”
Before I can reply he’s gone, only the faint rustle of clothes remaining in his wake. I blink. Perhaps he’s tired since he’s been working so late.
In his hurry, he also placed his empty plate in the sink. My lips twitch as I clean the rest of the table and wash the dishes. Wiping my hands clean, I get ready to turn off the light and go to bed. But as my hand reaches for the light-rune, I falter. My eyes are drawn to the floor, where a trail of red drops forms from the kitchen into the hallway.
I follow the trail slowly until I reach Nykander’s door. The red drops hide beneath the door, continuing on the other side.
My knuckles rap on the door, hesitant at first before growing in urgency.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Moe!” Nykander calls out from inside the room. “Good night.”
That’s entirely unlike Nykander. Whenever I’ve taken the initiative before—albeit not too many times—he’d tripped over himself to be accommodating. Hell, he did not even need to clean his own plate, but he did so. Something is wrong.
My instinct is so strong that I do something I’ve never done before—I don’t listen. Pushing his door open, I’m pleasantly surprised to see it’s not locked. However as the door crashes against the wall, my eyes meet Nykander’s wide and incredulous ones.
He’s bare chested, his skin covered in all kinds of gashes and scraps. But it’s his side that makes me gasp aloud. Blood drips from an open, ugly wound, staining the front of his trousers. Some drops make it to the floor, joining the ever increasing wet mess.
On his bed are bandages haphazardly thrown around, alongside his tattered blouse. I now realize that he had never taken off his coat at the table, likely to hide the extent of his injuries.
I gulp down as it dawns on me how uncomfortable and in pain he must have been yet his expression never once betrayed that. How could he joke and laugh when he had a literal hole in his chest?
His sudden departure makes sense now. His bleeding had become uncontrollable; perhaps his pain too.
“How…” The words stop in my mouth. He’s the one hurting, so why am I the one feeling such an uncomfortable tightness in my chest?
