Siridan's palm tapped against the bottom of his sword's hilt, and my heart jumped at the clacking sound the blade made in its sheath. I stood up immediately, a bit distraught at the fear that raced through my mind once more.

What are you getting worked up for?

It almost felt as if the memory of my resolute and brave past self came to scold me in the present. I knew better than to be startled by a meaningless movement like that, but I couldn't help it.

I'd seen that very same hand reach for the blade and draw it in many of my dreams, and it never ended well for me. I was so, so tired of reexperiencing the dread of death every night that my body reflexively responded to it.

It didn't seem like Siridan noticed my reaction, though. Whatever else occupied his mind – I was thankful for it being there. I couldn't handle the thought of being the center of his attention; whenever his light-colored eyes looked at me, I saw only death.

"So? Are you gonna risk it, hope they don't know you did anything, or run anyway?" Siridan prodded at my silence with a burning question that should have been on my mind as soon as I decided to pick up Zakuli's sword.

"I…" —I didn't know. I never planned to get into trouble in the first place, so I never had a backup plan. This new life was supposed to be peaceful. My promise to myself felt as broken as the sword I left on the floor.

"Well, then you'd better figure it out, missy. You could hide, run, turn yourself in, or even pretend nothing happened, but you gotta decide fast. Otherwise, one of these dust piles will do it for you."

I looked down at the Sect. I didn't realize just how quickly the melted smear of wax had turned into a powdery mess. It was hard to imagine that it looked like a person just a few moments ago – or that it was strong enough to crush me on a whim.

Of course, I couldn't just run. Having to outrun just one Sect would have meant my doom, and I definitely couldn't avoid being captured if I had to avoid several. Only someone on the same level as Siridan could dream of doing that, and I was nowhere close.

All I had was experience and a brain, and that was fine and well, but it wasn't enough. Even though Siridan's voice turned sarcastic when he brought it up as an option, I almost felt tempted to choose to turn myself in.

Almost. But I wasn't an idiot. He was treating the situation lightly, but I knew that if I were to admit to what I did, I would become his partner in crime – then likely executed for assisting a rebellious murderer. I wasn't eager to come face to face with death again.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Siridan didn't wait for an answer. "—Personally? I plan on starting a collection. These crystals – or whatever these cores are made of – would probably look nice on a necklace, and these puppets will deliver them right to me."

I couldn't tell if he sounded excited or bitter when he said that, but what I was sure of was this: It sounded stupid.

"So… You plan on sticking your sword into each one that comes after you? Isn't that reckless?!" I found myself reprimanding him as I used to in the past, with the fear lurking in the back of my mind temporarily drowned by outrage.

"It's not just reckless – it's insane," I continued, crossing my arms and scoffing. "They know you're a criminal, so now those things will be hiding everywhere. You're just asking for trouble at that point. Why not just hide? If you really haven't done anything wrong, you'd wait for your name to be cleared."

I didn't mean to take on an accusatory tone. It just sort of happened, and the deadpan look Siridan offered me when the words left my lips gave me the impression that he wasn't too pleased about it. —Whatever. It wasn't my job to please him, anyway.

"Bah. You just don't get it." Siridan raised his legs, then vaulted up and landed on his feet with a quiet groan. "Even a coward wouldn't be stupid enough to think that'd work. If there were a way for me to prove my innocence, you wouldn't be looking at me like I just pissed on the bar."

Vile. But Siridan was right about something – there wasn't a way for him to prove his innocence. He killed Paa'il, and he killed me, too, then decided to deny his involvement with us. His act was good – that much I could admit – but I didn't buy his story. No one did.

He unexpectedly tossed the empty potion vial in my direction, and my arms immediately flailed to catch it. Luckily, I managed to save it from shattering on the floor.

His hand brushed through his messy hair again, combing it aside. "Since you helped me, I'll ignore the attitude and spare you. Just be thankful I decided to take my anger out on the wax squad instead."

God, I hated it. My eyes only planned to follow the movement of his hand – but were immediately drawn to his face's features as a result. He looked way too handsome for a murderer.

Putting his scary eyes aside, the softer details of his face contrasted nicely with its sharper, more masculine side, and avoiding his gaze meant I couldn't help but stare at his lips when he talked, so I noticed whenever his subtly sharp teeth would peek out from behind them.

I was lucky to know better by then. I might have fallen for him if I really were just an inexperienced barmaid, but I knew just how rotten this man's personality and morals were. I was too familiar with him not to pick up on the tiny details that others wouldn't see, like—

Mmm… Is it just me, or..?

No. No, there it was again – the strange feeling that something about Siridan was off. It was almost like I could see it happening in slow motion.

As he walked toward the exit, his hand casually moved up to scratch at the part of his chest exposed by his shirt, then lowered and pressed over his heart.

Then, despite only just having drunk a healing potion – and without any warning past the light leaving his eyes – he fell to the floor again, unconscious.