Ken stared at the girl, still processing what he’d just seen. The way her arm had morphed, that impossible strength, and now, standing there like it had been nothing—he couldn’t believe it. He was in awe of her, but there was something else, too—fear, maybe even admiration. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat felt tight, his legs rooted to the spot.

Then her eyes slid over to him, calm and casual, like she hadn’t just tossed Marek across the room. She gave him a small smile, one that made his heart stutter for a moment. There it was again—that thought. She was pretty. Too pretty for this place, too pretty to be mixed up in whatever nightmare they were living in.

“You’re a fan of the Blighted King?” she asked, her voice light, like they were discussing the weather.

Ken’s mouth went dry. He barely managed to stammer, “I—I guess.”

Her smile widened, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Let’s just say I’m a fan too,” she said.

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“So, you want to stage our own revolution? Break out of this place?”

Ken blinked, stunned. “Ehhh...”

Suddenly, the weight of the room hit him. The spectators, once a blur in the background, now felt more present. He could feel their stares, like a silent crowd waiting for the next act in a show. The realization settled in: they weren’t just bystanders anymore—they were witnesses.

Ken turned his attention back to the girl, half-expecting her to laugh, to wave it off as a joke. But she didn’t. She stood there, cool and composed, watching him with that same steady, unreadable expression. The silence stretched, and still, no retraction came.

Finally, Ken found his voice. “You’re kidding, right?”

The girl’s lips curled into a smirk as she closed her eyes for a moment, her expression teasing yet impossible to read. “I may or may not be joking,” she said.

The mystery in her words seemed to hang in the air, drawing him in, making it impossible to tell if she was serious or just toying with him. She opened her eyes, the amusement still lingering there but tinged with something deeper, something secret.

“If you’re curious,” she continued, her voice smooth and calm, “meet me tonight at 7.. By the old clock tower, two streets over from where the market used to be.” With that said, she returned to her place by the wall, gathered her belongings and walked out.