She didn’t have to ask me twice.

I nodded, noticing an alleyway ahead of us on my right side.

"Let me walk ahead of you. Castille, walk behind me. When I duck into that alley over there, keep walking; come running when I make my move."

The corners of Castille’s mouth twitched upward.

"It's a plan."

I picked up my pace, walking ahead while Castille slid behind me to block our stalker's view. Reverting to my past, I hunched my shoulders and made myself small. I matched Castille's gait, counting down the steps until I was close enough to slip into the alley.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Now!

In one fluid motion, I slipped into the alley, pressed myself against a wall, and crouched. Castille, Dugan, and Thor continued their pace as if nothing had happened.

Good.

I waited, letting my mind sink into a place far away. It was an empty place where breathing slowed, thought disappeared, and only patience remained.

Soon, I received my reward. A short, cloaked figure walked past the alleyway, leaving me unnoticed. I waited another five heartbeats in case there were any stalkers I had not sensed.

Nothing.

I moved to the lip of the alleyway to get a better look at Rugar's agent. They were as short as Dugan and carrying some kind of staff. Checking my surroundings, I unwrapped the sash around my waist.

Utility. The value of an object is in its number of uses. A sash that looked like a fashion accessory could entangle a knife in close combat. A bundle of coins sewn into the end of a sash to fool pickpockets could also be used as a weight for makeshift bolas.

I creeped out of the alleyway, swinging the weighted end of my belt sash in small circles. After one last rotation, I let the sash loose, wrapping the weighted end around the agent's lower legs.

And then I pulled.

Rugar's agent face-planted on the cobblestone, their staff skittering out of reach. I closed the distance, twisting out my short sword. Castille and Dugan doubled back with their weapons drawn. We surrounded the cloaked figure, ready to strike them down as they pulled their hood back.

"Cindra?!"

Shoulder-length, blonde hair shined in the moonlight as the woman’s hood fell. Her blue eyes were wide and wet with terror. She held the bridge of her broken nose as the blood poured out in a steady stream.

My shoulders sagged. It wasn't Cindra.

"Who’s that?" The woman asked, her broken nose giving her a nasal pitch to her voice.

"I... Uh…"

"Why were you following us?" Castille asked.

"I-I wanted to talk."

"About?"

"About joining your party. About breaking the curse."

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Why didn't you talk to us at the hall?"

"Everyone was looking at you. I wanted to talk somewhere quieter."

She flashed an awkward smile.

"I'm shy."

Castille snorted and looked at me.

"Jacob, free the poor girl. What were you thinking?"

I blushed as Castille suppressed a grin.

"Right… Yeah..."

I sheathed my short sword and bent down to untie my sash from around her legs. I noted the quality of her soiled, baby-blue dress and navy-blue cloak. I also picked up her staff, feeling the heft of the smooth, dark wood. Dugan slid his axe back into his belt, but Castille kept her sword drawn, not completely buying the young woman’s innocent appearance.

Dugan stepped forward, pressing his thick fingers against her forehead.

The woman's eyes widened as the crooked bridge of her nose snapped back into place, the stream of blood pouring out of it becoming a trickle. She wiggled her nose in disbelief.

"T-Thanks," she said in shock.

My eyebrows shot up.

"What was that?" I asked.

Castille smiled.

"Dugan’s a mage, the second son of a poor, landowning farmer. He can do minor healing, control plants, and create food. We'll never go hungry."

Thor oinked at the mention of food.

I blinked in disbelief.

Could farmers even own land? I thought it all belonged to nobles.

"Well… that's useful.”

Dugan shrugged, lifting the girl to her feet like a bundle of sticks.

She brushed the dirt off her dress. Her big, innocent eyes reminded me of Kirk, and her blonde hair reminded me of Cindra and Cynthia. Even with the blood smeared on her face, she was… cute—that set me on edge.

Castille continued her interrogation.

"You've seen what we can do. Now, what can you do?"

"I'm a mage."

"I see. What's your name?"

"Isla."

"Isla, what?"

"Just Isla."

Castille sneered.

"You're a noble and not even one clever enough to use a fake name."

Isla shrank back from the older woman's stern gaze.

“I’m a bad liar.”

Castille sighed, burying the tip of her longsword into the cobblestone.

"Beggars can't be choosers. Most parties are lucky to have one mage. We have three. If the others allow it, I'll let you join."

She looked at us.

"Well?"

Dugan nodded.

Thor sniffed Isla and then grunted his approval.

I turned to Castille and gave her a curt nod.

"Alright, you're in," Castille said.

She sheathed her sword, shaking her head.

"Three mages. Why does it feel like it's not enough?"

She, Dugan and Thor turned back to walk to the inn.

"Um... my staff," Isla said.

"Oh! Oh, yeah."

I shoved the staff in her general direction. She took it, met my eyes and blushed before turning away to catch up with the others.

I frowned at the back of her head.

Who cares what she looked like? Kirk, Cindra, Cynthia… They were dead. They didn’t matter. Not anymore.

I took a moment to look at my party. There was the young noblewoman hiding her identity, the mute farmer's son with an intelligent boar, and a warrior from the north who was clearly a former military. They all had their secrets, but not as many as me.

In a single day, I’d lost everything. What had I gained? Power… and purpose.

I balled my right hand into a fist. The wound across my palm throbbed, bringing a smile to my face.

Sin. Are you watching me? Am I following your path?

A gust of wind swept through the street, nudging me forward. I grinned, walking after my party to begin the journey that would change our lives.

# # #

Sin watched as Jacob followed his new party. She sat at the top of a nearby building, letting her right leg dangle over the side. Sin had been following him since he visited the ruins of the mansion, silently scolding him for not detecting her presence or LOOKING UP!

Sin sighed.

Was she ever that green?

She tried to think—think back to the time before she was Sin. It was hazy—too difficult to make out.

Was this a symptom of being renamed?

Who knows? Who cares?

Jacob was running now, trying to catch up with the girl in blue. The sight of his retreating back made her feel…

Sad?

She had forgotten what that felt like. Sin didn’t like it. Her existence was perpetual numbness with occasional bursts of joy—true… happiness.

The last time she had felt sad was… Jacob’s father.

Sin let out a longer sigh.

This is why Jacob needed to die.

He made things complicated. But she had passed up so many chances to kill him. Her first chance was when he was a newborn. It would have been so easy to snap his neck. But those eyes… Just like his father’s.

Why did he betray the mission? Why did he betray HER?!

Tears welled up in Sin’s eyes; her mask wicked them way before her vision blurred.

Sin decided then and there that she was going to kill someone tonight. It was the only thing that could improve her mood—the only thing that could make her happy. But who?

A beggar?

No, too smelly.

A fair maiden sleeping in her bed?

Too BORING!

A raper?

She sat upright. Oh, yeesss… Sin loved the look on their face when their leers turned into abject terror. There were bound to be a few of them lurking in the alleyways tonight.

A soft giggle escaped her lips.

See? She was feeling better already.

Sin got to her feet and stretched out her tight muscles. She wasn’t getting any younger but wasn’t getting older either. She wasn’t aging at all.

She took one last glance at Jacob, her hands moving to her weapons.

“That’s right, nestling, run. The safest place in this world is far away from me.”