The first thing she did was observe Trytan’s face. She stretched slightly so as not to wake him. His arm was over her waist, keeping her close to his body.
The blond hair, now completely loose, made him more beautiful than anything else. She didn’t hide the admiration in her eyes as she ran her hand over his cheek, caressing it with her thumb. She then moved down to his neck, tossing his hair back and delicately tucking it behind his ear.
The sunlight streaming through the curtain and illuminating the house indicated that today would be beautiful. And Gwenda should have been at work.
The Shooter leaned up, sitting on her side. Trytan’s arm descended and stopped on her thighs. Gwenda shivered as the cool air touched her body when she moved away from him and squinted at the brightness as she looked at the curtain.
She wouldn’t see this light if she were confined o the lower floor of the sector, she would be sulky, completely in a bad mood. She wouldn’t talk to anyone unless they addressed her, wouldn’t look anyone in the eye except Darcy. She would be alone and quiet, as she always was. But that was good, it helped in many things, including her work and her psyche. She could complain to herself that she had no one she could trust with her own body, the place where they could bury her if things went wrong. She had no one she could trust to keep her well besides herself.
The robust scar on her back already confirmed that. Only she could make a difference in her own life, without depending on anyone.
The day she got the scar... she almost died because she didn’t feel the pain as she should. She almost died because she didn’t get up from the ground. She still managed to, but she was lamenting everything she had done moments before, she was breaking down in tears and screams, both from the physical pain she didn’t know where it came from and that pain in her mind. In her soul.
Trytan had promised that Gwenda would forget all her problems when they met, always better than the previous encounter. He had promised this on the day a ugly, horrendous, and enormous scar was made on her back, running from near her left shoulder to her right flank. It was when she had just killed, torn apart, and stabbed mystics. Like bowling, one after the other. Blood covered her body, her boots buried in a reddish darkness. A dark, wine-red lake, not letting her see anything.
Gwenda had just fallen to her knees and screamed to the filthy hands. The bodies lying beside her and the sword... only half of it was visible, perhaps she had buried the other half in the heart of some mystic along the way. How she survived that day, she hardly knew. It had been almost impossible.
Rushed to the hospital by the remaining team, but not Darcy, who stayed to help the rest, giving orders upon orders.
No one had told her anything. No one had ordered her to hold on as she was taken to a place to take care of her wounds. No one cared enough to command her to keep her damn eyes open. Except Trytan.
At the hospital, Trytan was there. He had barely put on enough clothes at the end of winter, and yet he was by her side holding her hand and telling her to stay with him, not to leave him. Her back was torn apart, that’s what Raux always reminded her of when they were in a discussion about who would go into battle or not.
Darcy always used the excuse of her back, the scar made by a damn mystic. She didn’t even know who the culprit was, but she hoped they were dead. Raux always said.
Your back was torn apart with just one damn cut, you had lost a lot of blood. Do you think I’ll let it get to that again? I want you away this time, Matchstone.
Or the day she practically opened up about what she felt about Gwenda, the first and last time:
You could’ve died, Gwen. I wasn’t there when you were taken from that carnage, I wasn’t there to hold your hand. I thank the stars every day that I didn’t lose you, because if you were dead... I would bury your body myself and wouldn’t bear to leave it. So, no, you’re not going on that mission because I can’t bear to lose you, I can’t bear the thought of not being by your side when you die. I don’t have eyes in every corner, Gwen.
Gwenda always kept her distance from Darcy. Gwenda always wanted to do things with just herself, the firearm, and the blades she carried. Because she knew she could, she knew she could handle it. Well, it hadn’t worked out so well that time. From then on, Darcy only took her on missions that weren’t so dangerous, involving mystics or not.
And Gwenda didn’t know whether to be thankful or not.
The man lying beside her moved lazily and lightly close his hand on her thigh, sensing that Gwenda was still there.
She didn’t expect Trytan to be annoyed with her if she left early. Because he knew she had work. But he would be upset to learn that work was just an excuse to leave and abandon him.
Now she wanted to stay with him, she felt it calling her, begging her to stay with him, to accept what she felt for Trytan. And when she finally accepted it, she needed to distance herself. For his sake, always for his sake.
Even though she thought that if Rubben hadn’t made the threat in a few words, she wouldn’t be here today, she wouldn’t be feeling all this terror and love for Trytan.
— Good morning. — He said with a smile he couldn’t disguise. But he tried, Gwenda noticed.
— Good morning. — Gwenda replied softly and glanced at Trytan’s tired face.
He rubbed his forehead with his hand before crossing his arms and propping himself up on his elbows.
— Should I say I’m surprised? — He asked.
Gwenda pursed her lips and looked at him from under her lashes.
— Don’t say anything. — She replied and moved back to his side, draping her arm over Trytan’s body and kissing his exposed skin.
He shifted and pulled Gwenda closer. The Shooter nestled her face into his chest and breathed in his scent deeply. Allowing the feeling of relief and joy to wash over her for this moment before everything crumbled.
She didn’t want to leave there. Not when everything seemed right, true.
She was about to do something difficult, about to leave behind what she had refused to accept for much longer than she would like to admit.
And now there, nestled in Trytan’s arms just receiving caresses in her hair, fatigue overtook her again. Just like the chest that shattered into shards. Gwenda squeezed his arm tighter.
He always stroked Gwenda’s hair because he knew she almost fell asleep with that gesture, because he knew it relieved her and made her forget about the problems.
Gwenda shuddered in his arms as she remembered the night she had. The delicate kisses she received on the still not completely healed mark, and hat line Trytan usually traced with his finger on her back, making the tension soon turn into nothing but pleasure.
That was what she wanted, what she had always, somewhere inside her, wanted. But now she needed to leave that behind, and it was the last thing she wanted to do.
----------------------------------------
— Where were you.
That was the first thing Darcy addressed to Gwenda as soon as the agent entered the sector. Ans he didn’t hide the eye roll. Raux raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, challenging Gwenda. The boss’s crossed arms were already a normal sight and didn’t affect the Shooter anymore.
— Doing my thing.
— I told you to stay in the sector at night, to sleep here. — Darcy didn’t wait a second to retort. — What were you doing out of here, Matchstone?
— It’s none of your business, believe me.
— Everything involving you is my business. Especially if you’re outside the base, disobeying my orders.
— I was busy. I needed to be there last night. — To make sure he was okay.
— There where, Matchstone.
The two locked eyes. Heads turned in Gwenda’s direction. Some frozen, others tense, and some just watching with indifference. They knew Gwenda was in the wrong here.
— Why are you so interested, Raux? —Gwenda asked, narrowing her eyes, doubting her own boss.
She had to talk to Darcy, get the answers she needed, draw conclusions from there. There were many doubts in Gwenda’s mind about her boss.
— I don’t owe you any explanations, agent. Put yourself in your place and never sleep outside until further notice. — Then she turned her back.
Gwenda felt like she could finally breathe, lighter. As if only Darcy’s gaze could make her tremble and freeze in place.
She knew Raux would come with more questions later. The subject wasn’t closed. But by then, Gwenda would already have her answers.
Gwenda blinked and the agents went back to what they were doing. The conversation picked up, and she just stood there in the middle of the room.
Today was the last day she met with Trytan. She still couldn’t believe her own decision.
The Shooter took a deep breath and grabbed an apple from the basket on her desk that she used before Darcy confined her downstairs. Normally, this basket appears every Monday, and since her desk is almost in the middle of the area, they position it there for anyone who wants to grab some.
She descended the stairs to the lower floor and headed towards a door. She prayed she hadn’t lost the key and thanked when she felt it in her pants pocket. Gwenda opened the door with a click and stepped inside.
The elf was sprawled on the floor, hunched over. He didn’t even lift his head to look at her.
— Are you okay? — Gwenda dared to ask, her forehead creased.
— No. — He replied, dryly.
The Shooter raised a corner of her lip.
—You didn’t bring me food last night, how can I be okay? — He didn’t seem to be joking. It was more of a warning for Gwenda to be more careful about it.
— Right.
The North elf stood up with a jerk and opened his mouth to speak. But Gwenda stopped him by throwing the apple between the bars. He caught it with both hands and his eyes gleamed before biting into it without waiting for Gwenda’s consent. Not that he should wait for such a thing.
— Is there no typical food from the capital that I should try?
— When you can see the books from the public library, I’ll bring you something like that. Until then, be content to answer my questions. With truthful answers.
Gwenda paused at the door. The elf took another bite of the apple, the sound of his teeth cutting into a piece was the only thing between the two.
She gave up waiting to see if he had understood and left, closing and locking the door.
Maybe Gwenda should reconsider taking an elf to the public library. Or it was a good disguise, with dark lenses o disguise the light eyes and not attract attention. Or she could bring the books here. She would have to ask what exactly he would like to read, or maybe he was like Gwenda: never knowing what he wanted to read and understand until he saw the title of the books himself. But the Shooter didn’t have time for that anymore. The studies where over and she was more than good, especially because she had competitions in the arena. These two jobs took all her time, all the time she once had.
And by studies, Gwenda means her own, what she seeks to understand on her own. What she needs to understand to unravel the mysteries that have been around for too long.
Apart from these personal problems with Rubben that now threatened to take all her concentration away from these things. If Darcy were alone with Gwenda when she arrived a few minutes ago, she would have to conduct her years of training so that she would obey when the boss advanced. The outcome wouldn’t be very pleasing; Or maybe they wouldn’t even get to the end to know.
Her head throbbed as she walked down the hallway. First day of work in the week... a beautiful day of hatred, it always was that.
Gwenda could almost believe that Vannyer had found some answers, but at the moment, she wasn't willing to entertain that notion. She just wanted to make some progress today with all this mess they called a case.
She would summon Darcy today to discuss everything. But Gwenda would wait to see if Raux didn't already plan to meet with her to demand the explanations she had every right to demand. After all, Gwenda legally belonged to her; she shouldn't have disobeyed. But she didn't blame herself; it had been worth it.
Gwenda relaxed as she remembered Trytan, at least physically. She couldn't say whether he would be okay in any other way from now on. Or the next time he wanted to call Gwenda.
One thing she hoped for but was ridiculous to expect was that Trytan would send a letter or try to meet her, something like that. If he didn't, Gwenda would be puzzled, and fear would gnaw at her.
If Trytan didn't send anything, if he didn't look for Gwenda. The Gunner might as well go mad and go after him to see if he was still alive, even if it was in secret, without him knowing she had been there. Gwenda could stay in the shadows in complete silence. As she was trained by the same man who fed her.
Rubben was one step away from destroying Gwenda's life, destroying everything. And she could repay the favor with just one thought and the obedience of her body...
— It looks like a ferret attacked you.
Gwenda lifted her head and met Vannyer's brown eyes.
It was hard to resist the urge to run her hand through her hair to smooth down the strands that were sticking up.
— Mind your own food, Vannyer, — she replied and went straight to yesterday's shopping bag.
— I am minding. And, particularly, yours too, since I bought food for two weeks. For both of us, — he tossed a sealed package of instant noodles to Gwenda, and she just blinked. — You're welcome.
Gwenda rolled her eyes and went straight to the pot shelf. She poured the food and added water. Then she positioned it on the wood stove and left it there before going to her corner.
It was already noon; she had spent the morning at Trytan's house, just idling. Just enjoying the last few hours with him.
Raux had every right to call Gwenda's attention.
— What did you do this morning? — Gwenda asked, observing the papers scattered on the table.
— I did some research on past files, — he shook his head. — Besides a terrible incident with a team of mystics and humans trying to invade Carsany... nothing of much value.
Ah. Ah.
The incident with the Black Dynasty squad — as they called themselves. Humans and mystics were in this together. The leader was smart, observant, knew how to stay one step ahead.
Of course, they managed to invade Carsany. They recruited humans who wanted to destroy the wall and live freely. They all wanted to live among everyone, as a single community.
They claimed never to have killed anyone, but some wall soldiers were killed by arrows directly in the neck. The lies and murders were one of the reasons that got them arrested.
It took six months to finally apprehend them. They were rebels, they deserved death.
But their leader was too precious to be killed. They had hidden in the shadows and recruited many beings in this idiotic dream of overthrowing the kingdom's division. Even knowing that perhaps they wouldn't be able to, they accepted with hope... which later turned into a big insignificant mess.
There was nothing more after that.
The leader was a mystic, the only one who remained alive and imprisoned. But the only one who managed to escape from one of Alphardj's isolated prisons.
— What did you do with the file? — Gwenda got up from the thin mattress. — Is it here?
Ryxer pointed to the table, a clipboard with some sheets already turned over.
Gwenda read the report again. No, she just skimmed over it, didn't have time for it now, she was hungry.
She looked at the sheets below, searching for the leader's name, the name of the bastard who almost made Sector 3 lose its usefulness because she never found him.
Arth Cheack, the leader of the rebel squad. The last rebellion, until these days.
Arth Cheack - Fey leader of a rebellion against the Wall of Carsany
One century and eight decades old
No relatives involved – deceased.
Lives with his younger sister of one century, two decades, and one year in Pandemous, Telomeron
18 soldier deaths by primary order
Inactive underground base
Second-degree burn scars on hands and arms
Antagonist number > 90.90.900.04-8
Directed to prison > Northwest Delgado
Equipped name > Firearm - K23/Black Crow; Min-Hatan27; Plactax-60. Magic.
Target > No permanent damage
Target 2* > -----
Objective > Destroy the wall.
Use of advanced technology > No
Gwenda blinked and bit her tongue.
After that outburst, the rebels quieted down, realizing that they might not be capable of reaching the height of their leader.
The last thing written on that document was that Arth Cheack escaped from prison. It was circled, indicating it was something very important. It definitely was.
He had escaped last year. Six months being hunted, and then six months in prison. A smart move, Gwenda would say. Chances of him returning to finish the job... almost none. He could have used that almost a year of freedom to gather a more powerful team. But in the meantime, Carsany was already preparing for the next rebellion. Whether Arth Cheack was the leader or not.
Primary order meant that the order of assassination came directly from him, the leader. The base they had, which was discovered, was inactive. They forbade anyone from passing through, even the king if they could, although everyone knew it didn't work that way, even if they were just trying to preserve his safety by prohibiting it.
Everyone in the agency knew that Arth Cheack burned his hands and arms while trying to save a member of his rebellion. A human girl who got trapped between wooden pillars in a place that was set on fire because they discovered her secret.
The leader pulled her out. Or rather, he pulled her body out. She was already dead as soon as she stepped out of that place. Then he made sure the wounds remained as scars, as if to remind himself of that day, of what he had lost. To remind himself of his failure. As if the human girl was important to him. Gwenda found it impossible to believe they had any kind of relationship, but she had her doubts.
— I never found out who captured him. The squad defended him so well it made Raux jealous. — Ryxer said as he removed the instant noodle pot from Gwenda and placed it elsewhere to prevent it from burning. — I think the agent who made the report must have left or something. Raux told me to stay out of it.
Gwenda barely heard what her colleague said as she looked at the name of the rebellion's leader. A drumbeat after another in her head, painless but irritating.
— Vannyer. — She felt him turn to her — Where are the old wall files? — She asked.
— I put some back on shelf T4-3. Others are here, just look for them.
Gwenda let the clipboard fall on the table and went in search of other scattered cases in the area.
She remembered them all. Even though she barely got any involving the wall, she knew all the details. She spent a long time just rummaging through these files so that if she ever needed to, she would be aware of every act already done. Except for those from other sectors that most of the time became rivals for a mere second when, basically, they stole a case. Whether they arrived first or not, Gwenda already knew more than anyone about what happened, so she felt humiliated when she didn't get the damn case, especially when it didn't go to her sector.
— The coordinates of one of their attacks show a curve in the East. It was defective, but it's still the wall we know. — He said.
Gwenda almost made a face at the way he referred to it. As if the wall was something very important to him. Indeed, it was, but Ryxer made it seem like it was a source of life. Disdain for the mystics was evident in that sentence, so well expressed that it almost made her want to soil him with the nausea she felt.
— The underground attacks were the ones that caused the most damage, Vannyer. Forget about those that barely opened a hole.
— Under...? What do you mean?
Gwenda went to hand him the clipboard when she felt him coming towards her, but Ryxer almost snatched it from her hand and hastily scanned through it, looking for information.
The Shooter went to the wood-burning stove and put the pot back. Then she grabbed a plate and a ladle full of holes and served herself, letting the waterfall.
— It doesn't mention anything about underground attacks.
— You don't need it written to know what happened.
— For you.
— I sought out the answers, could have done the same.
— The difference is you always know everything. Even if the case isn't yours.
— I take advantage of opportunities to find out.
— Tell me how. — An order.
No. A request.
— No. — She responded immediately.
Vannyer let out a muffled laugh.
Gwenda picked up the cutlery and headed to a side of the table that was almost empty due to the amount of clipboards and papers scattered around.
Ryxer continued rummaging through the files, and Gwenda pulled the one about the rebellion closer. She wanted to see who else was involved. She wanted to see the name of the one considered Arth Cheack's right-hand man.
It wasn't very relevant, as Gwenda couldn't remember.
The satyr and Arth Cheack seemed to be the guiltiest. But who was in first? Perhaps Arth...
Someone knocked on the door, and Gwenda automatically turned with an angry frown. The face of a bearded man appeared. She struggled not to grimace when she recognized him.
— What I got from the fairies. — He extended a paper to Gwenda, who practically snatched it from the man who stole her place in the interrogation.
He shouldn't, but she blamed him.
— Don't expect much. — He continued — They’re difficult.
— I imagine you don't plan on giving up. — she retorted.
The scar that cut through his eyebrow wrinkled as he mocked Gwenda with a smirk.
— No, agent. If you have any complaints, I suggest you talk to the boss. But I doubt he'll listen to you.
With boss, he referred to the general.
— Why don't you go back to the trash you came from. — Gwenda positioned herself to get up from the chair when Vannyer rushed to say:
— Matchstone is just irritated. She hasn't eaten yet.
Gwenda rolled her eyes. To her surprise, the new interrogator just laughed.
— Then you should help her eat before you end up being the meal.
The Shooter ignited with anger.
The bearded man left without saying goodbye, and doubts swirled in Gwenda's head. How the hell did he extract information from the fairies? She didn't even know if it was really important, but still. The whole sheet was filled.
When she turned back with the intention of eating, she noticed a muscle in Ryxer's jaw tense up. He kept his eyes on the table, as if avoiding looking into hers.
— What's wrong?
— Everyone thinks you're an animal, practically. As if no one can contain you.
— And that... bothers you?
— Yes. — he looked up at her, and Gwenda arched an eyebrow. — It bothers me a lot to know that, in a society like ours, women like you are outside femininity. It's really a shame, considering you're an excellent and beautiful woman. — Ryxer smiled.
Gwenda looked at him expressionlessly.
— You'll pray for me to save you someday, and I'll turn my back because you don't deserve my pity. I'll make you eat dirt until you vomit your guts out.
Vannyer opened a predatory smile.
— That won't be a problem, Matchstone. I spent my childhood eating dirt. — he added.
She closed her eyes and shook her head before continuing to eat.
— What did you manage to get from the elf? — Ryxer asked, now with the pathetic detective mask on again as he rummaged through the papers.
Nothing.
— That he's not the culprit. — Gwenda replied.
Ryxer turned abruptly to her.
— Matchstone, you only went there once to ask questions.
— And? — she put more noodles in her mouth. — If you want him to be the culprit or whatever, go get answers from him yourself. See it with your own eyes.
— I was planning on doing that next week.
Gwenda glanced at him sideways.
— Why? Are you too busy this week?
He opened a mocking smile.
— Let's just say your pale friend sees me as a threat.
Gwenda stifled a laugh knowing she was to blame for that.
— Don't expect me to solve this problem for you.
— It's better this way. — he replied and went to the snack shelf.
Gwenda focused back on the rebellion case files.
Looking at all this was such a psychological cost for her that she almost gave up as soon as she set her eyes on that phrase, on that specific word.
Victims.
You were a victim.
Gwenda sighed.
It's raining, Gwen.
It's raining.
Get up, Gwenda.
There was only her name there. Just an M on the victims' line, enough for Darcy to know who it was about.
Because only she had been captured and imprisoned underground for five months without seeing the sunlight or the moonlight. Only her name was written in Darcy's handwriting.
Gwenda hadn't even bothered to do that, so Raux saw an opportunity and put the initial of her last name there.
So no one would know, and at the same time, for the boss to be aware.
She knew about the underground attacks because she witnessed them, because she was there on the days when the explosions of pure magic took over everything. Ears bleeding, heart racing, and all she could think was death, death. Death for her. She wanted out.
That rebellion left Gwenda suspicious of herself. She didn't even trust herself.
When the sectors finally managed to find them and put an end to it, Gwenda was in the midst of the civil war, and she carried with her a moribund scar for each one.
She didn't need to tell Darcy to keep quiet about the fact that Gwenda was a very valuable victim, almost killed by Arth Cheack. Harassed and tortured with words, with just damn words. Her psyche entered into a conflict that is being experienced only by Gwenda until today. The leader of the rebellion always looked at her with indifference, but he kept staring, paralyzed. As if he could extract some information just by staring at her.
Gwenda shuddered and decided to set aside that clipboard for a while. At least until she could eat, as the appetite had left her body even before the bearded interrogator appeared.
Those were the worst months of last year. Not just because of all the shit that happened down there, but because Rubben was involved in a huge madness of finding Gwenda. Even if she wasn't his anymore.
A lot happened in these three years since she returned to the Capital. Much more than she would like to remember.
— I'm not hungry. — she said and dragged the chair back with a deafening sound. — Do you want it? Or have you eaten already?
Vannyer looked at her almost untouched plate and blinked before diverting his eyes back to her.
— I've already eaten.
Then she got up with a sigh and took the plate. She wouldn't throw it away, but she wouldn't leave it there for the cockroaches either.
She went straight to the exit and walked down the long, stuffy corridor with trembling hands.
----------------------------------------
— I know that Northern elves are healthy. — She pushed the plate towards the mystic sitting on the mattress — But this is the only thing at the moment that can keep you strong for the rest of the day.
He grunted as he picked up the plate and observed the food, turning it so much that Gwenda thought it would fall to the ground. She wouldn't mind going in there and strangling him if he wasted it like that.
— I imagine this slop isn't a typical dish.
— This slop is delicious. Just try it. — she retorted.
The Northern Elf seemed to roll his eyes.
— It's either this or you go hungry.
— How fun, I just wanted something edible instead. Are you sure this isn't poison? It looks like the gruel they give in prisons.
— Prison gruel doesn't have this color. They're white and slimy. — she said, narrowing her eyes. — What prison have you been to?
— Port of Vale Junipter, and you?
The Elf didn't seem to think when he asked that, as Gwenda was the one who sent beings like him to those prisons.
However, Gwenda took a deep breath and replied:
— Guanvalee Campus.
The mystic slowly turned to her.
— Why?
— I'm the one asking the questions here.
— It doesn't matter. What were you doing in an elven prison?
The elf pushed the plate aside and leaned forward, paying attention.
Gwenda just lifted the corners of her lips and tilted her head.
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— I was strolling around. It was an unjust cause.
— We are the fairest beings in Alphardj. — he replied — What were you doing there?
— Strolling. — Gwenda almost growled.
— What did you do to get arrested?
Gwenda opened her mouth, but then gave up. She asks the questions, the elf answers. This doesn't need to be remembered, let alone discussed with a mystic of the same species who imprisoned her.
— I remembered I need to do something. See you later. — and she got up, heading towards the door.
— You need to tell me what you were doing in Banesy. Or better yet, how you got there. How the hell did you get out of Carsany. And how did you even climb the cliff of Banesy?
He wanted to know so he could do the same, so he could know how to do such a thing and come out unscathed. But the truth is that Gwenda wasn't sure how she did that. She always claimed it was luck.
— Hey, are you really going back?
She heard a noise and then a curse behind her, and then turned around.
The elf ran his hand through his hair as he looked at the food spilled on the floor. He had gotten up quickly with the intention of reaching the bars. She couldn't contain the anger that possessed her body. But she managed to hold back the millions of curses that threatened to fly out of her mouth.
— Idiot. — Gwenda muttered and then left the compartment, slamming the door hard.
She'd go without food, simple. The elf would go without food tonight and maybe only eat the next day, at night. Maybe she should teach him to eat what's given, but Gwenda thought he already knew he should enjoy the food since he was so thin. Apparently, he's as arrogant as she imagined. And idiotic.
Northern elves eat more fruits than they could count. They never eat anything that doesn't come from the earth, where they can plant and know it's natural. Meat is something that only a few eat, even if it's from animals they themselves raise.
Today was one disaster after another.
She stomped up the stairs. She knew she wouldn't be able to avoid a body, so she put her hand on his waist and pushed as she turned. The person muttered something that Gwenda didn't care about.
Darcy turned to the Shooter, stopping talking to some other agent.
— I need to talk to you.
The boss stared at her, as if this idea was stupid. Summoning Raux for a conversation that might not even be important to her. But for Gwenda it could change something in this endless search.
She turned to the agent and nodded. He stepped away.
— What do you want?
— Answers.
Darcy didn't wait long to respond, although she swept the agent's face with her eyes.
— You're in search of them, aren't you?
— That's why I came to talk to you. — she retorted, but then continued before her boss told her to get lost thinking that somehow, she could be accused.
— Why did you put Vannyer as my colleague for this case. Specifically for this case. — She spoke softly, as if it were something confidential. Well, maybe it was. Maybe what Darcy was about to say now was confidential.
Gwenda held back the anxiety that formed from the hope that arose in her.
— Because the two of you needed to work together.
— Ryxer Vannyer just said that I'm a wild animal. — practically — And you told him to protect me. Why. — Gwenda didn't know if she was demanding or asking.
Raux spoke in the same tone as the agent.
— Because you're Gwenda Matchstone, daughter of Yago Matchstone. — The mention of her father's name made her swallow hard — If anyone dares to touch you, Ryxer can protect you, at least to some extent.
Anger hit her. She knew her father had become an outlaw, just as he had once been someone to admire.
— To some extent could be death. — Darcy didn't soften her gaze. She knew that. — Vannyer's father worked with mine. And you know. Otherwise, I wouldn't be working with Ryxer.
— They not only worked together, Matchstone. They were friends.
— But they worked for the same cause. I know my father and know what he fought for.
— I'm not your enemy right now, Gwen.
— I know you're not. — She replied immediately. As if to rid herself of the fear that reverberated through her body. The fear of Darcy returning Gwenda with a simple snap of her fingers.
— Listen. — The boss started and moved closer, challenging Gwenda — I put Vannyer and you on this case because I needed my best agents on it. There's no reason to compare with your parents.
— How do you know our parents worked together?
The truth was that few knew about this, and Gwenda didn't remember Darcy ever mentioning it.
— I knew Yago Matchstone.
— Knew how.
Darcy refused to open her mouth.
Although Raux could command Gwenda, making her feel small, there were moments when the Shooter herself was intimidating.
But then the boss's eyes turned dark.
— Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder — Gwenda noticed heads turning towards her and felt the color draining from her face — You will follow my orders before I take you off the case. Agent Vannyer is by your side to assist you, and you will accept it without complaints. If you ever doubted your own boss, I believe you're dumber than when you were with Rubben.
Gwenda took a step back. It was a threat. Why return with Rubben if she didn't like where Darcy put her, in this case alongside Vannyer.
— I don't want distractions, stay focused on your tasks. I don't want a relaxed agent. So, put yourself in your place. I won't hesitate to kick you out of here if you prove to be a woman who can't follow orders.
Gwenda blinked. She was anything but relaxed, and Raux was one of the first to be aware of it.
— Be content in your place, Matchstone. You and Vannyer working together have nothing to do with your parents. Don't mess with the past and focus on the present. — Raux seemed to think for a moment — It won't be long, Gwen.
Gwenda froze at her boss's tone of voice. She knew. She had snooped around Darcy's papers. It wasn't long before the debt had been repaid.
Raux was saving up some amounts she received, and it was only a matter of time before it matched what she spent on Gwenda. The Shooter didn't doubt that the boss was taking money from her salary, as if Gwenda were paying her.
— Please. — Gwenda pleaded without thinking.
Raux shook her head.
— Do your job with Vannyer, Matchstone. — the boss spoke with a understanding that almost made Gwenda fall to her knees. Then Darcy turned away from her, leaving a pale Gwenda in the middle of the sector.
Of course, Gwenda used her money when Darcy couldn't use her own for some things. She was always helping Raux, but never gave the money for her debt. But the boss took it, she knew that.
— Darcy. — Gwenda called out and turned to her, her hair falling in front of her face with the movement. Raux turned with her forehead slightly furrowed, returning to normal — How much do you want?
The boss blinked.
— If you're thinking...
— How much do you want. A million fractions?
The people around tensed up. Just like Darcy, who looked her up and down.
— You don't have all that money.
— I can get it.
— No, you can't.
— Darcy, I have to get it.
— You won't get it. — Raux swallowed hard — And I won't accept it.
Gwenda lost it all. And the ground seemed to leave her feet when her knees weakened and everything spun.
Why? Why wouldn't Darcy accept it?
— Why? — She whispered. A plea.
— I don't want you tied to me.
Gwenda gritted her teeth.
— But you want me tied to someone, apparently. Tied to Rubben.
— Enough. — Darcy growled.
— No. — She growled back — I begged you to take me away from him! I begged you to keep me away from that guy.
— That's exactly what I did, Matchstone. Until the debt is paid off, that's what I'll do.
— I wonder how different you two are.
Anger was evident on Darcy's face.
— What do you mean?
— You'll hand me over to him in the end. Raux, I have no power against him outside of your hands. Know, Raux, that with me by his side, Sector 3 will be brought down.
— I wish I had your self-esteem. — Someone commented, and Gwenda didn't think before grabbing the gun and aiming.
The Shooter heard Darcy shout a no, but Gwenda felt a greater impulse and pulled the damn trigger.
Everyone looked towards where the bullet had lodged, including Gwenda. She turned to the side and observed the damage she had done to a turned-off lantern hanging on the wall, next to a head.
Another test of her blind aim.
The Shooter lowered her arm with its weight, unable to bear the scared face of the agent.
The barrel of a gun touched her head, and she closed her eyes.
— Give me your gun. — Raux ordered.
Gwenda obeyed, brushing her fingers against her boss's.
— You'll go until the end of the month and the first of next year without the gun. And because of this, you'll be working here inside, not in the field.
Office work. How great.
Gwenda opened her eyes and was met with a beautiful face, blue eyes, and the red of the hair shining.
— Darcy Jovani Raux! — The judge shouted.
Raux twisted her own wrist and freed herself from the handcuffs. The first blow was the elbow in the face of a guard holding her, and the punch on the other made her wrist return to normal with a snap.
Darcy let out a cruel laugh...
Gwenda blinked.
— Understood?
The boss was in front of her, not in a courtroom, not being held by guards and dirty from head to toe with blood and mud in a suit so similar to the present one.
— Yes.
Raux took the gun from her head and holstered it.
She didn't respond when the redhead turned around and went to her desk.
Gwenda's breathing became heavier.
The Shooter ran for the stairs, avoiding looking back, avoiding looking at the sun, at the clear path, at... the life she was leaving behind at the moment. Even if it wasn't going to last.
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She could have hit if she wanted to. She could have killed the agent who mocked her. She knew his face, knew his features. She could hunt him down until only ashes remained.
It was a mockery as if he already knew her, just like everyone else did.
Yes, Sector 3 will be brought down if Rubben lays hands on Gwenda again. Once the debt is paid off, he won't hesitate to go after Raux. Taking her sector to protect Gwenda's contract with him. And maybe Rubben will boast too much and do more than just destroy Raux with his teeth. There will come a time when he will be a general commanding all sectors, and Gwenda didn't doubt that possibility.
Gwenda shuddered, not even wanting to think about it.
Darcy may not want to return Gwenda, and so she won't. But after everything passes, when the debt is no longer an obstacle for Rubben. Nothing can stop him from getting what he wants. Accepting the money Gwenda offers him is also not an option for him.
Vannyer seemed anxious when Gwenda arrived and she just looked at him through her lashes. He didn't take long to ask:
— What happened?
Nothing. Wasn’t there, so screw it.
— A loss of control.
— Whose?
Gwenda restrained herself from rolling her eyes.
— From the person you think is a beast without control.
He tilted his head.
— I never said that.
— But you think it.
Ryxer grunted and opened his mouth, but Gwenda interrupted him with an open hand, telling him to shut up.
— I don't care what you think of me, that's not the point. I'm in a battlefield with myself, let me fight in silence, Vannyer. Let me be who I'm becoming.
Ryxer didn't say anything else and just narrowed his eyes.
The Shooter headed to her mattress. Gods, she needed a nice shower. She wanted to be at her house, but unfortunately, this dirty bathroom between the tiles was all she had. Maybe if she negotiated with Darcy about personal hygiene, she could go home and then come back in less than an hour.
Gwenda crouched down and began to search for suitable clothes for today.
— You didn't even eat properly. — Vannyer commented — I suggest you eat to hold on until tonight.
— I'm fine.
— You must be irritated because you're hungry.
— I'm not hungry, Vannyer.
And she really wasn't. Her stomach felt like it was burning, something devouring her from the inside out. She almost always felt this when she ate. She wondered if it was because she ate too fast, or because she ate too much. But then she decreased both and still continued. It was a pain that didn't let her relax, didn't let her feel like herself for a while. It wasn't as bad as the pain when she bled every month as if it were a curse, but it lasted long enough to become unbearable and want to claw at her own skin to make it stop.
She took a deep breath and stood up with a grimace of anger and pain. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her coworker's gaze on her hip, where the gun was less than ten minutes ago. She was already missing that extra weight that always comforted her.
She would spend her day today searching. And the whole week. And then one more. And then the end of the month. And then New Year's Eve. And then... her birthday.
No. On the contrary. Her birthday and then New Year's Eve.
The last day of the year, when she turned another year older, and the next day was already a new beginning.
She didn't celebrate her birthday. At least not since her father passed away. Gwenda didn't celebrate anything, just went to the lake and threw a Vulvra Flower, the only flower that dies slowly when touching lava, born from the cracks in the volcanoes and mysteriously in the flowerbed at the back of her house.
Her father taught her about the flower, how it was used to heal serious wounds, taught her how to prepare a tea with it. He taught everything.
And he taught how to plant so it would grow in the soil. But she had never dared to do such a thing.
Gwenda quickly undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor and stepping into the shower. She turned on the water forcefully. The first drops were the most shocking. Gwenda gasped with the cold, but continued underneath, welcoming it with open arms and letting the cold remove her bad feelings.
She swallowed hard and waited until the water warmed up.
For a long three minutes, nothing happened, so she decided to shower anyway. She quickly soaped up and washed her hair.
The pain didn't subside for even a moment, but the tension caused by the cold water seemed to distract her from the burning sensation in her stomach.
She only became aware of the madness inside her when she couldn't hold the food down anymore. She rushed out of the shower with it still running and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet.
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For god. Vannyer was almost giving up on continuing with the research when he heard Gwenda for the fifth time in the same two minutes.
Focusing with his colleague seeming to be slowly dying was disturbing and completely impossible.
He couldn't tell if she was vomiting in the shower or in the toilet since the shower was on. Gwenda vomited again, and Ryxer closed his eyes, his right leg swinging restlessly. He didn't know whether to call Darcy or handle it himself. Perhaps it wasn't very smart to call the boss after Gwenda lost her gun, from what he had noticed. And the only person who could take the gun from someone was Darcy.
It wasn't on her hip, and the first question he asked himself was: how would Gwenda participate in the arena competitions? They used the arena's weapons, which were allowed by the king, but Gwenda always used her own.
Ryxer remembered when the Shooter was accused of stealing because she refused to switch weapons. She showed immediately who they were doubting, who she was. Just as Vannyer realized, the people realized. She wasn't called the Shooter for a trivial reason.
And now she was there. Behind the bathroom door, vomiting her guts out for some reason. She hadn't even eaten half of the ramen Ryxer bought. At the moment, he felt insulted and guilty. He bought it for her hoping she would like it. Everybody liked that, for heaven's sake...
But now it seemed like Gwenda had drunk until she dropped dead, until she couldn't think anymore.
The woman inside the bathroom vomited again, and Vannyer cursed before getting up from the chair with a scrape. To show that he was going, that he was close to entering there and helping her.
He stopped inches away and thought carefully before asking:
— Are you okay?
Idiot. Of course, she wasn't okay.
He shook his head.
— I'm coming in. — He said and put his hand on the doorknob.
Gwenda seemed to mutter a no, but another wave of nausea prevented her from pronouncing the entire word.
— My god, Gwenda. — Her name came out as a plea from his lips. But he tried to ignore this small detail when he opened the door and set his eyes on her bare back.
The scar that followed every breath of the Shooter was there, vivid.
Ryxer's chin dropped. He swallowed hard. Blinking. What the hell. He didn't know exactly what he should do.
Vannyer cursed quietly and approached her with a step before shivering at Gwenda's hoarse voice.
— Get out. — An order a plea an order a plea.
— No. — He replied, pushing the door closed with his foot and crouching down beside her. A short and quick response, so he wouldn't be stubborn enough to deny the help he was offering.
But what could he do besides staying by her side and holding her wet hair and the dirty strands from the front that were bothering her.
Ryxer Vannyer made an effort not to pass his eyes over what was exposed of the Shooter, even though an incandescent blush took over his face.
With gentleness, Vannyer pulled her hair back as Gwenda vomited once again, without caring about getting dirty, without caring about the consequences that would come later. When he removed the last strand, Gwenda grabbed the edge of the toilet with her hands as she emptied the contents out once more, and then seemed to want to claw the porcelain with her nails. Something twisted inside Ryxer, and he held her hand, letting her squeeze it to hold back whatever was threatening to spill out of Gwenda. He didn't want to see her break her already broken nails like this, didn't want to see her suffering in silence.
His colleague didn't refuse his hand, and Ryxer focused on her white-knuckled grip. Vannyer gritted his teeth and squeezed back to show... what? That he was there with her? That he wanted to help her? Would Gwenda even care about that?
He looked away and realized that Gwenda had closed her eyes and held her breath, perhaps trying to help herself control the war inside her that flew out with every despicable passing second over the toilet. Her knees seemed shaky, barely able to support her. And when she sat down slowly, with trembling hands and trembling, Ryxer didn't mind continuing to hold her hand, even though Gwenda had already let go.
He stretched and closed the lid before flushing. Gwenda just rested her head and stayed. Facing the opposite side, toward the shower, Vannyer had a full view of her torn back with a single scar that ran through its entire length. All the backs that he had imagined had once been completely smooth and soft to the point of driving anyone crazy. He gritted his teeth.
Just by looking at Gwenda's neck, he could see that natural glow, and he refrained from touching, from tasting her skin at this exact moment.
Vannyer shook his head and turned his attention to the shower with the water still on. Perhaps he should turn it off, or leave it like that so no one curious shows up here uninvited.
He swallowed hard.
— How are you?
Gwenda shuddered, as if remembering that he was there by her side, still holding her hair and hand, accepting the strength she was spending to stay strong. Because Ryxer could very well see the weakness she was feeling now.
The Shooter didn't reply, and just shrank back.
He didn't look at her one last time. He didn't swallow hard to see a woman feared by many lying face down with the toilet for support. He didn't even try to find out why she was like this.
Raux was his best hope. And with that, he didn't know if it was Gwenda's hope or his at the moment. Perhaps both.
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The two ignored each other for the rest of the day. Just the way she wanted it.
Facing Vannyer had been harder than she had imagined. The scorching gaze, filled with pity and contempt, seemed to be glued to her even when he was distracted with the matters they needed to conclude.
Gwenda sat on the mattress until her legs ached while she searched for information. She had already gathered many things and needed to act. But without her gun, it would be difficult to even step outside the sector, so she was confined there completely for two months. That was the part that made her irritated and unable to get up for anything. But hunger was the only thing that made her stand up, even though she was trembling from not having eaten properly all day.
Vannyer couldn't bring himself to look at her, apparently. Not even when she approached and attempted a single eye contact. But she had to admit that she felt that urge to tear his cute face apart, yet she subdued that bloodthirsty darkness inside her and locked it away in a box.
Gwenda ate something and went to visit the Northern Elf. She couldn't help but give a slight smile when she saw the food that had been previously spilled on the floor, now probably inside the elf or in the bathroom trash.
She wiped the smile away as she remembered that she had told herself he would go without food because of the mess he made. But she decided to have a kind heart at least today, since she had left someone disturbed and didn't want to do the same with another.
So, she brought washed lettuce, carrots, an apple, and a piece of bread to the elf. He lifted the corner of his mouth in gratitude and attacked the food with his teeth and slightly pointed canines, a bit smaller than those of the fey.
She sat on the floor, ignoring the high bench right beside her.
— I believe you must be happier now. — Gwenda commented.
The elf simply nodded twice while biting into the apple, then spoke with his mouth full:
— I must admit that your slop was actually good. But still, I prefer this.
Yes, Gwenda knew.
The Northern Elf furrowed his brow and glanced at her sideways. The crunching sound as he bit into the apple calmed Gwenda's pounding heart, and she couldn't say why.
— Who did this to you? — he asked, and when Gwenda looked puzzled, he explained: — You look destroyed, tired. Did that man beat you up?
If it weren't for the slight amusement in his eyes, Gwenda would have burst out laughing. But maybe not even then, since her body begged her to stay quiet, not to reveal anything.
— Gods. — she murmured. — Of course not.
The mystic shrugged.
— Just my assumptions. — and he stuffed a lettuce leaf into his mouth.
Gwenda rolled her eyes.
— He also has a contemptible view of you.
Once again, a shrug from him.
— That was to be expected. And I suppose it's not different with you.
She felt a silent and ancient blow hitting her, like a harpoon capturing a fish unaware of the threat.
Gwenda shook her head. They were talking about Vannyer, the man who held her hair so she could get everything out. Every force went along with the nausea that circulated in her and then rose. It was as if she had been turned upside down and stayed there for hours.
That thought dispelled any alert sense that affirmed itself every intact second. She rested her head against the wall.
— I am the least of your worries.
— Oh, really? — he seemed to challenge her with that tone. — Are there others out there worse than you?
Worse than you.
— You don't know me. — she shot back.
— Saw enough.
When she pushed him into the room where Ryxer was. Her coworker's pale face. When Gwenda removed that bullet from him without even flinching at the blood that filled her fingers. When Gwenda pondered killing him right then and there to end the pain, even though he could be saved...
She tried to fool herself into thinking she could kill him to spare him from that pain, but she knew it was her instinct screaming at her to eliminate the mystic. It was a fleeting pain; if she took his life, it would be unfair, it would be... she had no words... dishonorable? To whom? To both. But if that were the case, she was no longer an honorable woman. So there wasn't much reason to fight except if she didn't even know if she ever was in her life.
Those were difficult years. Difficult choices.
— I came here to ask questions...
— You came here to bring me dinner but stayed to ask whatever you have to ask. — he bit into the apple, and this time Gwenda flinched at the sound.
— I suppose that's enough until the next day's dinner. — she said.
The elf looked at her sideways.
Her threat to leave him without breakfast and lunch hung in the air between them, and his eyes narrowed.
— Do it. Ask your questions. You still owe me a trip to the library and a good restaurant.
— Maybe when you're more friendly.
The elf opened his mouth to protest, but Gwenda stopped him. It would be harder than she thought. As arrogant and defensive of his own ideas as a royal elf.
— The incident at the wall has opened up opportunities for mystics to enter our kingdom. How did you get in, elf. — Gwenda demanded to know.
The mystic blinked and licked his pale lips.
— I got in the best way I could find.
— What are you doing outside of Banesy?
— I've already said: seeking knowledge.
— No. I want to know why you would venture into Carsany just for that. Infiltrating this kingdom is not one of the wisest things to do; you took a step in the wrong direction. — Gwenda blinked, just to shake off this curiosity that suddenly sprouted in her — How old are you? — she asked again.
She would never really ask a question because she knew that didn't need to be one. It had to be something solid, something that would extract from the elf everything she wanted to know today. Questions would be left to ask later, when she knew she should.
— Ninety-six. — he answered.
He gives his age but doesn't give his name. Fine.
— Who are you?
— Do you really want to know? — he raised his eyebrows with amusement — I thought we agreed that Northern Elf would be just fine. — the elf seemed to purr at her.
It wasn't his name she wanted to know now, and the elf had already understood.
Gwenda forced herself to maintain an unshaken expression, as if that simple gesture from a mystic didn't strip away any power she had from her own mind.
Every vein screamed for her to advance on that smooth, unblemished neck, without a single scar. Her instincts surged against the skin of the Shooter herself. As soon as she blinked, this chaos tensed, contained within some dark place, but outside the gate of her mind. Because if she opened it... if she dared to open that gate she created to keep herself locked and restrained...
— Who are you? — she demanded again.
The elf scanned every inch of her body, as if he also felt this difference in the air that made her spine so tense it hurt.
— I believe that is not of much relevance. — when Gwenda did nothing but stare at him with a cold and calculating expression, he continued, a little more shaken: — I am nobody, just a Northern Elf wanting to uncover the history of things that only Carsany knows.
— The history of Carsany. — Gwenda concluded.
The mystic slowly nodded without taking his eyes off hers.
— Why?
The elf looked away, and Gwenda noticed a hesitation, but she waited patiently like a predator waiting for the right moment to attack and tear apart, if it could capture.
— I needed a distraction.
She allowed a small laugh to escape from within her.
— Didn't have enough distractions in your own realm? I guess the females prefer the muscular and all-powerful fey, don't they?
The elf didn't meet her gaze as she thought he would. He just swallowed hard and stared at the ground right in front of him.
— I want the truth. — a submerged voice of power and authority came from her.
— The truth. — he repeated, savoring the words.
The elf crossed his legs and placed the plate of food in front of him before turning to face Gwenda. The Shooter crossed her own legs and leaned forward, elbows on her knees and hands keeping each other company in front of her. She furrowed her brow slightly.
— As you may know: the books of Carsany have immense power in their words. Even though the minority have been written by one of us, elves, fey, witches, wizards... normally by wizards, they are human but you are so proud as to treat them as aberrations...
— Continue. — again, that authoritative voice.
The elf grimaced.
— If you're wondering if I came here to get dark secrets from you and take them to someone superior to me... like the king. — he almost didn't utter the last word, as if he wanted to avoid it at all costs, as if he felt remorse. Gwenda felt it too for the king himself — You are mistaken. I am nobody's lapdog. — He smiled sarcastically — No one would be stupid enough to send me straight to Carsany alone and unarmed.
— You didn't have money?
The elf turned to Gwenda. She knew his pride could affect anything he would say in his defense. She just needed a slip-up.
— No, girl. — his voice came out bitter — I didn't.
Gwenda softened her expression and lifted her chin, holding back the long sigh she wanted to let out.
— Why did you come alone?
— Didn't want anyone on my tail.
— Why?
— Because it would be a pain to put up with the babbling of someone like me.
— I figured you two couldn't stand each other.
The elf grunted, but Gwenda continued:
— Was there any other reason you left your home? — she wanted to know, something he might want or not want to answer.
A deeper and more painful desire ran through his energy, Gwenda could see from here the eyelids under the long fringe, falling over his eyes.
— No. — he simply answered with the most self-assured tone possible that seemed to find.
She narrowed her eyes. She knew she had to leave this only with him, this personal haunting with him. Just as she had never told hers and only piled up more than she could bear.
Her chest tightened, but soon bitterness took over it.
— I came through the sea. — he blurted out.
Gwenda lifted her chin and only then realized she had lowered it.
— A pirate crew was leaving Banesy after raiding for a month. I took that chance and got on the boat before they saw me.
Gwenda laughed, despite the knot it created in her stomach.
— And they were blind? What a wonderful story. It would scare a child to know that a pirate didn't see an unknown person step onto his ship. Didn't feel it.
— I threatened the captain and offered everything I could to get myself out of that realm and bring me here safely.
— I suppose you made friends.
The elf rolled his eyes.
— You said you didn't have money. What exactly did you offer him and his crew thirsty for death? — Gwenda's tone came out with a sharp amusement that made her shrink with regret. — Did you infiltrate by sea and bribe the guards too? — she mocked.
— I killed them. — the words seemed heavy on his tongue.
Gwenda remained motionless, but her expression was neutral.
— I killed everyone who looked at me and attacked me.
The place grew tense, like death lurking in the mystic's cell, a certain death coming directly from Gwenda.
— With what weapons?
— None.
— How did you kill them?
— Ancient techniques.
She blinked.
As ancient as what, she wanted to ask, but she held back and buried that question deep for the right time.
— First, I found a way to be among pirates. And what pirates want most is gold. I didn't have enough money for myself, but I gave everything I had to the captain. Who was more than happy to help me.
— They had just finished plundering. And if they were in Banesy, I don't believe it was a small thing.
— Their gold runs out quickly, a few extra coins are always welcome.
Gwenda bit her lip.
— You must think the same as them. So you spend like them. — she smiled — It was good not to have money, I imagine. Better than spending it on a bunch of things and then carrying the weight on your shoulders that you could have been more careful.
The two just stared at each other for a few minutes that seemed to last twenty seconds.
Ancient techniques. Bribing pirates. Safety to Carsany. Gold is always welcome. The captain was happy to help him.
Was he just happy? Or was he honored to help an elf.
The Shooter leaned back against the wall as she thought about where this would lead, about what was under her nose. But she couldn't ask, couldn't open a wound in the elf that could affect her plans with the interrogation.
At least it was a wound? Gwenda didn't know, and she wouldn't risk it.
— You said you threatened the captain. — she spoke with a sigh. She was getting tired.
The elf nodded slowly as he played with the food in front of him with his index finger, as if Gwenda had taken away his appetite.
— I pointed a gun at his head, between his eyes. — the elf blinked and Gwenda was almost certain he was seeing the scene again, boasting, or just regretting. — After the crew cornered me and he showed me his silver human canines, that's when I realized my stupidity. — the Northern Elf groaned as he leaned back and leaned against the wall, spreading his legs, one on each side of the plate. — And then I offered my gold.
Damn stupidity. Shit.
Gwenda didn't let anything show as she just listened. It was hard work not to open her mouth, but that's how she kept it. Quiet and indifferent.
— They took me to the shores of Carsany, I killed the guards, soldiers who were there keeping an eye out for any intruders... — he shrugged. — An easy and wide walk.
No mystic ventured on the coast. The magic was weak. No, there was no magic there. Some even claimed that half-breeds could become human due to the missing weight in the body, that nucleus that differentiated the peoples.
Furthermore, the guards were trained from a young age, they didn't usually fail. The elf made them fail. And by the way he mentioned more than once, it wasn't a difficult job.
Her tongue tingled in her mouth to speak. Gwenda took a deep breath silently. Then, another day.
— The pile of bodies on the coast. — she murmured to herself. The elf nodded slowly, hesitantly. As if he thought Gwenda would attack his neck. His throat bobbed.
It was him who left that pile. Almost no blood was staining the armor, considering that there were many piled up as if they were bricks, even if it wasn't a beautiful sight to see.
This case had gone to sector 9, Jurian's. Gwenda had to control all that evil inside her, that chaos devouring her with humiliation and anger so that it wouldn't advance. She would make them hand the case over to her. All in a verbal form, which was already formed in her head at the same moment. Gwenda restrained herself and forced herself to remain uninterested when she received a warning look from Darcy and curious looks from Jurian and his boss, who seemed to laugh at the Shooter's face with just that weird blink of an eye.
By Gwenda's calculations, they never solved the case and she couldn't help but let out a hoarse and detestable laugh that made the elf turn to her with a raised eyebrow.
— I wonder if the agents on this case are idiots or if you're a genius.
The hint of a smile appeared on the elf's face and then he looked away at his own hands.
Regretful? Triumphant? Gwenda supposed that the ancient techniques were nothing but death with hands, in specific places, scratches that could take a piece of bone, piercing through tissues and veins, breaking the neck with just one kick. That was because he was an elf, she didn't even want to imagine a fey doing that with almost hundreds of soldiers.
Gwenda couldn't help but think that maybe she had suppressed his energy, that she might be to blame for this, for him being like this now.
But nothing changes the fact that the culprit of the soldiers' deaths on the coastal was the elf in front of her, behind the bars that it was easy to put him in.
She had looked too much at what was explicit in the expression and the wilted body that she didn't pay attention to what he probably was capable of. Gwenda mentally cursed herself as she glanced over the mystic.
He is an elf, you fool.
Gwenda cleared her throat and commented as she got up with a grimace:
— See you tomorrow.
— At breakfast. — he completed.
Gwenda stopped at the door with her hand on the doorknob and turned with amusement.
The mystic's eyes gleamed, waiting for a response from Gwenda, one he would like.
There was much more hidden in this story of an elf who defeated the guards on the coast of Carsany. Of the elf who endured that lack of magic. In the arena, the wound healed as it should for an elf, Gwenda noticed.
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— I hope the interrogation with the elf is worth it — Darcy fired as soon as she collided with Gwenda in the hallway as she exited the room where the mystic was.
Barely had she closed the door to muffle the sound and noticed him turning his head towards them, still seated on the mattress. Gwenda shot a warning look at him as well as a comforting one, then closed the door.
Gwenda took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, bending under the weight of exhaustion, before responding:
— I'm going at my own pace, in parallel with his. — when the boss did nothing, completely still, waiting for more, Gwenda hurriedly added: — It's the most I can do for now. There's still a lot to be discussed and studied, I can't rush the process.
— This is starting to look like therapy with the elf. And as far as I know, you're not one of the best therapists. — Darcy didn't even smile, as if she were speaking seriously.
Gwenda gave her a forced smile.
— I'm saving that side of me. If you want, we can talk about something that's bothering you. — She leaned against the door and tilted her head. — Boss.
Raux narrowed her eyes.
— The only disturbing thing is the fact that you and Vannyer are goofing around and disobeying my orders.
Gwenda tried not to think about the tenderness Darcy had shown her when she put her under the cold water, always there to comfort the Shooter, the woman who refuses help for easy things and sometimes seeks it with wounded pride.
The boss's expression was very different from hours ago and Gwenda just felt her throat close with anxiety, as if she felt good looking at Raux's personality and wanted one like it.
— Vannyer must be more lost than a satyr looking for a nymph in the middle of nowhere. — Gwenda said.
— At least he informed me about some things. What you did was bring a mystic into my sector and you're still taking too long to get answers.
Gwenda thanked that Darcy's cutting words didn't pass through the metal door and the tension dissipated.
Not caring much, the Shooter shrugged to push away that urge to touch the gun that wasn't on her hip.
Darcy's irritated gaze said a lot.
— This elf can help us get a lot of things, Raux. Just give me the time I need, give me that time you asked for me to handle the case. When you think I'm far from finding out, — Gwenda didn't want to, but clenched her jaw, refusing to finish the sentence. But she continued: — you can give it to someone else.
— The agents are panicking because there's a mystic in here, Matchstone. — Darcy's voice grew thicker, more potent, being the boss she must be every day — I'm trying not to go in there and make the elf disappear.
— The agents are weak, let them panic. — Gwenda said — If they can't bear that I'm in full control and that they don't have the duty to enter that compartment — she pointed to the door next to it — then find new agents who can live with it. Live with my decisions.
Darcy's eyes turned into pure living flames in a sea of ice.
— You're entering a danger zone, Matchstone. — Darcy, with her arms crossed showing power and her voice calculated so that Gwenda felt a sharp knife in her back, spoke calmly: — If you dare address me in this way again, you're off the case. — Gwenda blinked — If you even screw up, you'll clean it up and get out of the case as quickly as possible. I choose my agents and you're here, in front of me. — Gwenda felt a wave of anger mixed with fear rise through her body — You might not be. Act accordingly, agent.
Gwenda knew she was being annoying by speaking to Darcy like this. But the biggest curiosity about it is that Raux would never, in a million years, speak so... calmly — considering her temperament — to anyone else. Only Gwenda had that luck, she realized over time.
At first, she thought it was because Darcy felt sorry, and Gwenda was willing to take that from her boss. She realized it had nothing to do with it, but she also got confused.
The way Darcy treats the other agents is completely different from how she treats Gwenda.
When someone pisses her off... or rather, nobody dares to do such a thing, only Gwenda, because she's the only one who doesn't receive the reprimand like the others, lethal with just words.
In the first few times she noticed Raux holding back from punching Gwenda in the face, it was very clear. Now she didn't know if her boss had learned to control it or if she simply got so used to it that she didn't notice the difference. It hadn't been so many years since she joined this department, but Darcy and Gwenda had a bond that affirmed those slips of the tongue to protect each other. Gwenda had been proud of that many times, but Raux seemed like a warm wall, with nothing on the other side, neutral.
Gwenda found herself thinking that she acted like this with Raux to get rid of that habit of treating her differently. Damn it, she's the Shooter. Sometimes it seems like Darcy thinks she'll break her if she acts in a more rude way.
She couldn't notice anything about Darcy's behavior, if she acted differently with her for some reason. Maybe it's Rubben, the trauma Gwenda went through. Maybe it's the months she was contained underground. She couldn't say. There were so many times with this kind of thing, so many terrors.
— Don't destroy what you're building, Matchstone. — It was the last thing the boss said before turning her back and going up the stairs.
Her suit was dusty, but nothing more than that. Maybe they had gone on a mission today and Gwenda was so busy thinking and thinking that she hadn't noticed.
That anguish of thinking she hadn't served for anything in a fight rose in her chest and remained there. With gritted teeth, she returned to the dorm where Vannyer was waiting for her, pretending to sleep. Even though she found it funny, even though she took a deep breath to laugh at this totally visible pretense, she couldn't. Gwenda remained with her body stiff and her hands clenched.
Every muscle screamed to go for the gun, grab it, and shoot somewhere. Her fingers screamed to be broken against a wall.
When she extinguished the only lamp burning and lay down, Gwenda kept her eyes open in the darkness until she was calm, until everything healed in the eternal silence where not even a light entered. A complete nothingness.
Her insides struggled for a while longer until it ceased. But that piece of bad path walked inside her chest darkened, and Gwenda fell asleep.