Gwenda vomited when she returned to her corner she shared with Vannyer. He wasn't there, and Gwenda didn't care enough to go to the bathroom. After all, she could barely walk.

When she woke up in the morning, with her face on the cold floor and a taste in her mouth that made her stomach churn and bile rise again. But she grimaced and forced out whatever wanted to come out, remaining inside her.

With a throbbing head, she tried to get up and ended up on all fours, hair falling around her head. She wiped the corners of her mouth with her hand and trembled as she pushed herself up, finally feeling the ground beneath her feet. But that didn't help when she staggered backwards with a headache, everything a bit blurry like the myopia that irritated her sometimes.

She stumbled over something, maybe her own feet, and fell backward. But before she hit the ground, she hit her back on the table and knocked over a porcelain cup, shattering it with a loud bang that hurt her ears.

— Shit. — she muttered quietly, but she was almost certain she had shouted.

She told her own echo to shut up with a hiss.

Gwenda leaned on the table with her arm, holding her body together with trembling legs that slowly slid further down. Gods, she could tell she was still drunk.

The agent shook her head and immediately regretted it as she felt a pang of pain. So she took a deep breath and as her arm trembled as a warning that her almost lifeless body couldn't take it anymore, a voice saved her at the door:

— What the hell are you doing?

Gwenda turned with wide eyes, but everything was blurry, so she squinted to try to understand. Nothing but a redhead's head, but it was enough. The agent smiled.

— Boss. — She said cheerfully. A second later she was on the floor.

Gwenda hit her head on the table and her butt on the floor. She grumbled and leaned forward, careful not to lie back because she had little hope of being able to get up again. Sitting down also provided more encouragement, anyway.

Someone held her face with delicate hands, but full of scars that Gwenda felt very well.

— What were you doing last night? — Darcy asked, but when Gwenda couldn't even think of a truthful answer, because all she had at the tip of her tongue was a lie, the boss grunted. — Why is the elf out of the cell? He's sleeping in the hallway door.

Gwenda frowned. The elf. She didn't remember how she had gotten back, she was intoxicated enough to not even be able to walk. But the gods certainly protected her when she drowned in alcohol, because she always seemed to be intact without a scratch, but she didn't want to push her luck, did she?

Gwenda gave a little smile.

— I need to get back to work. — she whispered — Before you find out I'm hungover.

The agent couldn't see well, but caught a glimpse of Darcy's grimace and soon wondered why.

— Please, get yourself together and go brush your teeth. Then you can rest and take the day off.

She felt a blush spread across her face. No. Gwenda wanted to shout. But she raised her trembling arms and held both of the boss's wrists, pressing them against her cheek so she could rest her face. Darcy just huffed and tried to pull away.

— Don't forget about the agent from Sector 6, Matchstone. He'll be arriving today.

Gwenda's body went into shock, immobile. The strings that used her as a puppet seemed to come to life, but not as firm as they should be when she was sober.

The agent removed her hands from the boss and started to get up while muttering something she couldn't understand.

— Gwenda... — The boss tried, but she hit her head on the table and let out a groan before crawling forward, avoiding Raux. And then she stood up with her limp body.

Her vision was returning, but she could see the bathroom door and the shelves with the old cases. Gwenda swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath and regaining the air to clear her mind.

— Right. — She imagined she was composing herself as she spoke. — Make sure he doesn't mess with my things when he arrives.

Gwenda supposed he would arrive in the morning. And she was almost sure it was morning, so much so that she saw the light from the upper window freely entering the bathroom. Then she entered that light and closed the door with force before kneeling in front of the toilet and waiting.

----------------------------------------

He was supposed to feel motivated? To sit at a table and start his game betting and losing everything?

No. Vannyer knew how to control himself.

He was walking among the tables, indifferent and observant like a good gambler, while looking for somewhere that wouldn't give him away right away.

His strong point was that he could embody any character the situation demanded. He would be a great actor, could be successful in the world of theater. He was always at his best when negotiations were involved, shedding the skin of who he was and slipping into another with ease.

But there was one thing that prevented him from turning into a lie, into something that wasn't true. No, not one thing. But one person. And she was probably still sleeping or grumbling about how irresponsible he was. But Ryxer was almost sure that Gwenda would never think that of her, since she liked to boast around saying she was the best in the sector. Vannyer didn't openly disagree, since she was always one step ahead. But he didn't care. Or at least he shouldn't.

He cared about her, that was the biggest problem. And he was trying not to make that clear.

The agent caught sight of a man with slicked-back black hair with just one strand cutting across his forehead. The same hairstyle since he started frequenting this casino.

Ryxer opened a huge, welcoming smile before sitting in the first empty chair he found.

Men and a woman looked at him with some disdain. But he rubbed his hands together, still wearing the expression of someone who was ready to spend all his money. The expression of a traitor, but one that seemed like a safe and fun point.

— It's going to be fun. — He said with the best tone he could find and waited until everyone started focusing on the table again.

When he got what he wanted, he turned to Rubben and his two lackeys walking around the place. Ryxer followed with curious eyes, wondering where he was going with such determination.

Rubben entered a swinging door and disappeared, leaving only one lackey waiting for his return at the door.

Vannyer looked around, the guards positioned in their proper places. Flashing fake smiles at the people who greeted them.

Ryxer got up, but gave one last look at the table to make sure he hadn't bet anything. When he realized that the people at the table were looking at him, Ryxer smiled.

— A man needs to go to the bathroom before he's rich, right, gentlemen? — he turned his eyes to the woman — And miss. — he added with a smile.

One of the men, blond, smiled, while the woman chuckled awkwardly and returned her attention to the table.

They would take him out of the game, no doubt. After all, there was no reason to wait for someone who hadn't even bet when they could just ignore him.

Vannyer headed for the bathroom, giving a short nod to the guard. As he passed, he shocked the man and electrocuted him. The man's gasp was heard by Ryxer as he continued and entered the bathroom, calmly adjusting his collar.

As soon as he had brought Gwenda inside an hour earlier, he had dressed appropriately and with the necessary weapons. And now he was there, acting behind her eyes.

He believed he wouldn't get through without being searched, but they already knew him. Or rather, one of the characters that Vannyer had created, the one thirsty to compete and come back with pockets full. He was even friends with the guards at the door. He received a pat on the shoulder and a welcome back from the other guy before entering, not caring that the person behind him had been stopped.

A flush sounded in one of the bathrooms and a short, bald man appeared while zipping up his pants. He greeted Vannyer, who was washing his hands, and went to do the same. When the man turned to go dry his hands on the paper towel, Vannyer grabbed some soap and mixed it with hand sanitizer, and left the bathroom with clenched fists in his pocket.

One of the guards was leaning over the other who had been knocked out by Vannyer and tapping his face, trying to wake him up. He noticed Vannyer watching and tried to disguise it with a furrowed brow and a guilty look over the awake guards.

Ryxer just moved on, avoiding bodies still with their hands in their pockets increasingly feeling the soap and hand sanitizer spreading all over his hand, but being careful not to let it drop in his pocket.

He was heading for the man who was positioned at the door where Rubben had entered, his eyes fixed on him. The guy just looked around and tried to find some ass to admire, whether male or female, lost in what was supposed to be his duty. The smirk Ryxer gave was the opposite of welcoming.

But there was another guard on the other side of the casino, and this one was positioned and paying complete attention to what he was paid to do. So the agent had to be cautious, to seem just like any other conversation until he could...

Rubben came out.

Quickly Ryxer stood next to a table, pretending to be frustrated with whatever was happening. The counter looked at him from the corner of his eye, one of the few still standing around.

The agent glanced at the one who was following Rubben, another body who came out with the casino owner.

The white hair stood out around heads darker and lighter than his own. His skin was pale, his posture almost perfect, his walk dragged but confident. A walk that Vannyer knew well. The standard walk of people who owned the damn thing, he would say.

Ryxer followed with his eyes, taking great care to seem more interested in the game in front of him than anything else.

When the pale man glanced around. The agent just watched his expression and eyes. The eyebrows were black, the eyes with a yellow so deep that Vannyer frowned when he realized what that meant.

Rubben was working with mysticisms.

But he couldn't decipher anything else when the man looked back and Ryxer was forced to bite his lip and quickly glance at what was on the table, his forehead furrowed with concern and attention on what might happen next.

Ryxer slowly lifted his gaze, ready to look away if he was still staring. But the man was alone heading for the exit.

Vannyer furrowed his brow more and looked for Rubben in all the corners.

Nothing.

Something in his chest began to take shape, perhaps fear, apprehension of what was to come. So he just clenched his fists even tighter, now not knowing the difference between sweat and soap and hand sanitizer, and turned on his heels before heading for the exit with the same dragged and happy walk as if he had won mountains of fractions like Gwenda used to win in the arena.

----------------------------------------

Vapor followed Gwenda out of the bathroom when he opened the door and stepped out with a towel wrapped around his body.

He hadn't expected Vannyer to have returned, nor would he care much. He was eager to learn the secrets that the agent hid and to try to be less reserved.

But it wasn't Vannyer that he saw when he stopped halfway to his suitcase.

She widened her eyes and stood still. Well, he did the same thing.

A man was standing in the middle of the room, tall and huge. Something she hadn't seen in a long time, a body and face shape she hadn't encountered since she took a break from searching for mystics in Carsany. Since she received a scar in exchange for the deaths she left behind.

He had burnt blond hair, almost orange, amber eyes so bright that Gwenda was mesmerized and had to gather all her senses and strength again.

The first thing that came to mind was Trytan, the long blond hair and eyes full of love... but this guy had a cold and dark gaze, as different as a dwarf from a giant.

When he spoke, his voice hoarse as if he didn't quite know how to let the words come out of his mouth, Gwenda could have turned into a stone from how rigid she became.

— I believe... you'd like to change so we can introduce ourselves. — and then an awkward little smile, as if he were shy.

Gwenda quickly classified him as one of those on her list with people to be studied first written at the top. Friendship or not, she needed to study and get to know him before even having the freedom to start being nice to him. That's what she was doing with Vannyer, and she could say it was working.

She turned her expression into something indecipherable as she approached the suitcase and dragged it into the bathroom, leaving a pile of clothes behind, including a black bra. Gwenda noticed his face turning red and then realized how fair-skinned he was before slamming the door in his face and locking it from the inside.

Gwenda sighed and widened her eyes, observing her reflection in the mirror. There was a man right outside, maybe the one Darcy warned would show up. But how long had he been standing there not knowing what to do?

The Shooter went in search of clothes and quickly dressed, letting her hair drip. She gave it another pat to remove excess water and combed it. It was still straight, but it would soon be wavy again.

But it wasn't a wavy she was proud of, like Louise's. A few years ago, the bottom strands were perfect in her eyes, but the top ones were practically straight, giving a dirty look in those times.

Gwenda clenched her jaw and grunted before opening the door with a little extra force. It was already warm in there with all the steam slowly coming out.

She came face to face with that man again, but now he was leaning over the table. One look and it was enough for Gwenda to realize that the broken porcelain cup had disappeared. She turned her attention back to him and watched him, but the man was already staring at her from head to toe.

The Shooter didn't let the hatred coursing through her veins show as she spoke:

— I believe I'm more presentable now. — and dropped the suitcase near her mattress before approaching with her hand extended.

He closed his calloused hand around hers.

— I'm Ethan Sinclair. — He said.

Gwenda gave a little smile and looked at the papers on the table. All about the wall.

— Gwenda. — she replied and let go of his hand before approaching the table. — Matchstone.

She would have said the other surname, almost did. Oxwinder was the one her mother carried, and now Gwenda was the last of the lineage. Mary Jane Oxwinder before meeting Yago Matchstone, before dying screaming in flames that left a young Gwenda behind.

— I was told you needed help with the case.

Gwenda stiffened.

— They told you, did they? — Ethan nodded with some doubt and she continued: — Believe me, they just want to find a worthwhile job for you. Your department is poor in cases, that must be why you're not so useful there.

Ethan Sinclair opened his mouth, perhaps to defend himself in some way, but Gwenda interrupted:

— But don't worry, here you'll be able to show your worth.

She couldn't shake off the idea that this Ethan guy might steal her and Vannyer's case. It was both of theirs, but she would continue to affirm as if she were the only one in charge. If there was any problem, she could put all the blame on herself and leave Ryxer out, protect him. After all, she was the one who brought an elf, she who risked more and made the promise with the agent that she would leave him out of the situation if it got to a point where she couldn't control it anymore.

Indeed, he himself said he would deny having participated in these actions. Gwenda didn't blame him, he was afraid to work with mysticisms, she realized.

— My worth is none of your concern, I'm only here because my attention to this case was demanded. — He replied.

Gwenda watched him.

Something in her head screamed not to trust absolutely anything he said. His attention was probably demanded by Darcy. And Gwenda would have a word with the boss later about it.

— Hmm. — She murmured. — That's a shame.

Ethan tilted his head and the agent interpreted it as if he was agreeing, it was a better way, so she turned back to the table.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

— We found out that it was a mystic who attacked the wall and destroyed it...

— Wasn't it just a part that was destroyed?

Gwenda stared at him, then answered slowly:

— Yes.

— Did you look for this information in the castle?

Gwenda blinked.

— Carvlineas have a job, Mr. Sinclair. — She replied, serious — If the king had information about the cases, I don't think they'd need us.

He laughed.

— They need us to unravel the mysteries, not to collect information.

The agent narrowed her eyes at the blond man.

— Are you saying they have more information than we do? Maybe something we don't have.

— That's it.

— No. — She shot back. — Any information they can offer us is not even half of what we have.

Ethan bit the inside of his cheek. Gwenda clenched her jaw.

It would be difficult to work with him. And when it was all over, she would kick him out of the case and think and rethink whether she would also give credit to Ethan Sinclair.

— In the Opposite Continent...

Gwenda froze. She knew that this man was not from around here.

— Oh, you came from the Opposite Continent? — she feigned an awkward joy — They didn't tell me anything about it.

Ethan cleared his throat, perhaps regretting having commented.

— Yes, I came from the Opposite Continent. My mother is a merchant, always traveling. When I turned 18, I decided to come with her to Alphardj.

— Hmm. — she murmured, wanting to end a conversation that had barely begun.

If Ethan wanted her to open up about her parents or her life... it wouldn't happen.

— Do you like mystics, Sinclair? — the agent asked.

— I wouldn't say I like what some represent, but I believe there are mystics that seek the best. I enjoy studying about them.

Gwenda scanned the face of the newest agent on the case.

She liked them too. When she was younger, she was always surrounded by books, studying about rangers, fey, elves, dwarves... all niches and characteristics. But when she returned to Carsany and began selling herself to people who could feed and clothe her properly, something Gwenda didn't like to admit was demanded of her. The whole struggle to find and eliminate the mystic was a kind of obligation because Gwenda belonged to Darcy in every way the law allowed, obeying orders and killing everything that the boss gave a stern look to.

Ethan cleared his throat and Gwenda realized she had been staring at him for too long. But she wasn't embarrassed and just lowered her head, thinking better about what, ultimately, made Gwenda happy. Her job was a farce, hunting down and annihilating mystics wasn't what she had asked for. Solving cases was good, maybe the only thing that made her want to get out of the makeshift bed and live another day. The arena was just a kind of entertainment that was more worthwhile than hunting lost mystics in Carsany or those invading. Like the elf.

Gwenda swallowed hard as she remembered what Darcy had said.

Why is the elf out of the cell? Is he sleeping at the door in the hallway.

The agent held back from going there and leaving Ethan Sinclair alone. Wherever she went, she should take him along.

The new agent moved quietly to the other side of the table and rested his palms on the wood, just like Gwenda.

— So? — He asked — Are things going as they should?

She sighed.

— It’s not if they’re going. But how — She replied — And they're slow.

They stared at each other, Ethan with narrowed eyes as he thought and bit the inside of his cheek.

She hurried to inform:

— There's only one rebel who escaped from the explosion in sector 6 last week, but he was killed and I don't know how long ago. Just that... those who killed him were also killed, on Wednesday; two days ago.

— So all the evidence is dead. Is that it?

Gwenda felt disapproval in Ethan's tone.

She nodded.

— As far as I know.

Sinclair shook his head, his brow furrowed as he looked at the information on the table. Gwenda watched the contours of his face.

It was stunning, a beauty that Gwenda hadn't seen in a long time. It wasn't like Arth Cheack, who had a beautiful and addictive fury. No, Ethan Sinclair's beauty was vivid and radiant, noticeable among many other bodies at a Sunday fair. Noticeable even too much. The eyebrows were blonder than the orange hair, the lips somewhat full, and the freckles on the T-zone of his face gave him an air of delicacy.

The Shooter saw his paleness as a charm that gave him a pure and striking look, in addition to the slight scars descending down his chest. Something beautiful and... admirable. His hands on the table seemed smooth, for someone who worked as a Carvlinea and was considered great at what he did.

Gwenda closed her eyes, trying to push the image of her dead lover out of her head.

It had been two days. Two hateful days since Trytan had left for some mysterious reason. That wasn't enough time for Gwenda to compose herself and forget him as she intended to do to keep him safe from Rubben.

She sighed, remembering she had a place she needed to go. To ask her former owner some things in that regard. His latest deaths that he was hired by the king for. Or even those he did on his own because he wanted revenge for some petty thing.

Gwenda cursed mentally. But she was almost sure she said it out loud, so much so that Ethan looked up at her and glared at her until the agent decided to speak up. But Gwenda didn't stare back at him.

— I have my suspicions. — She spoke — But no... I can't go there.

— Where? — He asked, all attention on her. Gwenda's knees weakened, and she had to straighten up.

The Shooter tried to answer, but nothing came out of her mouth. Ethan stood up too and started talking:

— Who do you think...

Someone opened the door and came in. Gwenda and Ethan looked at a dazed Vannyer entering the room. He looked tired, breathing heavily.

The agent frowned and asked:

— Is everything alright?

But Ryxer was staring directly at Sinclair.

— Who's this guy? — He asked, still a little out of breath.

— Ethan Sinclair. — Said Gwenda before the blonde decided to speak at a not-so-good time — The sector 6 agent Darcy warned would come help us. Not one I would choose, but he'll do. — She felt him getting irritated, and his gaze burned on her face. Vannyer assessed the new colleague for a limited time, seeing something in him that Gwenda probably hadn't seen.

— We don't need help. — Ryxer commented.

— Says the guy who hardly helped at all. — Replied Gwenda. Vannyer looked at her, finally, and Gwenda noticed a shadow cover his gaze. He didn't trust Ethan. Yes, Gwenda didn't either, but it was what they had.

But then his expression changed to embarrassment, a faint blush reaching his cheeks. Perhaps embarrassed that Gwenda had said that in front of the best detective in sector 6. In fact, she would too if she were in his place. Gwenda made a mental note to apologize to her colleague later.

— And then. — She asked, remembering she hadn't seen Vannyer since... yesterday morning, she supposed. — Where have you been?

He shrugged.

— Doing a job.

Gwenda analyzed his clothes as the agent went to his mattress.

— Are you researching your former girlfriend's case? — She asked without a hint of resentment or pity. She had just lost her lover, another one.

Vannyer's shoulders stiffened under the suit. Maybe that's what he had been doing to not have time to help Gwenda as she would have liked. Maybe the papers she always saw him looking at were about his former girlfriend's case.

— Yes. — He replied, no more than a whisper. Gwenda didn't want to say there were more things to worry about, but she almost uttered those cutting words.

She licked her lips and turned back to the table. Ethan was staring at Vannyer's back, his eyes affirming that he would knock out the agent if he stepped wrong in the direction of this case. It was as if he didn't like seeing Ryxer entering his own sleeping corner.

Gwenda narrowed her eyes and caught his attention:

— We know the nymphs are involved in this. — Sinclair turned to her again, that look of doubt and displeasure disappearing in the blink of an eye. — Or the fairies wouldn't have done what they did.

— Have you talked to the nymphs? — Asked Ethan.

Gwenda shook her head.

— It's not necessary.

— Then you shouldn't accuse them.

She blinked.

— I'm not accusing. But the number of satyrs that invaded Carsany increased after the explosion, what do you think I should think? What wouldn't a satyr do to please a nymph?

— No, satyrs are like pirates. — Said Sinclair. — They seek everything that shines, and they know Carsany has many minerals, or else this kingdom wouldn't be what it is today.

This kingdom.

Gwenda forced herself to remember that Ethan wasn't from here.

— Are you defending the nymphs even without knowing if they are on the list of suspects or not?

— I'm not defending anyone. I'm having a rational and sensible thought.

Both gritted their teeth.

— Right. — Murmured the agent. — And what about the poison? What do you know?

— It kills a human in seconds, but the blood of mystics is different. Depending on the creature, it may slowly kill in the same way, decomposition. Or it may not have much effect. It's like a bacterium, affecting peoples differently.

— How's the case regarding the explosion in your sector going? — Gwenda asked.

Ethan tilted his head and took a deep breath, seeming not to want to remember that.

— The satyr you found started decomposing two days later, slowly. We opened him up to study the poison. My boss formed a group of some agents to roam the city and look for any traces, sales and purchases, as well as people consuming it like a drug, but in small quantities. Some couldn't control it and ended up dead within seconds in their own homes.

— So there must be a source — said Gwenda — The beginning of everything, the one who made the first sale.

— The creator — Ethan concluded.

— No, we can deal with the creator later. It's never the creator who sells their own thing, not in this case. And I'm sure this poison came from outside, so much so that it appeared after the wall. Vannyer and I believe it was the cause of all this, the explosion of the wall. Your sector was just a distraction, it has to be.

Gwenda had noticed how tense Ethan became when mentioning Vannyer's name, but she let it pass since they were making progress.

She had no idea about the satyr, she even thought he was buried, but apparently not.

— We should close the ports — Gwenda asserted. Ethan blinked, his face growing paler and more confused.

— What? — he asked.

— If this poison gets out of Carsany...

— The mystics aren't stupid to buy something from humans. What difference would it make?

— But are they stupid to enter Carsany? — she asked rhetorically. Ethan snorted. — Listen, there's always someone who would buy. Just because a human is selling something capable of killing in seconds doesn't mean a faerie or an elf would refuse. If not to use on their own species seeking revenge for a payment overdue, then to use against their enemy kingdom. We know the rest of Alphardj isn't in complete harmony. This poison could very well have been created by a mystic and sold to Carsany to wipe out our people, one by one. From the inside out.

— Yeah, but it's not us who decide about the ports, it's the king. He controls everything, nothing goes out and nothing comes in, Hendrix is fully aware of what's happening at the ports. — Ethan replied — And as I said, this poison doesn't affect any other species the same way it affects humans.

Sinclair didn't even think about everything she said. He just... responded, as if he understood every little word from Gwenda. A trained and professional agent, putting the puzzle pieces in the right places.

The Shooter sighed.

— But it kills a satyr. — she murmured.

They both locked eyes, a nervous unease coursing through both of their veins.

Indeed, King H surely knew about the poison, just as he was aware of all the cases that had occurred in Carsany. He was taking care of the ports, he really was. He needed to.

If he was as good as Louise claims he is, Hendrix was managing somehow.

Gwenda relaxed a bit.

But then Ethan broke the silence that had settled.

— Let's focus on finding the villain of this story and apprehend him. He works alone, doesn't he? Even if he hired the fairies to cover his tracks and made my sector just a distraction.

— I'm not sure if the rebels worked for him.

— And the tunnels? — he suddenly asked — The guards there were poisoned, apparently.

— Yes, he entered through the tunnels. The explosion of the wall was about magic and intruders, opening up an easier way for them to get in. He used the tunnels. That's why the number of mystics increased so quickly.

Gwenda refused to entertain the thought that perhaps they were trying to destroy Carsany slowly. But if that were the case, people would be dying at the hands and claws of intruding mystics. Although that idea frightened her.

— And that's why you keep an elf locked up in this sector?

Gwenda became completely serious and still.

— How do you know. — It wasn't a question.

Ethan gave a slight smirk.

— Instinct.

The Shooter narrowed her eyes at him.

— If you don't mind — he requested — I'd like to ask him a few questions.

— No — she replied immediately.

If she were to allow the newcomer to talk to the North Elf, then Gwenda would be present for it.

Ethan straightened up and glanced beside Gwenda only once before continuing:

— Well then, I suppose you want the case to drag on longer.

— I've already asked all the necessary questions — she replied. — He's not the culprit.

— Are you sure?

Someone posed that last question, but Gwenda was confused for a moment because Ethan Sinclair hadn't even opened his mouth.

She turned to Vannyer, remembering he was still around.

— As far as I know, you've entered that room less than three times to talk to that elf.

The Shooter restrained herself from punching her colleague's handsome nose, lest she disfigure the only face she was more accustomed to and would have to deal with Ethan Sinclair's. But Gwenda admitted that it wasn't so bad.

— He's not the culprit — Gwenda repeated. — There are many other mystics out there who were killed after the huge hole in the wall, it could be any of them.

— But as far as we know, the mystic responsible for everything is still out there. — Ryxer remarked.

— Is that so? — Gwenda stepped away from the table and faced the agent — And how do you know?

— He probably killed Trytan. Maybe it was him running across the rooftops while aiming arrows straight into his heart.

Gwenda didn't want to, but a piercing pain shot from her chest and wandered to her heart and lungs, making it difficult to breathe properly as she watched Vannyer.

He knew the blow hit Gwenda, directly at her feelings for Trytan still kept in a box.

— I'm sorry. — Ethan said cautiously, but Gwenda could barely hear him over blinking away the tears — I found out before coming here. I'm sure he didn't deserve it, he was innocent.

Ethan seemed so... genuine.

Something in Gwenda opened up as she looked into Sinclair's clear eyes, shining and showing that what he said touched him as much as her. A feeling of forgiveness and regret. The same ones Gwenda had.

She didn't want to admit it, but she got attached to people. And that feeling was terrible, it was her enemy. She shouldn't get attached to anything, neither objects nor people. Another lesson from her father.

But when Ryxer mentioned someone dead who had been important to Gwenda, he was dishonoring Yago Matchstone and Mary Jane Oxwinder, as well as Átila Killian, although Gwenda prayed he was still alive. Trytan had been something new, something Gwenda really thought would last. Because he wasn't an outlaw like Killian, or someone with many past secrets like her father, much less a fervent creature like Mary Jane. He wasn't burned; he wasn't hanged; he didn't lie and run away to save his own skin.

Gwenda really thought...

How foolish she was. It seemed like everyone around her was doing things that ultimately led them straight to death. Even though her parents and Átila didn't deserve to die just for living in peace, for being who they were.

Trytan was planning something, the pleading look when Gwenda was following the cart had hit a weak spot in the Shooter. But he was gone before he could explain what was happening.

She knew Trytan had a job that involved all the Carvlineas and even Rubben's route, although he tried to keep his image a secret. As far as she knew, only Gwenda was aware that he sold weapons to the agents. Rubben started paying extra to the weapons guy two months ago, but Gwenda had ignored it. Maybe if she had gone ahead and tried to find out why...

The Shooter was apprehensive. She didn't want to go to that place, she couldn't. Showing up there and finding out that, in the end, her former boss was responsible for this, just as he had hinted that day at the casino.

The Shooter swallowed hard and affirmed once to Ethan, showing that she understood his words and believed in them.

Gwenda refused to look at Ryxer before heading for the exit with hurried steps. It was too stuffy inside to breathe properly.

----------------------------------------

She spent the rest of the day trying to focus on something else. She asked Darcy to go home, tidy up, and let some fresh air in, cleaning the dust that had been accumulating even before moving into the sector.

The boss was almost refusing, and Gwenda didn't understand why. But something in the agent's expression, perhaps the plea and defeat, was enough for Raux to agree with a nod.

So she went home. When she arrived and opened the door, only stuffy and heavy air greeted her. She opened the curtains and windows, threw away the food that had been there since last week, dusted the corners of the house, the fireplace, and tidied up the furniture.

That kept her mind occupied and away from the realm of deaths and cases that seemed to be increasingly growing. In the end, Gwenda was sweaty and took a relaxing shower before stepping out barefoot with a towel wrapped around her body. She felt cleaner than the other times she had showered in the sector. It was incredible to be back home and welcome the breeze from the window behind the sofa with open arms. After the shower, everything was cleaner and lighter.

Even though she had asked Darcy to go home, Gwenda went to the library after she finished getting ready and kept staring at the wound on her collarbone. It hadn't become infected, and Gwenda saw it as lucky, considering she had been in a closed and somewhat dirty place.

The mark was still a little red and tingled with pain when she touched it. But Gwenda felt good touching the wound, with that sharp pain it caused.

Gwenda stayed in the library until Kimer and Louise found her and sat beside her. It was always like this. Always Kimer and Louise who found her, never the other way around when it came to the library. Unless Kimer was at the bar job and Gwenda went to visit.

The three spent the rest of the day reading in the armchairs already worn out by other people's backs, or perhaps their own. They mentally marked their names on each one.

What really interested Gwenda was about the rangers that Louise promised to bring information about if the king was searching for them. Her mother was a ranger, a guardian of the Infernal Beasts, and died burned as if it were something to be celebrated. The people never paid, maybe that's why the king does what he does. And maybe Lou is right not to draw conclusions about him based on what is seen externally. Gwenda wanted to believe her, really wanted to, but after everything...

Indeed, it was Hendrix's father who killed Yago Matchstone, burned Mary Jane, and made Átila Killian flee. But still, King H carried that blood, that senseless fury. Hendrix was raised by the previous king, saw how his father ruled a kingdom. Why would Gwenda think it would be different now in this reign?

Giving a chance was not in Matchstone's plans. Until now.

So Louise, after seeing this in Gwenda's eyes, admitted that Hendrix was researching about rangers in old books, knowing how they lived and how they grew exponentially.

But what her friend said was beyond what the Shooter believed. She imagined that he just wanted to learn about the extinct race, about the Untouched Palace. Maybe even visit their old home.

But no. King H wanted to bring them back to life.

According to Louise, the king was obsessed with it, wanting to understand how he could bring an entire race back.

But what then? Gwenda thought. It wouldn't be very pleasing if he brought a race back and used it as a weapon against the rest of Alphardj. And then all the bad thoughts about the king quickly came back. He could use them as a way to defeat anyone who dared to look askance at Carsany.

And when the rangers are back, Gwenda had the mere feeling that the king H's ultimate and main goal was to bring the Infernal Beasts back to life.

The weapons will come in double, and Gwenda was in no way prepared to deal with that. And she doubted she ever would be.