She was screaming.

Fear, terror, agony... all blended into a sound he knew all too well.

Her body lying on the bathroom floor, blood pooling at his feet, covering the white tiles like a layer. A red lake formed in her eyes, but Vannyer couldn't look away from hers, open and lifeless.

Until the scream hit him full force and almost knocked him over.

Ryxer tried to scream back. Her name was stuck in his throat, no sound came out.

Then Vannyer ran, leaving the body behind to follow the scream.

He turned corners and alleys of his own mind, dark and chaotic, what his past was gradually creating. The girl on the bathroom floor was the past, he was wanting to run toward the future.

Ryxer tried to speak, to call out her name. But nothing came out, it was impossible.

He started sweating.

His legs failed him.

Ryxer forced himself to stand, to follow the sound until he reached the source. Until he reached her.

He stumbled through the dark place. Maybe he was in his house, or maybe in the mansion of the woman from the bathroom. Vannyer couldn't decipher.

He crossed a dimly lit hallway. Not as dark as the rest, not as chaotic as the place he was in. It was a corridor filled with mourning and pain.

The echo of the scream shattered in his skull and crawled through his body.

He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut before staggering backward.

Something pushed him and Ryxer began to fall silently, followed by the frantic and deafening sound. Until... silence.

When everything turned into complete nothingness, Vannyer trusted himself to open his eyes.

So he did.

And a familiar face appeared in front of him. Her face.

The scream started again...

Ryxer threw his body upward, feeling pressed between the layers of his shirt. With quick and heavy breaths, he reached behind and pulled the fabric over his body until it came off his head. The old white shirt fell with a thud on the floor, drenched.

The blood screamed in his ears with the same intensity as the screams from his dream. No, a nightmare.

Someone groaned nearby, and Vannyer tensed.

It was agonizing... it felt like it had followed him into reality. It was the same sound, the same pain... It seemed to come from everywhere, and the agent was sure he looked as pale as a corpse, trembling.

Vannyer blinked, and the sound stopped.

No, it didn't stop. It just... condensed into a single source.

Ryxer turned abruptly toward Gwenda. He cursed and got up, feeling the blood flowing back through his body.

She was shaking and scratching herself, tangled in the sheet in a way that informed Vannyer it had been going on for a while. And he hadn't woken up.

Ryxer fell to his knees beside her and hurried to hold her hands.

— Gwenda! — He called.

By the light of the lantern they had both forgotten to turn off, her face was red and tears seemed to cut through her swollen skin.

They weren't screams of fear. Pain seemed to be hitting Gwenda inside her nightmare, but Vannyer had no idea of what kind.

— Gwenda!

He called for her again, with more intensity. As if that would pull her back to reality.

Ryxer decided to hold her arms instead of her wrists.

Gwenda was increasing her strength, wanting to get rid of the agent's hands in any way possible, she was in pure distress...

What the hell is she dreaming about? Ryxer wondered and tightened his grip, trying to keep her hands away from her own face and body. She was turned to the wall and increasingly trying to escape from Vannyer.

He cursed and pulled her back onto the mattress before swinging a leg over her, trying to hold her body and make her stop struggling as if she were fleeing from what put her in deep anger and sadness.

— Wake up!

Ryxer placed Gwenda's arms over her head, his knuckles white. The Shooter hid this strength during the days, and Ryxer spent his own trying to keep his colleague still.

— Gwenda. — He called with his face close to hers, the agonizing groans still affecting his senses — Gwenda, please. Wake up.

With a touch of light, she opened her eyes.

Gwenda had one last reaction as she looked at Vannyer's face above hers. He saw in her eyes how scared and hurt she was, shining with tears that, for now, had stopped flowing down her temples and cheeks.

The interrupted breaths of the two mingled between them, and Ryxer felt an urge to hold Gwenda against him. To cuddle her in his arms and stroke her light brown hair until she forgot about what happened in her dream.

Both were sweaty, Gwenda with a red face.

Vannyer swallowed hard as he prepared to say something and break the silence between them. Not that it was embarrassing, but Ryxer didn't know which of Gwenda's eyes he should stop and observe, both expressed different things.

As he opened his mouth to utter the damn question, and being aware that he would regret it later, Gwenda closed her eyes.

Ryxer watched Gwenda prepare to cry in the faint light of the only lantern on. He watched more tears fall to the sides, her blinking to try to control herself, and shaking her head in denial, looking everywhere but at Vannyer.

He frowned, wondering what the hell made Gwenda like this.

— Let me... — She couldn't finish before her voice turned into nothing but a weak whimper.

Ryxer only realized she was telling him to let go when Gwenda squirmed and tried to pull her arms away.

He released her and then muttered apologies without any idea of what else to say. He got off her and sat on the floor next to her, affected by what had happened, in shock.

Gwenda just sat slowly and wiped her eyes with her hands, rubbing her cheeks. She hugged her knees and rested her chin, taking deep breaths and focusing on something. The thick white pants were probably bothering her, but he wouldn't tell her to take them off. Even though her hair was stuck to every part of her neck with sweat.

Vannyer sat up straighter and held one hand in the other, elbows resting on his knees, and stared at the Shooter.

She sniffed and lowered her legs, crossing them. Gwenda began to twist her fingers and pull at the ends where the nails that left her arms and torso red were ready to be sharpened like claws.

— Are you going to tell me what happened? — He asked cautiously.

Gwenda turned her head in his direction, but it was low, her eyes directed at the floor.

She opened her mouth to answer, but only breathed in and swallowed hard.

Should he ask about it, right? He should understand what made her like that and try to help her. If she didn't want to answer to help herself, then to help Vannyer feel better about this whole situation, so he would know that Gwenda was fine and safe. Otherwise, a feeling of discomfort would haunt him for the rest of the days and nights he spent alongside her.

She opened her mouth again.

— I... — Gwenda swallowed hard, but then closed her eyes, perhaps considering whether she would really tell or not, if it was worth it. And when she opened them again and raised them to Ryxer's, he could see that the Shooter had changed her mind. — Would you tell me if it had happened to you? — her voice was hoarse. — If all your flaws and defeats had appeared in one of your nightmares. When there's nothing good left to dream about, when the mind is tired of creating useless expectations... — She paused for a moment, just scanning Ryxer's face — Madness takes over dreams, turning them into a kind of deadened nightmare. Until reality becomes a darkness we call by the same name.

Vannyer didn't agree. That's all he could think.

— I would tell. — He replied, and Gwenda's face lit up as if a torch had been placed nearby — I would talk about the dream, even if it showed me those insanities. It would be good to have someone to share with. — Gwenda blinked — I'm just like you, I have strong nightmares and wake up drenched. We go through the same thing, and I know you wouldn't offer your insight into what my mind creates in the middle of the night.

Gwenda moistened her lips. The dark circles under her eyes were deep, as they were almost every day. Sometimes Vannyer noticed and felt sorry for his colleague, wondering what could leave her in that state most days.

And now he knew. But if it wasn't the nightmares and sleepless nights that he always doubted Gwenda had, then it would be the amount of things she was worrying about and trying to get right.

She hadn't been to the arena for days, and Ryxer didn't believe it was because she was without her weapon. The truth was, he wasn't sure why, only that Gwenda was too focused on what was happening regarding the cases that it didn't seem like she had time for anything else.

— Go to sleep, Vannyer. — she finally said.

A cold shock ran through his body. He was sure that after this, he couldn't expect anything more from Gwenda about the relationship between them. Were they, at least, friends? Or did Gwenda want to be alone and suffer in silence while Vannyer just watched? No, that last option wasn't in Ryxer's plans.

He could very well start treating his coworker as a friend with the same ease as before they were confined to this place, that's what he felt at this moment needed to be made clear, to say in a few words that he could become the worst coworker Gwenda would want. But he would ruin everything, and Vannyer hated that part of himself, the proud side. Because he wanted to be Gwenda's friend, to see her well and healthy. And now she seemed very far from that goal.

— You can't hide from this. — he said when the agent began to turn to the wall side and lie down again, arranging the sheet over her.

— Oh, really?

— Yeah. — He agreed without thinking.

But Gwenda was already lying down and settled with the sheet up to her chin, her head tilted forward with her nose probably buried in between the sheet.

Ryxer took a deep breath carefully, not letting on that he was feeling a little frustrated.

All right. He told himself, refusing to speak aloud.

The agent got up. He didn't know what part of the night it was, but he was still tired and wouldn't like to get up now to start a new day.

After all, if it was morning, Darcy would be in the sector and would have come down here in complete disorder to Gwenda. The two had something, Vannyer realized.

Darcy was something to Gwenda, and vice versa. Both cared for each other. And Vannyer admitted that he felt a little insulted. He had no idea of their history, but he wanted something like that, and lost it when his girlfriend killed herself, when he saw the same face he once loved on the bathroom floor with a red puddle forming around her head and covering her hair. The expressionless face with lips parted in the same way she used to before opening a huge and addictive smile.

Not to mention Johan Yak. They were friends in those days.

Vannyer went to the lantern and turned it off before lying down on his mattress and covering his body from the abdomen down, hands behind his head and eyes straight to the ceiling.

He didn't want to think too much about it, but it started to take shape in his mind, and he couldn't help it. He knew the scream had been Cressint's, the woman he loved, but as he tried to remember the nightmare, it seemed further from any tone of her voice.

They said the first thing to forget about a person is their voice. And that's how it happened, he didn't remember the tones Cressint used with him, he didn't remember what that voice did to him... maybe it drove him crazy, maybe it made him weak in the knees... but it was hard to remember Cressint's sweet voice.

But Ryxer still had the vision of her wavy red hair he liked to bury his face into and inhale until he couldn't anymore, and then do it again and again until she laughed and turned in his arms to look him in the eyes. With a smile that filled him with love.

Vannyer blinked, and a tear rolled from his right eye.

No, it was torture. Thinking about it was torture, but it couldn't be avoided. Or could it? He tried, it never seemed to work. Trying to think about something else was another form of torture.

He turned to his left side, facing the wall.

Screams still seemed to echo around like drums pulsating in his ears, his own heart.

Ryxer took a long time to fall asleep, after all. He took a long time to stop thinking about Cressint and relax. But a little before sleep carried him back to the silent world, Ryxer thought about her screams again, and how similar they were.

A feeling of fear and affection rose in his chest knowing it had been Gwenda all along, and nothing of Cressint and her wounded soul. That he had tried to shout Gwenda's name. That he ran after her and left his fallen love in the bathroom.

Relief was the last thing he felt before drifting off.

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

Gwenda emerged from the shower with apprehension.

The truth was she didn't want to face Vannyer after that. After waking him up and sending him back to his own mattress. But she kept it to herself, especially her flaws. Nothing about it would come out of her mouth.

When Ryxer's gaze fell on her as she exited the bathroom in the morning, a flush swept across her face, and she looked away.

Gwenda had woken up with a partially clothed body on top of her, both panting. It didn't take long for her to understand that he was trying to wake her from a nightmare, but Gwenda needed a few seconds to process.

Her hands were pinned above her head, and her body pressed against the thin mattress. A sense of panic was the first thing she felt upon opening her eyes, until she saw Ryxer's face as scared as hers, and she remained as quiet as possible. At that moment, she wondered what had led her colleague to hold her in that way, but her body was burning like a fire.

It was then that she realized that the scratches she made on herself during the night were starting to come back. Gwenda swallowed hard. She knew it would be painful and dangerous again from today onwards.

The Shooter needed her weapon.

— Matchstone. — A voice echoed through the sector as Gwenda ascended the stairs and came face to face with her boss, who held a coffee cup delicately with both hands. — Ethan Sinclair needed to resolve a personal issue, he will appear in the afternoon.

Gwenda affirmed, understanding. For some unknown reason, Darcy was in the sector today, on a Saturday. Besides her, it was empty. And from what the boss commented, Gwenda would have to work in the afternoon.

In fact, she couldn't have many breaks anymore. But tomorrow would be Sunday, and she was prepared to go out and have a day of rest.

When Darcy turned to take a sip of her smoking coffee, Gwenda caught her gaze on her boss's table, on the open letter with perfectly rounded cursive letters.

— What did the letter say? — She asked Raux.

The boss shrugged.

— Just that you should stay in his sector to solve some personal problems. — The emphasis on the last word was to make sure Gwenda wouldn't ask more questions.

But she would. To Ethan.

— I'm going to the arena. — she said. Darcy stopped blowing on her coffee and looked at Gwenda. — Will you stay here for the rest of the day?

The boss had her own duties outside here on Saturdays. Mainly the meeting with the general.

— Moreover. — She continued before Raux could say anything about the arena — How are the towers?

— A mess. The watchmen from sector 6 are dead. — Gwenda frowned in shock and opened her mouth to say something. — Don't even ask me, I know less than you.

The fact was that Gwenda knew nothing.

— How did you find out? — She asked.

— They sent me the information two days ago.

On Gwenda's birthday.

Raux didn't show up. Or rather, Gwenda didn't remember her being there when Kimer and Louise arrived at her and Vannyer's dark corner. She didn't miss the boss that day, but she wanted her by her side, like every other year. And now she knew why, she was busy.

— Why only them and not from all sectors?

— I don't know. — the boss replied.

The watchtower from sector 6 was almost next to the arena.

Gwenda raised her head and her eyebrows slightly. Darcy, who didn't let anything slip when it came to the Shooter, noticed.

— What are you thinking? — the boss asked.

She shook her head in response and went to the glass door, paying attention to her boots tapping against the wooden floor with a muffled and reassuring sound.

— How to defeat my opponents today.

— Gwenda.

The Shooter stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned her head just enough to see Raux out of the corner of her eye.

Gwenda Gwenda Gwenda

— Should I warn you that this week the payment will be finished?

Gwenda squeezed the doorknob and locked eyes directly with the boss, but remained sideways, ready to leave the sector.

Should I warn you...

Gwenda turned the knob and felt the door move under her hand. Fresh morning air flowed in through the crack.

Get up, Gwenda. Stop the rain, Gwen. I can't.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Her eyes burned with anger, and Gwenda kept them wide open. Afraid to blink and miss whatever was passing in front of her without her noticing.

— No. — she replied with irony. — Keep that information to yourself. — And she left the sector.

Another week, or even less, and Gwenda would be free-handed. Free to live her own life... but the fact was that she already was. She could belong to Darcy, answer to her, but Gwenda still worked for her by being part of sector 3. What difference would it make in the end, other than Rubben seeing a chance to win her back with his annihilating games?

She had to stay strong, stay one step ahead of Rubben. And then she might have a chance to go straight for the questions and come out alive. But in that, Gwenda knew she was weaker, she needed to train, plan... rise amidst the current events and grow stronger to fight. It was basic.

She wrapped her hands with fighting wraps and clenched her teeth. Arriving at the stable, Twilight wasn't saddled, and Paulo wasn't around. Gwenda had to do it alone and in complete silence.

A layer of pride hit Gwenda. But no, she didn't know whose. She preferred to tell herself it was hers, she felt proud of what she had achieved. But she knew her accomplishments cost the lives of others, of many others.

Gwenda went to the arena and when she arrived, the screams accompanied every move of the Shooter.

It was an endless rumble.

— Thank the god you believe, you arrived. — The short man who handed the money to the winner in the arena quickly approached Gwenda and grabbed her wrist before starting to pull her.

— My horse. — Gwenda said and tried to go back to lead the horse to the stall she usually used.

— Tom will put it in its proper place. — the man who was pulling her replied.

Gwenda turned with a threatening look toward the one smoking a pipe, lounging on the usual bench, his beer belly slightly exposed.

When he looked at her, Tom did nothing more than adjust himself with a grunt and rise unsteadily.

— Certainly. — He replied, his voice worn.

She tried to look to see exactly what he would do with Twilight. The shouting only increased as she left the stable and entered one of the gaps to start her morning in the thick sand.

Gwenda scowled, ignoring the fabric falling like curtains as she tried to see through a crack. As far as she could see, the arena was empty.

She pulled away from the money man.

— What's going on? — she demanded.

He shook his head and looked at her with slightly widened eyes.

— No, no, you're going in now, miss. — he replied and tried to grab her wrist again.

She frowned and bared her teeth at him as she pulled away.

— This isn't a circus show, and I'm not one of your animals to display.

— Courvin. — Gwenda lost her expression and her jaw dropped. — He's here and wants to fight with you.

She blinked. Courvin was the one she had defeated last week, the first of her week. Did he want to lose again now?

— Why? — she asked, even though she knew it was nonsense.

The man clicked his tongue and waved his hand.

— He gave a speech with beautiful words about how you cheat and steal money from the arena. And, clearly, the public believed it.

Gwenda gritted her teeth.

— And now he wants to show that he can beat you. — He held Gwenda's wrist. — With the right techniques.

Stopping near the curtain, someone snatched it to the side and she narrowed her eyes at the glare that hit her.

— Don't let him win, Shooter. — the man warned before pushing her.

Thunderous cheers circulated near her ears, but Gwenda refused to shrink in front of all of them. She refused to give importance to the boos from the same ones who cheered for her the last time she came here.

Gwenda moved, walking slowly toward the center of the arena and looking around with a deadly gaze.

In one of the corners, Courvin stood. Wearing only specific fighting pants, the hammer prepared in his hands. His defined abdomen and apparent muscles where not even Gwenda thought possible. A biting scar ran from his chest down to just above his navel. She merely lifted one corner of her mouth.

Last time he had a long sword, full of branches that would do some serious damage. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she had been intimidated when she saw it.

The drop on her nape began to throb, and she felt eyes on her. She might be wearing pants that covered her legs full of scars and a comfortable black tank top, but Gwenda still felt too exposed, eyes on every wound she had ever had, accusing her of something and casting looks of disgust and contempt, judging her. Not for what Courvin said in his speech, she didn't care about that. These were looks she never seemed to get used to, but wanted to, they were the only ones that truly mattered.

Gwenda went to the armament, each step closer to the opponent. She took the throwing knives and fastened them to her belt. She was ready to grab what she always used, but then she came across a different weapon.

Dad? What are these things?

Gloves, darling.

His smile was still in Gwenda's mind.

Gloves.

She held the weapon and turned it over. It was mechanical, Gwenda remembered. Sometimes at night, she was around the little table, watching the work her father was doing all day, without touching.

When Yago Matchstone finally managed to finish, Gwenda took advantage of the first night she had and picked up the glove. She didn't know how to use it or how it worked. She didn't remember how she managed to put her hand inside, but it was comfortable. At first, it didn't seem like it would even fit her, since her father would have made it to fit his hand.

But the glove adjusted around her skin, each piece fitting into its proper place. She remembered thinking the glove was alive, so much so that she was startled and paralyzed, looking at the glove for two minutes without daring to move her hand or try to take it off. When she saw that it wasn't a threat, Gwenda hurried to understand what it did.

Thick, slightly curved claws, so sharp that Gwenda had shuddered as she put the tip of her finger and watched the blood trickle, sprouted from the knuckles of the fingers, the same ones used for punching. The glove was placed like a band, leaving the fingers exposed.

Gwenda blinked and returned to the real world, her breath faltering. She brought her right hand to the opening of the glove and widened her eyes as it began to move, making room for Gwenda to put it on. So she did.

The Shooter felt the mechanics adjust to every callus on her hand, the band underneath to protect any wrong contact that started to tear her skin.

She gave a brief smile to that and a solitary tear threatened to fall. Gwenda closed her hand into a fist and the claws appeared, as well-formed as she remembered.

But one of them was broken in half.

Gwenda frowned and touched where one was missing. It was still sharp, but still...

She heard the footsteps nearby before feeling threatened.

When she turned, it was too late. Courvin's shout shook her inside and the shock of his hammer on her stomach sent her flying into the recesses of her mind.

Gwenda was thrown back with brute force and fell to the ground over her shoulder before rolling away. Knee, forehead, shoulders... everything was hurt and Gwenda could barely groan in pain as she hit the wall and everything stopped. Even the screams of the people in the stands ceased. She felt the claws of the mechanical glove retracting.

Her vision was blurred, everything spinning and throbbing. Her stomach screamed in pain and pulsated constantly.

Shit.

Gwenda was sure she kept repeating that word as she tried to get up. She needed to recover, going headfirst was the best way at the moment, her blood roaring in her body, a loving way to send Gwenda back to the fight.

She grunted as she stood up, her arm around her belly, in the stomach she imagined she no longer had.

Gwenda straightened up and grabbed a dagger before running towards Courvin. She blinked several times to make sure she was seeing the right thing.

The opponent smiled and ran the remaining distance, then jumped and prepared to hit Gwenda again. But the Shooter dodged to the side and the hammer hit the ground with so much force that the sound was chilling. She buried the dagger in one of his thighs, and he grunted before turning around, taking the damn hammer along and passing by Gwenda's head like a blur. The hair on her neck stood up and she ducked and pulled the dagger out of his thigh in a way that tore more, and then moved away from Courvin's weapon.

The hammer spun around her, but Gwenda's attention was on Courvin, leaving the threat of crushing her skull. At the moment, all she had in mind was why she was there under threat of a hammer, and she found no answers.

And with that, she could dodge the obstacles. With her focus on the opponent, she only saw him. She didn't see death in the hammer or anything.

He bared his teeth as he tried to hit Gwenda, but she was too focused to let anything show in her expression. Only pain could be seen in her eyes.

Gwenda twirled a dagger between her fingers before hurling it. A streak of blood was drawn on Courvin's cheek, but the man didn't even flinch before attacking again. Gwenda cursed and dodged the hammer, which hit the ground. But she quickly had to duck with another blow and moved towards his back.

Gwenda punched Courvin's back repeatedly before finishing with a blow just below the ribs. She was about to kick him when he turned around and his foot found her face.

The Shooter staggered to the side, tasting blood on her tongue. When she turned to him, the hammer hit her stomach again, but this time Courvin had thrown it, so Gwenda fell backwards on the ground and grabbed the handle of the weapon to pull it off her, but someone had already done so brutally.

A shadow engulfed her, and Gwenda could see her opponent raise the hammer and prepare to crush her head against the coarse sand. She widened her eyes and rolled to the side. The hammer almost caught her hair strands.

Gwenda stood up and kicked Courvin's hands, but he didn't let go of the hammer. She grunted and saw the weapon coming at her, so she jumped and spun horizontally over it, hitting the opponent's face with the top of her foot. Courvin staggered to the side and shook his head.

Gwenda seized this opening when he turned sideways. She ran and jumped on his shoulders, grabbing his neck with her legs and directed Courvin's head straight towards the ground. It didn't take long for both of them to get up at the same time. Gwenda grunted at his persistence.

Her opponent's nose was bleeding, and she could see he was somewhat disoriented. Gwenda wouldn't miss the chance to make him eat sand.

She ran to him and wrapped her legs around his neck again, but this time she was facing him, not facing downwards. Gwenda threw herself backward and felt Courvin fail to stay standing. She pulled his head forward to bring him down, and when she managed to put her hands on the ground, she pulled harder.

Courvin leaned forward and rolled on the ground before falling backwards. But Gwenda took an impact from her own knees with the ground, and she hissed between her teeth before standing up.

The Shooter, panting, positioned herself on top of her opponent, one leg on each side. She could barely hear his groan of pain when she held his arms and pinned them to the side of his body with her legs, and then began to punch him in the face with closed fists.

Blood filled her fingers, and Gwenda felt the pieces of the mechanical glove tearing her skin underneath as she burned her strength with direct blows to Courvin's nose, jaw, jawline, and eyes.

Gwenda felt him try to move his arms, but she only pressed harder, holding him against the ground and preventing him from defending or attacking.

But then the glove moved under her hand, and Gwenda froze.

Her breath was choppy, and some strands of hair were out of her ponytail, falling on the sides, sweaty.

Courvin still stared at Gwenda, ready to take another beating, even though his injured face said otherwise. She clenched her jaw and grunted as she tightened her right fist, ready to deliver the blow. But Gwenda glanced over the wounds she was causing, the blood she caused. She looked at her left hand, which was now holding his chin unkindly, and saw the same blood on her band, on her fingertips. Gwenda let go of Courvin to look closer.

That's what she did. She took the life of everyone she walked by, everyone she loved.

Maybe...

Maybe maybe maybe maybe

...she should stop loving.

And focus on distancing herself.

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

— You've become a danger to anyone who dares to step into this arena, did you know that?

Gwenda sat at the back of Twilight's stall, her breathing slow and heavy that she didn't want to focus on anything else.

— I suppose you should be thanking me for not skinning your pretty face. — She offered a weak smile to Courvin across the way. Incredibly, his horse stall was facing hers, but he leaned against the door while a woman dabbed at his wounds.

The arena was roaring with the next pair after them, and Gwenda wanted to laugh when one side fell silent, knowing one of them was about to lose. People were separated according to their bets.

And Gwenda had no idea who had bet on her. Or if they even knew she was going to show up today, so in a way, it didn't matter. She got her reward, didn't she?

Courvin raised an eyebrow.

— The Shooter thinks I'm handsome?

She watched him. His long dark brown hair was now hanging over sweaty, scratched shoulders, the thick eyebrow had a diagonal cut that was now taped shut. The nose had been put back in place. And his darker skin gleamed with that dripping blood.

He was handsome, but Gwenda wasn't interested in guys like Courvin. Although sometimes she was unsure of what really caught her attention.

Gwenda tilted her head, but stopped halfway when the pain shot up her neck, and she squinted.

— Handsome. — she replied — But I'm tired of people like you.

He gave a slow smile.

— People like me? What do you mean?

She gritted her teeth and asked,

— Why spread lies about me?

Another woman appeared with a cloth. Green eyes sparkled when Gwenda stared at her, and the girl couldn't hold back a smirk. Gwenda nodded at her before letting her body be taken care of.

— I think you deserved to be pressed a little longer. — his voice could very well be a sedative, but it was as annoying as the wound just below his collarbone.

— The only thing that made me lift a finger to finish you off was the sea of blood you left me when you attacked without waiting for the count.

The reward man made the count when both opponents were ready. From three to one. And then they could start.

Courvin laughed.

— In the real world, there are no rules, Shooter.

— Much less mercy. — she shot back and smirked — Why are you here, Courvin? And not quartered in the arena.

He had stopped smiling and rested his head on his stall door, staring at Gwenda while the woman cleaned his wounds. Courvin didn't seem to feel anything, but Gwenda ground her teeth with every new injury the girl found on his body with the wet cloth.

— At first touch on the wound on her fingers where the glove had been moments before, Gwenda groaned softly and withdrew her hand.

Gwenda let the girl lift her shirt up to her chest and look at the wound Courvin's hammer made. A cold breeze left her skin uncomfortable, and she held back from pulling her blouse down again. If it didn't hit any ribs, it would be lucky, and she certainly didn't want to stand still to recover.

— I wouldn't take back what I said before you arrived. — Courvin continued.

Gwenda agreed.

— I know you wouldn't. — She took a deep breath — You lost to a woman, and now you're trying to make things difficult for her as a form of rebellion, aren't you?

Courvin frowned, but still had a calm and tired expression. Gwenda knew he wasn't tired at all.

— Are we talking about me here?

Gwenda blinked, pretending to be foolish.

— Sorry, wasn't I clear?

He briefly raised his eyebrows and finally averted his gaze from Gwenda to seek the woman who was cleaning his wounds.

She already had her moments of rebellion when she found out that Átila was a pirate, that he lied to her when he told her who he really was. But he said it was a lie, didn't he? Gwenda realized he told the truth too late.

Everything about Átila Killian drew attention. Everything he had said didn't seem to be another lie, it was exactly the way he described himself, his reactions and emotions. Up until that day. The only thing that put Gwenda and everyone involved directly in the noose... Átila left out. And her father died.

Gwenda groaned at the pain that ran down her spine and withdrew her hands from the woman who was adjusting the band already delicately placed around her waist.

— That's enough. — she said and curled her legs to stand up.

Gwenda saw Courvin look at something that had just entered the stable, and his face drained of color. Gwenda stopped wriggling and sat up straight again. Unfortunately, the woman bent down again, thinking it was to continue the work she was paid to do, and Gwenda gritted her teeth.

Ethan came into view.

Gwenda frowned.

— Sinclair?

The girl looked at him as he entered Twilight's stall. The horse became a little agitated.

— Thank you. — Sinclair said — You can leave. — And took the cloth from the woman's hand.

Gwenda noticed when she looked at her, searching for some response. But Gwenda was busy watching what Ethan was planning to do.

The girl got up somewhat shattered and left the stall with her head down.

Ethan Sinclair smiled at Gwenda and crouched down beside her.

— What are you doing here? — she asked as he passed the now blood-soaked cloth over a cut between her neck and shoulder.

Gwenda felt him huff before replying:

— Helping. Saw you in the arena.

— You said you had personal matters to attend to.

— I did? — he asked — I don't recall. — Followed by a mischievous little smile.

Gwenda scowled and tried to push Ethan's hand away with her arm, but he grabbed Gwenda's wrist with an unreadable speed.

She blinked, and Sinclair was staring at her with fiery eyes. The amber spun into a warm yellow glow. Ethan looked at her from beneath his lashes, and Gwenda shut her mouth, which had opened in what she found ridiculous to even have touched her in this manner, and returned the same gaze.

She could see, and she believed he could too. That they were both alike, in the end.

Ethan slowly lowered his arm, placing it on her thigh. Gwenda followed the movement with her eyes. And then he let out a weak, lifeless laugh, then practically purred:

— You need to learn to accept help, Scar.

Gwenda lifted her gaze to his quickly.

— What did you call me? — she asked softly.

Ethan shrugged and resumed cleaning the small wound.

— I guess I could come up with a name for you, don't you think? Good coworkers do that. And I think some here couldn't know your real name. — He glanced slowly at Courvin. — Or am I wrong?

Gwenda followed his gaze and met a face pale beneath the dirt. But Courvin gave a sardonic smile and turned his attention back to the healer.

Gwenda took a deep breath.

— What do you want from me?

She began to wonder if Ethan was there only because of the case, to negotiate information.

— From you? — he shook his head — Nothing.

Ethan stood up and forcefully threw the cloth onto Gwenda's wounded abdomen. She quickly recoiled to protect herself, but now everything hurt. When she looked up to curse him, a pale hand extended towards her made her quiet.

She huffed and accepted the help, grabbing and pulling herself up.

— I wanted to invite you to... a place. — he said and tightened his grip on her hand instead of letting go.

— I've been quite busy, Sinclair. — she replied — And I believe you have too. — And she wanted to make it clear.

He was working with her, how could he find time for... this? But, of course, if Gwenda had time for the arena, she couldn't question her colleagues about certain things.

— You came here right after breakfast. — he said — I don't think you're in a position to say we have more important things to worry about. Am I wrong?

Gwenda rolled her eyes and let go of him.

— I don't want to meet with you, thank you. — she nodded at him — Now, if you'll excuse me...

Gwenda walked slowly to Twilight and lifted a foot to climb, but her body stopped obeying the command halfway when the pain intensified.

She groaned and lowered her foot back to the ground, leaning her forehead on her horse's saddle. Gwenda was about to pick up the reins and walk away when firm hands grabbed her waist and lifted her off the ground.

Her heart raced, and she tried to look back, but she didn't have time before stretching her leg to the other side of the horse and settling on top.

Ethan walked to the front of the horse and pulled Twilight by the reins. His face was serious, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

The horse began to walk, and Gwenda held onto the mane, feeling pricks of pain in her spine. They weren't walking out of the arena, but practically trotting. Ethan seemed more restless to get out of there than Gwenda had ever been when she won for the third time in a row.

— What's your problem? — she asked.

Ethan looked at her over his shoulder with a smile, expressing something completely different from a few seconds ago.

But he didn't say anything.

— If you think you can...

Gwenda lost consciousness and was thrown forward with a powerful blast of air to her back. Her breath faltered as she fell off the horse, and Gwenda screamed, but no sound came out. Everything was buzzing eternally, her ears hurt, and her blurry eyes burned.

Gwenda gasped and coughed. No sound except that endless beep. Everything had turned to smoke, and where there's smoke, there's fire.

The Shooter propped herself up on one elbow, movements slow and heavy. Horses whinnied all around, running and passing like shadows, blurs.

Behind that smoke, an orange glow crackled nearby, and Gwenda tried to keep the train of thought singular, but it was impossible. Moving was difficult.

The noise of people screaming began to reach her gradually, and Gwenda blinked hard as she tried in vain to clear the blurriness.

A pair of boots approached her, and she said something she could barely hear, but it seemed the other person understood, as they held her arms and forced her to stand up.

Gwenda could barely put her own weight on her legs, so she had to put her arm around the other person's neck.

She felt an unbearable pain in her arm and ribs, so agonizing that the only thing she could think about was that.

— Gwenda... — someone seemed to whisper beside her, a familiar voice. — Gwenda, listen to me...

It was faint, muffled, but she managed to decipher who it was. And Ethan seemed whole, he was walking, at least.

She coughed again, her head slumping forward as Sinclair dragged her away.

— There are more people alive! — someone shouted further ahead and Gwenda blinked, tired and completely exhausted.

— Call the Carvlineas!

— Here! There's a child!

Gwenda widened her eyes and lifted her head with the remaining strength she had.

The hand on her waist tightened as she tried to pull away, and all she could do was grumble and accept being pulled away.

— Ethan. — she called out and forced her feet to keep up with him.

— Stay here.

The smoke subsided, and Gwenda could see people helping the wounded or crying over bodies.

She turned to Ethan in panic, ready to ask what happened, but stopped and forgot the idea as soon as she saw a deep, jagged cut crossing his right eye.

— Ethan. — she whispered in a plea she never thought she'd make. — What... — She swallowed hard and, despite the pain, reached her hand to his distorted, blurred face. He stopped her. — What happened?

Sinclair just stared at her and scanned every inch of her face and body, searching for something. Gwenda continued to wait for an answer she was almost certain she wouldn't get.

— An explosion, Gwenda. — he replied.

Gwenda tensed and recoiled. He was referring to his eye, but...

Explosions everywhere.

Explosions.

— Who? — she asked and stepped away from Ethan to go back there and enter the destruction, to look for a culprit who surely wouldn't be there, but his hands went straight to her waist and held her up.

— I don't know. — he replied again and pulled her back, Gwenda put her hands over his — Stay here, please.

And there was something in his voice. Something strong and filled with agony and pleading that made Gwenda stop trying to break free and let Ethan lead her to a bench in front of a bar. She sat down and watched Sinclair run into the smoke, swallowed by ghosts.

The fire back there unlocked memories for Gwenda, and she found herself falling into a overwhelming world where she wasn't welcome, into a world full of beings thirsty for death and vengeance.

But Gwenda was too tired to feel alone and fight to stop falling, to stop seeing monsters.

Her eyelids closed, and Gwenda got lost in two distinct worlds.