He stood there, looking at the destruction, unable to believe that this hellhole collapsed just today, taking many people with it. And if he hadn't found Gwenda...

A cough dispersed Vannyer from his thoughts, and he turned in the direction with a furrowed brow. Courvin, with his dark hair tied in a rebellious bun, the man who was the most famous adversary of the Shooter and who lost every time, was sitting there in the cart with a wounded abdomen, cuts on his face closed with bandages, and a bloody bicep bandaged. He yawned, as if tired of waiting and watching everything. Ryxer gritted his teeth.

He noticed Darcy approaching with determined steps, and then did the same, balancing on the wreckage of the arena until he reached the road. Darcy didn't complain when Vannyer stopped right behind her.

— I believe now is a good time for interrogation. — she said.

Courvin gave a little smirk and shifted his burning gaze from Darcy to Ryxer. The competitor looked him up and down, indifferent, and turned to Raux.

— Would it be too much to ask for a cup of coffee?

Vannyer felt his patience wearing thin, and he let out a low grunt as he took a step towards him, about to make him cooperate. But Raux stopped him with her arm.

Courvin lifted his chin to him, challenging him.

— I'll be polite just one more time: Are you ready?

The wounded man ran hungry eyes over Darcy, and Ryxer struggled not to roll his eyes.

— I would love to experience your not-so-polite side. — He said, then opened a mischievous smile.

For a moment, Vannyer thought his boss wouldn't do anything about it and would just move on. Darcy placed her hand on the arm of the nurse who was already bandaging Courvin's abdomen, and he stepped back. So quickly that Ryxer could barely understand, Raux punched the wound, causing the man to lean forward with a strangled groan. But that only gave Darcy an opening, and she slapped his face and then held him with one hand, squeezing his cheeks in a way that Ryxer would surely find painful.

Courvin stared wide-eyed at his boss.

— Here's a proof of my not-so-polite side. — She said — Now, how about answering my questions.

Darcy let him go, and Courvin straightened up quickly, bringing one hand to his face and massaging his jaw while the other held the cut on his abdomen. He shot a fierce look at his boss. Ryxer couldn't hold back a half-smile.

— What were you doing when the incident occurred? — She asked.

Courvin rolled his eyes.

— What else do you do in an arena, sweetheart? — He mocked and gestured for the nurse to approach.

To his credit, the nurse didn't move. He would only do so when Raux ordered. Courvin rolled his eyes again and sighed, still massaging his face.

— They were taking care of my injuries.

— Where were you?

— Are you asking these questions to everyone who survived? Where are you trying to get at? — Unfazed, Courvin leaned his hands on the cart and tilted his head to the side, facing Darcy with amusement. — As far as I know, the interrogation should be with the owner of the arena, not the participants.

Raux let out a laugh.

— You're as dumb as the rumors say.

He lost his smile.

And Ryxer lost his patience as he approached.

— Did you see Gwenda Matchstone? — He asked through gritted teeth.

Courvin turned to him, the gleam in his eyes fading as he once again roamed the brown eyes over the agent from top to bottom.

— And who are you?

The acidity in the question made Vannyer clench his fists.

— Answer...

— The shooting bitch? I didn't see.

Ryxer blinked when Courvin gave another smirk, swinging his legs back and forth in the air.

Shooting bitch.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now wasn't the time to think about the names Gwenda probably received from the Capital.

When he opened his eyes, Darcy put her fingers on the wound on the abdomen and held the competitor's face. He groaned, and was about to bite Raux's fingers, but she spoke:

— Tell me where Gwenda Matchstone is, or I'll rip out your tongue and kick it through your ass until it reaches your throat.

Ryxer widened his eyes slightly and looked from one to the other. He had the impression he had heard something similar before.

Courvin grabbed both of Darcy's wrists, and Vannyer was ready to lunge at him, but his deathly expression turned to admiration, and the wrinkles on his forehead disappeared. The look he gave his boss was lascivious.

— You have a very nice grip, madam. I bet it would be even better if it were on my...

The rest of the sentence was muffled when Darcy removed her hand from the wound, disentangling herself from him, and hit his jaw with such force that Ryxer imagined it might have broken. Courvin leaned back, blinking several times as he tried to regain his vision that he had probably lost.

— You talk too much, like a shit machine gun. — Darcy turned on her heel, her expression completely annoyed and disgusted.

Courvin laughed, squirming in place as he massaged his jaw again. Ryxer looked him up and down, just as the competitor had done to him. He narrowed his eyes at Vannyer before getting off the cart, staggering. The nurse had been dismissed, apparently, or thought it best to take care of someone who really needed his work.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

— What are you looking at, dude? — Courvin passed him by, and despite being a few inches shorter than Ryxer, he was more robust and seemed to have trained for the army, a warrior. The scars on his body informed that it wasn't impossible.

The competitor walked straight ahead and followed Darcy, Vannyer followed, moving silently and observing from under his lashes.

Raux put her hand on the shoulder of a worried woman holding her daughter in her arms. And then she realized once again: there were fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, sons and daughters in there. Vannyer felt his chest tighten.

Courvin stopped next to Darcy.

At first, she didn't even seem to care as she directed the woman to the nurses, who could calm her down. But then she turned abruptly and stood face to face with the competitor. He raised his eyebrows, admiringly, and licked his lips as he swept his face with his gaze.

He opened his mouth.

— What you have to say now. — Darcy interrupted, cold and melancholic — I suggest keeping it to yourself.

Courvin looked at her with admiration, so bright and full of lust that Ryxer felt ashamed for him.

— You look cute when you're angry. — He said, reaching for Darcy's short hair with the intention of tucking it behind her ear.

The boss grabbed his hand and twisted his fingers. Courvin barely had time to yell or strike her before Raux's knee hit him in the groin in a way that made Vannyer flinch and bring his hand to his own, staring at his boss with wide eyes.

— That... cute. — Courvin's voice came out muffled before he recoiled, legs closing, and falling to the ground.

He didn't move anymore.

Vannyer's jaw dropped, and he was almost certain he let out a murmur of surprise. Darcy raised her hand in the air, silencing him. She turned slowly to him.

— We don't talk about this anymore.

He nodded, understanding, and his boss stepped away, leaving the unconscious body in his care.

Ryxer looked at Courvin and almost, almost, felt sorry for him. Shortly after, he was leading him to the cart and throwing him there, anger overcoming his common sense as he stared at the competitor's face. He must have fought with Gwenda or something. He had to have seen her. Vannyer didn't believe for a moment that he hadn't seen her.

But he prayed it was true.

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

— Answer! — Ryxer brought his fist back to the man's face again, truly believing it would make a difference. His hand became covered in blood.

— That's not how we work, agent Vannyer.

He grunted and let go of the nearly unconscious man, who slumped onto the arena rubble.

Darcy approached and gestured with her hand. Two agents came forward.

— Take him to the cart. — She instructed.

They grabbed the man by both arms and dragged him away. He was one of the arena staff, one of the few still standing, but he was battered. Ryxer couldn't even look too closely at the injuries, focusing instead on the tired eyes.

It's no wonder they had so many enemies in the city. People turned against the Carvlineas, just had to pay attention.

After another round with Raux, wary that there might be someone else like Courvin, even though she didn't need protection, he entered what remained of the arena and found the owner there, arguing with the accountant about money. He was mostly intact, a wound here and there, disheveled hair and part of his face dirty with soot... Ryxer couldn't care less.

It was ironic, he almost laughed, that the owner of such a violent place couldn't fight or at least defend himself.

Vannyer sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tousling what was already messy.

— She must have left earlier. — His boss commented.

It didn't matter. She should have been here, arrived here after the explosion... she should have been contacted somehow. Gwenda would have known about the incident almost as soon as they did.

If they didn't find her body here, Vannyer could be more relaxed. But so far, nothing, and Ryxer wasn't in the least relieved by this news. It meant they could still find her.

— What do you think about the accident with Ethan Sinclair? — he asked Darcy.

She observed him.

— I believe him when he says he went to help his mother at the Harbor. If it weren't for the eye injury, it would have been a blow to the head. I think we're grateful he's alive, aren't we, Vannyer?

She wanted him to say something he didn't believe or feel about it, but he sighed, feigning relief, and said:

— I guess so.

Darcy huffed, almost a laugh.

But Ryxer was restless, wanting to understand why no one else found it somewhat... strange. No one seemed concerned that the best agent in sector 3 wasn't among them.

— How can you be so composed? — he asked Raux.

The boss gave a weak smile.

— Show what others want to see, Vannyer.

Darcy turned away and moved off to other agents and detectives. He stood there, seeing everything, yet nothing at the same time. He didn't follow her this time. Ryxer sighed and began to walk around. He kicked a stone and kept looking for a specific body.

He needed to know if Gwenda was okay, or if she was buried under the rubble. Alive or dead, those were his only two options. And Ryxer prayed for it to be the former.

But the bigger problem would be if they didn't find her body. Alive or dead, her body needed to be found. Without it, Gwenda could be breathing, and that would inform them that she might be the culprit.

If the agent suddenly showed up, they would need to ask questions, and Vannyer wouldn't like to see where that led. The last time he doubted Gwenda, he felt useless, and she probably never forgave him for pointing a gun at her over a trivial matter.

But if they found the body... Ryxer would feel empty. He didn't want to lose Gwenda. Not when they were on the verge of becoming friends. He believed so.

At least someone, a person. Vannyer just wanted someone he could trust and have some relationship with. After Cressint, Ryxer had no one else. After his own father whom Ryxer hated to remember, he had no one else. Kilorn Vannyer crossed his mind a few times a day, because despite loving him and missing him, remembering his father hurt him in a way he couldn't contain the tightness in his chest and throat, and the tears that fell almost automatically. So he refused to do such a thing.

And now he lost Gwenda in both ways. If she were alive, she would be questioned and possibly arrested. He would lose her anyway.

Ryxer descended a small rocky hill, slipping on the broken pieces, but quickly stopped. Right in front, five inches ahead of his foot, there was a hole in the ground. Enormous and particularly deep, it occupied the remainder of the arena. Ryxer felt his chest tighten at the sight. How many people were under there? How many were crushed?

Vannyer lost his strength and lowered his head with the sadness that hit him. Less than half of the stands remained, just like the people who were there.

He scanned the area. There was no one down there, at least not that he could see. And if there was anyone, they were under the rubble.

But the hole was right in the center of the arena, where the fighters and shooters were always earning their paychecks and fractions with the short man who was now in the care of nurses.

Detectives from sector 6 and 3 were just beyond the curtains on the other side, where the competitors stayed before entering, studying the place where the bomb was planted. Ethan Sinclair was there, looking at a document with his only eye and gesturing to his colleagues something about the bomb that managed to destroy the entire arena.

He claimed to have gotten into a scuffle at the port. His mother was a merchant, and he was there to help her when they tried to rob her.

Vannyer didn't believe his words at all, but there was no way to prove that it wasn't true. Soaking wet when he arrived, he said he was thrown into the sea in the middle of the fight to defend the merchandise.

He got there to help his mother who was being attacked, but how did he know? How did he have time to leave a letter? Unless he was going to visit his mother and then they were robbed. But Ethan hadn't made it clear until now.

The head of sector 6 called a nurse to tend to the eye wound. Indeed, Ethan Sinclair looked beaten up when he arrived limping, there would be no way to tell he was lying. Plus, he was too surprised when he found out about the explosion, and concerned when they mentioned Gwenda being there at the same time it all happened.

Ryxer blinked to push away the sorrows that threatened to spread through his body and was about to turn around when he noticed a hand amidst some rocks. Vannyer swallowed the dread and whistled loudly. Agents looked at him and three ran in his direction.