Gwenda felt her face wet, damp. But it wasn't sweat, she wasn't hot. She muttered softly and turned her head to the side, wanting to get out of wherever she was, to get up...
A hand grabbed her before she could plummet straight to the ground and pulled her back. Her back was against something soft, and she felt herself floating around the area. The faint smell of trees was all around, and she opened her eyes. At first, she saw nothing, but then she saw someone sitting beside her holding something while touching her forehead and wiping it clean.
Gwenda blinked again and saw a bandage over one of the person's eyes.
— Ethan. — Her voice came out as a weak groan.
— You passed out completely. — Ethan said.
Gwenda rubbed her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows intending to sit up, but gave up when something inside her quivered with pain.
— What happened? — she asked in a hoarse voice. — I was... We were...
Ethan stood up, providing a wider view of the surroundings.
Gwenda saw an open balcony next to the stove, overlooking trees, a forest, she supposed. Because all she could hear were bird sounds and leaves rustling against each other.
— Where are we? — she asked.
Ethan poured a cup of tea, noticing Gwenda, and turned to her, leaning one foot on the other leg.
Gwenda stiffened, and she knew that at that moment, a redder hue filled her face.
He was shirtless, and only now she... noticed. But not for any reason.
The scars that Gwenda glimpsed yesterday beneath Ethan's shirt, now they were nothing but grotesque scratches running along every bulging muscle of his chest, ribs, and abdomen. The ones Gwenda saw at first were as thin as a blade's edge, but as they descended, the scars seemed to widen, broad and robust.
She looked away.
— Your eye is...
— I still have both eyes, Scar. — he said calmly.
Gwenda closed her eyes, and relief washed over her. She sat up carefully, feeling Ethan's penetrating gaze on her, and scratched the tattoo on her neck.
— Why Scar? — she asked.
Ethan was sipping his tea when he shrugged.
— I like that name.
Gwenda narrowed her eyes and swept every corner of his exposed torso before reaching his face and seeing a mischievous grin.
— Do you like what you see?
— Honestly... no. I have mine to admire. But thanks.
— Oh, the girl is talking about scars — he laughed. — I don't admire those things, not other people's.
Gwenda raised the corner of her mouth.
— Me neither.
— So it's not the scars you're looking at. Your gaze is filled with admiration.
Gwenda stared at him. Ethan just gave her a look that said: gotcha.
She scoffed with a grimace before turning to the opposite side and slowly getting off the high bed, slipping until her bare feet touched the floor.
— If you don't mind, I'd like to know how you got those on your legs.
Gwenda froze and snapped her attention to her legs. But she was wearing pants.
The only thing she wore was comfortable pants made of soft, light fabric. The top was a band that covered from her right arm and circled around her shoulder, only to then reach her chest and fill every inch of skin to her abdomen. So yes, Gwenda was only wearing low-waisted pants.
— You dressed me? — she asked, a little worried.
He made a sound as if to say: who else would do it but me?
— We're in the middle of nowhere, and it's just the two of us recovering in a fancy open house.
Gwenda looked around. Well, fancy would be a strong word.
— You were filthy, injured. — Gwenda shrank at the way he almost spat out the last word. — No one climbs into my bed in that state. — he shot at her. Ethan must have noticed Gwenda's reaction, so he said — But don't feel guilty, everyone makes mistakes here.
She turned abruptly to him and caught him gulping down the last drop of tea.
— I didn't do anything wrong. — she replied with the best tone of confidence she could muster at the moment. — I just wanted to participate in a...
— You leave your left side wide open. — he said and put the cup in the sink behind him. Ethan pointed at her. — That was an absurd mistake, but I admit I've seen worse.
Gwenda let out a murmur of understanding, pretending not to have almost cursed him with every name that came to her mind.
She was right-handed, clearly more skilled with her right.
— I believe I can do better than that. — she replied, nonchalantly.
Ethan let out a laugh that told her something like: girl, if you only knew...
— I'm the best at everything Carsany has ever seen.
Gwenda raised an eyebrow.
— Is that so? — she asked sarcastically. — As far as I know...
— You know nothing. — Ethan sang and stepped away from the kitchen, walking out onto the balcony and disappearing from view.
It was a single room that shared everything. Living room, kitchen, bedroom... the only things he probably needed most. But there was a door further ahead next to the fireplace facing the carpet and the huge beige sofa, where Gwenda assumed the bathroom was. The bed was just behind the sofa, and Gwenda considered whether it was better to climb back up and relax.
No, she didn't even know where this was and what exactly they were doing there. Recovery could be anywhere. She kept looking at the huge beautiful windows on the wall opposite the kitchen.
When Ethan appeared again on the balcony holding a plant similar to a tea his mother almost always made, Gwenda asked:
— Where are we?
Ethan looked around as if he didn't know and was searching for something to say.
— In the middle of a bunch of trees. — He flashed a fake smile and placed the tea next to the sink before washing his hands and drying them with the towel.
Gwenda just watched him toss the towel over one shoulder and reach to open a door from a shelf above.
— What are we doing here? — She asked once again, hoping he would answer any question seriously. — I need to work. We need to work.
— Scar, I suggest forgetting the case and everything you once stood for. You've become invisible.
Gwenda blinked, not understanding.
— What are you talking about?
He shrugged.
— You were at the arena when the explosion happened, everyone knows that. — She suddenly tensed. — Everyone thinks you're dead. — He placed two cups along with the tea leaf and turned to Gwenda, leaning both hands on the sink and tilting his head towards her — I saved you. — he grinned — And I'm still saving you. What do you think this incredible and heroic gesture deserves?
Gwenda felt her fingers tingling, and she clenched her fists, her breathing quickened, and she needed to stop looking at him.
She felt the blood drain from her face as she sat back on the bed with a grunt, facing one of the huge windows and her back to her work partner.
— This is ridiculous. — She said.
— Tell that to your friends.
Gwenda turned to him.
— And my body. — She demanded to know. Ethan had already lost all the fun in his expression. — How can they think I'm dead without my body in the middle of that?
— Oh. — He murmured and looked up, pretending to think. But then he stared at her with arrogance only evident in the smile, the eye expressing understanding, — Many bodies turned to dust in that explosion, Scar. Don't feel bad for not being there with them.
Gwenda scoffed at him with a roll of her eyes.
— I can fix this, Sinclair.
He let out a snort more like a laugh.
— No, you can't.
So that was it, this was the end? No.
— What do you want, after all? Why did you bring me here instead of taking me to the sector? — Gwenda gritted her teeth. — Are you wanting something from me? Are you wanting me to be a ghost, aren't you? I just need to go back, and this will just be a rumor.
Ethan laughed.
— Scar, Scar...
— Don't call me that. — She growled.
— Do as you please, show up to the public, be the center of attention... go back to living in a hole just because your boss told you to. Solve the case, repeat all the steps, and still end up in the same place. What are you waiting for?
Anger was evident in her gaze, so Gwenda looked away and glanced at her own feet on the bed through her knees tucked against her chest.
— It's not me who would stop you from doing any of that. But you know you can do these things from here, and the living conditions will be profits. — he lowered his voice — The only rumor will be that you came back to life. If you show up to the public back from the dead, then you'll truly be dead at the hands of those who remain.
She shrunk further.
But who remained?
No one. Now it wasn't her friends, now it had been Gwenda. Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder; the last hope; the professional Shooter who refused all the king's recruitments; the annihilator who worked in a Carvlinea sector and killed mystics; the daughter who tarnished her father's name, and the legacy she left for Gwenda was now stalled. And besides everything: Darcy Raux's servant.
Gwenda sighed.
It was her turn to die. Perhaps she deserved it. Perhaps then she'd stop risking the lives of those she loved.
After all, what would she do when she came back? Ethan was protecting her from Rubben, anyway, even if he didn't know.
— How long was I out? — she asked.
— Five hours.
Gwenda remained motionless, looking at him.
— Five hours? Who stays unconscious for five hours?
Ethan didn't hide the smirk.
— You, apparently.
She thought and rethought.
Being dead might not be so bad after all. But she couldn't... she couldn't make her friends feel like they didn't do enough, that they are to blame, or that they could have prevented such a death. But only Kimer could, only she would be willing to go to the arena and see Gwenda compete. And if she were there when the explosion happened...
She refused to think about it.
— So you're dead too, then — she concluded without looking at him.
Silence.
And then:
— What?
Gwenda almost rolled her eyes.
— You were there at that time.
Ethan smiled.
— For you, I was. For them, I was sorting out my personal problems.
Gwenda furrowed her brow and swallowed the pain as she gritted her teeth when she dragged herself to the other side of the bed.
— You know something — she accused and descended, walking towards him with determination — Why were you there? Why didn't you show up at sector 3 in the morning? What the hell was that letter if you were at the arena having fun watching me being beaten? Why did you get me out of there quickly before that happened? Why did you save me?
Gwenda wondered why Courvin had gone pale when he saw Ethan nearby. Did he know something? Did he know Ethan Sinclair?
He blinked, and Gwenda realized they were close. His body heat hit her, and she had to hold back from moving away. Gwenda's knees stood firm, but the rest of her weakened, and she lost the next lines she had planned.
Gwenda was facing Ethan's chest, right at the beginning of the scars, and she didn't want to admit to herself, but it intimidated her.
— As I said — he began and pushed away from the sink. Gwenda took a step back —, I was sorting out my personal problems. — He continued advancing, and she continued retreating — A friend was in that arena. — He smiled arrogantly — Sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn't there for you, Scar — Gwenda collided with the bed again at her lower back and leaned back to get away further than possible, but Ethan didn't stop walking until he was pressed against her, almost hovering over her — You have to know that there's no mercy in me. If I knew who's behind this — He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of Gwenda's hair behind her ear —, I would have let you die in that dungeon to go after the culprit. You need to learn to accept help, Scar. — He pouted, and Gwenda shivered — By the way — He brought his face closer to hers, and whispered: —, you ask too many nonsensical questions.
Ethan's gaze on her was pure cold desire mixed with sadness, a kind of look she never thought she would see.
He stepped back, and Gwenda felt like she could breathe again.
— Your wake is in two hours — he remarked with a firm tone, but then continued softly: — Apparently, they found your body.
Ethan walked out onto the balcony, the only place that seemed to be the entrance and exit, besides the huge windows.
They found the body Ethan wanted them to find, clearly. Something told her to stay there and recover. But what about afterward? What if Rubben knew she was alive? Gwenda had no doubt he would destroy the world for her, that's what worried her. But then, Gwenda would be next to be slowly destroyed by him.
She knew things were moving slowly, but at least the searches were working. The answer could be closer than she thought it would be. And now she was close to being free from Darcy, that was no longer a burden for Gwenda. She could do whatever she pleased.
Free. That word echoed in her head.
It had been a long time since she lived for herself without orders from others. Maybe staying here would be good for her in the end.
Darcy Raux wasn't like Rubben, didn't send Gwenda straight to death, and didn't raise a hand to hit her face with a slap or a punch. Gwenda could say she was fine being with Raux, doing her duties as her boss requested. She was afraid of being free and being caught again, doing something stupid, or being threatened until she accepted another bargain. Especially if it was Rubben. Being free had become a terror, and safety was with Raux, because Gwenda didn't trust herself in freedom.
But now she was safe among trees. They think she's dead, they found her body, something that can't be undone without people starting to think she's not human.
Five hours was already enough for nothing she did to matter, to put her name back on the list of the living. Ethan was right, Gwenda couldn't show up to the public. But she knew she could trust him even less, because she knew Sinclair was up to something.
Gwenda sighed, her sore throat was closed, and she held back the scream. She climbed onto the bed calmly and lay down facing the windows. She believed she would have the answers when she asked him, but Gwenda would have to be very patient. Ethan was surely someone difficult to deal with.
It didn't seem like a difficult decision. Gwenda was feeling fine, but it was as if a piece of her had been ripped away without permission. Her name had been crossed out, erased.
Gwenda Matchstone was nobody. And now she was here, injured in every way she had ever been. She flinched when she heard Ethan coming back into the house, afraid of what he might do when Gwenda wasn't looking. But he didn't do anything.
Ethan Sinclair was closer to being the culprit of the deadly explosion in the arena than anyone that came to Gwenda's mind.
He wanted Gwenda to leave that place before it exploded, didn't he? That's what it seemed like. Ethan was there for some reason, and she was trying to piece it together. But for now, she would keep to herself, just enjoying whatever Sinclair had given her. He said he saved her, but Gwenda didn't see it that way. Why bring her here when he could have taken her straight to the sector?
Gwenda refused to close her eyes but kept her ears attentive as Ethan did something at the sink. After putting wood in the wood-burning stove, he filled a kettle and left it to heat.
She didn't relax as she paid attention with all available senses to what Ethan Sinclair was doing, her personal assassin who killed the rest of her name.
----------------------------------------
The lantern outside the house illuminated the almost dark place. And Ethan drank from a canteen while he observed the noisy forest with the sounds of birds. His only eye was functioning well, but it wasn't enough.
In this land almost devoid of magic, he didn't know how much his injured eye could heal. He didn't know if he would see again. But if that was the cost of being able to see her and feel her by his side, Ethan wouldn't complain, despite feeling useless.
He didn't intend to hurt Gwenda; he wanted to save and protect her. Unlike the one who is luring her into something she has no idea about.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Things weren't going as expected, but they also didn't roll downhill. And if they did, there were ways to keep climbing. And Ethan would find them all if necessary to keep Gwenda safe.
Ethan knows he has made many mistakes in life, but since he laid eyes on Gwenda, when he finally found that part of him he had been searching for so long... all the blood that had been on his weapons and fists felt like a wrong and painful burden. He became weaker, that was clear. Weak for Gwenda and everything she represented.
It was hard to hear from Gwenda that he is the villain of the story. To see in her eyes that he caused that, that he eliminated her. But if it wasn't him, it would be someone else. And Ethan knew she wouldn't be eliminated in the same way. So, he decided to act on his own and accept Gwenda's guilty look. Either way, it wouldn't be long before she turned against him with the rest of the claws that remained.
But now, he couldn't reveal everything at once; he had to take it slow and try to remain discreet as he wandered through the city as a fake agent and detective. What a damn job, they could barely see a finger in front of them.
And that, in fact, was good for Gwenda. If she unraveled the mystery, Ethan would be devastated. So, he had to take it easy; that was the key when it came to her temperament.
Ethan took two more swigs from his canteen, the fey alcohol from the Opposite Continent that he managed to bribe before going to Carsany to continue his search. The alcohol there was better; almost all fey from Alphardj knew that, but the one from this continent was still addictive and powerful. Ethan liked to mix the two.
He gritted his teeth as he always did when he thought for too long.
Gwenda was here, lying on his bed and resting from the disaster in the arena. He would need to teach her a few things; he would pull patience out of his tail if necessary.
The two were alike; Ethan hoped Gwenda would see that. See that they were made for each other, that both souls fit together like pieces of a larger puzzle. No matter what their energies fed on, they were made for each other.
And now that she was here without anyone else knowing, Ethan was more confident. But he needed to find his trouble-causing friend who was trying to find Gwenda for the first time.
Ethan laughed at himself. Well... he found her first. He could boast about that for the rest of his life, but he wasn't the type to brag, even though, in this regard, he seemed decent enough to do so.
He just knew he was protecting Gwenda from many things. Including the one who blew up the arena.
How beautiful life is. He mocked himself inside his mind.
After finishing his canteen, Ethan left it aside on the stairs in front of the open balcony, he stood up and disappeared into the shadows.
Sometimes Ethan felt like they were trying to hold him down and strangle him, but they couldn't. The shadows of those he took life from. He knew they were around him, wanting to put their ghostly hands on him, but Ethan knew they couldn't, and he smiled all the way, feeling like a god.
But that ended when the threats of the dead seemed to tear his heart apart and when the whispers reached his ears. Then, anger and all kinds of bad feelings burst out of him, and then the mess began again. It was a cycle, like an eternal curse that repeated itself.
He cut his arm until the shadows backed away. But in Carsany without the necessary magic for healing, Ethan stayed away from a dagger. And as a consequence, the shadows stayed close to him.
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Rain.
Gwenda wondered why rain always showed up at wakes and funerals to be part of the sad moment and deliver even more sadness.
It was her wake, and even though she had arrived there in silence and completely apart from the people gathered around, Ethan eyed her from afar. The tulips in his hand were still intact, his wet hair falling over the eye he had left, and the bandage slightly stained with red.
Gwenda simply looked away first, unable to bear seeing the man who caused her death.
Made a good choice. A part of her said.
But then she wondered if all this time, every day that passed, being dead was her desire. And she was lucky that Ethan had done what he did because, one mysterious day, this wake wouldn't be a lie.
Whoever blew up the arena probably knew Gwenda was there. And now they thought she was dead.
A shiver ran through her body at the thought that if the culprit saw her now and found out she was alive, they could shoot her and finish the job. But Gwenda didn't even know if she was really the target. Considering who she was, she had reasons to question.
She was no longer the Shooter, much less Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder. Maybe she should change her name; Gwenda was no longer useful. Gwenda was a ghost; she no longer existed.
Ethan called her Scar even when she was lying in Twilight's stall this morning. She had no idea why, but Sinclair was at the top of the list of suspects, and she wouldn't take him off it anytime soon.
Gwenda saw the horse outside with a rope around its neck tethered to a white mare with light brown spots on her coat. He just stared at his owner, ears erect, while the mare, who was probably Ethan's, searched for grass to her liking.
She thought about going there to release him and flee back to the city center. But what would be the point? After all, she had been strangely saved by Ethan, and now she was in the same place as him. He said Gwenda could work from that house, and so she would. She could be next to the perpetrator of the cases, and she wouldn't waste this chance.
Then the plan took shape in her mind faster than she had imagined, and a lazy smile spread across her face. But soon she distanced herself from the feeling of winning when Darcy fell to her knees in front of her coffin.
Gwenda tensed, her eyes slightly wide.
Kimer hurried to the side of Gwenda's former boss, stroking Raux's back with soft hands. But the head of sector 3 was motionless. No sob, no movement of the shoulders to indicate if she was crying. Nothing. Falling to her knees was probably her maximum.
Louise walked up to the incredibly shiny coffin. Gwenda frowned, wondering how they paid for that. Her friend, who was wearing a delicate black dress today, left a white flower. Gwenda could see Louise's hands trembling, and something in her chest tightened. She didn't know what her friend was thinking, but Gwenda wanted to go there and hug her, tell her she would never leave her. But she had to keep the disguise of a grateful woman for one and dead to the rest; she had to unravel the problems she was assigned.
Gwenda stayed there by the tree for the rest of the funeral, on the other side of the road and in the same place she had been at Trytan's. No one walked nearby; it was deserted.
She held back tears as she watched. What the hell was this? She was almost crying for her own death?
When it was over, and Darcy and Ryxer finally left her fake body after everyone had gone, Gwenda slid to the ground in silence and went to the dark corner designated for her.
The tombstone was marked with her name, the year she was born, and the year she died.
Only 26 years old. She had just turned 26. But it would seem she was 27 to anyone who looked and did the math.
Gwenda hugged her own body, trying to focus her attention on where she was, not on the cemetery around her and where Trytan probably was.
A glimpse of someone farther ahead made Gwenda bend her knees and prepare to flee with her heart stuck in her throat. But when she distinguished the figure leaning against the tree with arms crossed, she gritted her teeth with anger and let Ethan notice.
— You shouldn't have come. — he said.
Gwenda stared at him for two seconds, then averted her eyes to her tombstone.
— And miss my own funeral? I don't think so.
He laughed weakly, entirely forced.
— If you want it so much, I can conclude the first step now.
A dagger appeared in his hand as Gwenda looked.
She frowned and weighed the look from his eyes to his hand holding the blade.
— How did you do that? — she asked.
Indeed, Gwenda saw when he took it out from his back with a swiftness she could barely distinguish.
He shrugged and spun the dagger.
— Practice.
She sighed weakly and turned to her tombstone, arms around her own body. Her stomach was hurting from hunger. She had only eaten in the morning, and now she had no idea what time of night it was.
— If anyone sees you around here, Scar, we're going to be in deep trouble. — Ethan said.
— I really hope you get screwed over.
Ethan didn't respond. He did nothing but lazily lean away from the tree and head towards Gwenda, who had now tensed.
He stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel his breath on the top of her head.
— You made me believe you were worth my time. — Ethan straightened a strand of hair on the top of her head — I'm starting to doubt that.
— Do you think I'm valuable, Sinclair? — she asked in the same threatening tone as him — Why?
Ethan didn't know which corner of her face to look at.
Gwenda held back from swallowing dryly as she observed the expression on his face. She wanted to understand the reason for all this, but maybe it was better not to find out.
As long as Ethan wasn't an enemy, Gwenda could come to terms with him and accept the place, wherever it may be.
When he responded, with a tired voice that made Gwenda shiver, Ethan's eyes sparkled impetuously.
— You are very valuable, Scar.
Maybe it was the effect in his voice, or the way he looked at her, but Gwenda had to blink and control her breathing. Ethan seemed tired, but only seemed. They were sad eyes, full of relief for something that Gwenda had no idea about, but she would settle for the idea that the past condemned him as much as hers left her wounded.
The man in front of her spun the dagger again and tucked it behind his back before straightening his black jacket to hide it. By the time she noticed, Ethan had already moved away from her, walking calmly among the tombstones of the cemetery with his hands in his pants pockets.
Gwenda turned to the spot where she had been buried and then shrank. She refused to let the tears fall and turned to the right, away from Ethan, away from the city.
She practically dragged herself, still hugging her own body, through the place that was filling with mist in the late afternoon. But it was comfortable; Gwenda liked it. She remembered when she was afraid and couldn't help but always check around her to see if there was anyone hidden in the trees. She remembered the feeling and the heart pounding as if it were about to jump out. It was a different feeling.
But now it was pure nothingness. Gwenda didn't feel a damn thing. There was nothing to feel when you were already dead.
Her friends would blame themselves if Gwenda gave up now, even thinking she had already left. If they found out she was really alive, and then really lost her, it would be painful.
She knew this because she used to spend most of her time thinking about what she would do if she found out Átila Killian was still alive. Because, in her mind, he must already be dead in an unknown land. Or else he is alive waiting for her to find him, but when she gets to his side, he is already gone.
Gwenda stopped walking, looking at the almost dry grass in front of her feet. A desire ran through the length of her skin, an unwelcome tingling, and everything tightened in her chest with that agonizing pain almost always.
She looked to the side and came face to face with Trytan's tombstone. Observing the chipped stone to determine when he was born and when he died, guilt hit Gwenda like a hurricane.
She was a hurricane. Wherever she went, she left problems, deaths, imbalance... she hunted down races that were not like hers. Repulsive; monster; an insult to her family.
She was almost certain that her mother would have kicked her out of the house if she were still alive. Even if that happened, Gwenda wouldn't be working as a Carvlinea, wouldn't have fought to be at that level. She was a living disgrace.
Her mother represented something that Gwenda never thought would turn against her. Her mother was Mary Jane Oxwinder. And Gwenda didn't belong, she couldn't. She no longer accepted herself, maybe she never truly did... at least not after Yago Matchstone was gone.
She fell to her knees with a muffled sound, her nails digging into her ribs.
— Trytan. — she called out — I'm sorry.
And that was it. The last thing she would probably say to him, but the thing he needed to hear the most, especially from Gwenda.
She stayed there until her stomach ached with hunger. And when she got up to leave, she saw Ethan at the end of the cemetery, waiting for her.
Gwenda looked back at where Trytan had been buried once more and paused at the tombstone. A shiver ran through her body and her heart raced.
She took a deep breath and turned her back on her friend.
----------------------------------------
Amazingly, Ethan Sinclair remained silent throughout the journey back. They went through the trees, away from the town and out of sight of the citizens. If Gwenda had even felt like moving, they could have arrived earlier. But when she realized she was about to climb the stairs to that balcony, she stopped in the dark and just listened as her colleague ascended and disappeared into the house.
The cold wind entered through her clothes and delicately licked the expanse of her skin, like a caress.
— I suggest you come in. — Ethan spoke as he appeared with a lit lantern. — The temperature drops at night in this area.
— What am I doing here? — she muttered, enough for Sinclair to hear.
He sighed and threw his head back.
— I didn't take you to the sector because it wasn't safe. Whoever blew up the arena was meant to affect you.
— How do you know? — she lifted her head and stared at him.
Gwenda could see a muscle in his jaw tense under the small light from the newly lit lantern flame.
— Because I'm a detective.
Ethan turned around and went inside.
Anger settled in her chest and mixed with sadness, then she grunted and stomped up the stairs. She almost fell on the last step because she couldn't see well in the dark and finally managed to get inside, trying to grab onto something.
— And your friend? Who was it?
— It doesn't matter. — Ethan replied from a corner near the fireplace and Gwenda saw him fanning the fire. Quickly, a cozy feeling overtook her, knowing that soon the place would warm up.
— Of course, it matters.
— Don't talk about it.
— I want answers. — she insisted.
Ethan got up and started walking towards her. Gwenda recoiled when he got too close to feel his breath. But he, still staring at her with a serious expression, stretched to both sides and closed the balcony. Gwenda had to step forward and felt how warm and comforting Ethan's body was.
She squinted and tried to pass under his arm, but Ethan closed them around her when he finally locked the balcony shutters.
Gwenda looked at him, but could hardly make out what she was really seeing.
— That part of the story is none of your concern. — he said calmly but lethally.
Gwenda gritted her teeth.
— You can ask me anything you like about yourself. — His voice was ominous, but Gwenda raised her chin. Ethan frowned even more. — But other than that, forget it and don't even think about opening your mouth.
Ethan stepped back with a push, just as Gwenda did when she was ready to shoot someone and had to step back to refrain from doing so.
Her stomach growled so loud that Ethan stopped halfway and turned abruptly. But she didn't let him say anything.
— I just want to make sure I can trust you. — she said. — Otherwise, I'll make sure to make your life a living hell.
— You can try, Scar. — he almost sang. — You can try.
Ethan crouched down in front of the fireplace and took off his wet shirt.
Gwenda couldn't feel anything but anger as she watched the firelight dance on the thin, almost invisible scars all over his body.
She grunted and went to the door next to the fireplace, entering the bathroom. Ethan's eyes followed her as she closed the door with a thud.
Gwenda stopped as soon as she realized the size of the bathroom.
The bathtub, where at least four bodies could fit, was in the center, empty. A candle on a counter was lit and briefly illuminated. Right in front of the door was a sink and the mirror on the wall.
Gwenda was soaked. She had forgotten that the rain could even touch her, but there she was, trembling with the breeze coming from the small bathroom window. But inside, she was hot, feeling her body warm and uncomfortable under the wet clothes clinging to her skin.
With a loud and painful grunt, Gwenda forcefully removed the matte green hoodie, throwing it on the floor by one of the sleeves. She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her hair, moving it away from her face. And then she looked at herself in the mirror again.
Gwenda observed herself for a while, noticing the deep dark circles that she could barely recognize, her eyes expressing exhaustion and everything she felt coursing through her veins like poison, day after day.
She clenched her hands into fists and her nails pierced her skin. With a swift motion, Gwenda pointed at her reflection. The hand shaped like a gun, ready to pull the trigger and shatter the mirror into pieces, destroy that reflection that no longer belonged to her.
Gwenda sighed, letting her arm fall and hit her body, her breathing heavy as if her lungs were lacking air.
She turned to the door, no longer wanting to take a relaxing shower to sleep on an empty stomach. But she stopped with her hand hovering over the doorknob. She didn't want to go out and come face to face with Ethan, she didn't want to look at his face or confront him. She was done with it. Gwenda wanted to be alone, to destroy everything around her until her arms and legs began to ache.
This shit was wrong. Everything was wrong, and Gwenda couldn't think of anything else that could bring her back from the dead. There was no way, she had used up all her chances.
So she lowered her hand and took a step back, her heart pounding in her ears and skull, pounding like a warning. A warning she had no idea what it meant. But she didn't care about that and the headache when her spine became a dead weight once again, and all the agony of years spread through her back at an unmemorable speed.
To unravel and finally settle into her own emotions and feelings, Gwenda turned with a scream and lunged at the mirror with the fist of her still bandaged arm.
The broken sound was soothing, as was the blood that trickled from her newest wound. Gwenda stepped back, panting, and looked at the mess she had caused with just one punch. A piece of glass fell into the sink, along with the blood that began to drip onto the slate.
When she looked back at the mirror, she saw multiple Gwenda. Something she never thought she would live to see. But what did that mean now? They were all as broken as she was. They all seemed to have risen from under the ground.
The door opened and Gwenda's heart skipped a beat.
She managed to see through the reflection in the mirror before turning around and facing Ethan Sinclair with wide eyes, but furrowed brows and dilated nostrils.
Gwenda couldn't open her mouth to explain when all the pain in her spine seemed to increase. Speaking became painful and she began to pray that he had some medicine for it. And she would need it. A lot of capsules.
— What the hell is this? — he asked and took a step towards her.
— I... — Gwenda's voice came out low and lifeless, barely able to pronounce what she wanted.
Ethan grunted and grabbed her shoulder with one hand before pushing her out the door. Gwenda grimaced and tried to stay upright.
— Sorry — she blurted out.
Gwenda knew. She knew she couldn't control herself, but she only turned against her own reflection because the gate in her mind hadn't shown up yet. He wasn't... he wasn't forcing his way out anymore.
Do it. She begged herself, trembling with her own command in her head. Come on, damn it.
— What's gotten into you? — A man's voice behind her and Gwenda stiffened.
She turned to Ethan, silently begging with her eyes for him to give her the damn medicine or anything that could help her.
Gwenda slapped her head with her hands and backed away towards the kitchen.
— Gwenda.
Come on, come on...
Sinclair's voice softened, finding its way through the maze to Gwenda like a morning breeze.
But she stopped it. Blocked all the paths.
— Gwenda.
She fought against her own will to turn to him as she searched the shelves for capsules that could help.
A pang of agony and pain stabbed her ribs and Gwenda groaned as she doubled over, knocking over the jars from the shelves.
She could swear she heard a complaint before firm and gentle hands closed around her biceps and pulled her back up.
— What's going on?
She didn't want help, but the tone Ethan used made Gwenda face herself as she struggled to answer with difficulty:
— I've had this for a long time. — She groaned in pain and brought her hands to her back, leaning into Sinclair, her head between his neck and shoulder. If it wasn't him, it would be against a wall. — I just need...
Gwenda reached for the capsules that had fallen into the sink, hoping that whatever Ethan had that could help her wasn't on the floor with the others. She could barely grab one of them before one knee gave out, and she leaned on her elbow to avoid falling to the ground. She held onto Sinclair's arm with her other hand to try to maintain some balance.
The tips of her fingers were still bleeding, and she had no doubt that there were shards of glass piercing them.
— What? What the hell are you looking for? Speak.
— Any damn thing that will get rid of the pain! — she shouted in response, reaching back again to straighten up to dispel the agony, one less annoyance to deal with. The pain would be dispelled only with the capsules...
She felt his arms grab her around the waist and pull her off the ground, causing her to bend forward.
Gwenda screamed and scratched him all the way to the bed. When she fell back onto the soft mattress, she gasped and arched her back.
That thing was crawling up her spine, through every extension of her spine, into the bones... and then into the ribs. It had never gotten to this point before. Her breathing was shallow, Gwenda gripped the sheet tightly, unable to distinguish between the rainwater and sweat.
She screamed again.
Why the hell did Ethan throw her there and walk away?
Gwenda started to crawl off the bed, each pinch urging her to seek the medicine. But what if... what if there wasn't enough time? It had never been so terrifying and disturbing to realize that she didn't have the damn medicine and that this pain spread beyond her back.
Tears streamed down her face.
When she was about to fall off the bed and crawl to the kitchen, she was forcefully pushed back, and a warm hand filled her entire neck, pushing Gwenda until she was sitting. Even so, she struggled to lie back down.
— Swallow.
As soon as Ethan pressed something against her lips, Gwenda grabbed the small cup and swallowed whatever it was.
The taste was...
Gwenda managed to spit out a few drops before Ethan closed her mouth with his hand. She couldn't even open it to bite him.
— Swallow.
Gwenda was trembling, not in a condition to disobey, not when she had obeyed for so long and didn't know how to act without an order, that addictive and frightening drumming in her head.
So she swallowed, and her entire throat shattered into tiny pieces until it melted like lava flowing downhill.
Her empty stomach churned, and the colors became a blurred darkness. Until nothing remained, and her body was just another lifeless burden.
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Gwenda let her arms fall limp on the bed, her weight supported by Ethan's hand still on her neck. Her arms burned, but she didn't care when all the attention was on the static woman on her bed.
Ethan exhaled to calm himself and gently laid her down, wiping around her lips what she had tried to spit out. He knew the taste was bad, but he took the same contents when he wanted to escape the shadows since he avoided cutting himself.
He moved away from the bed and went to the kitchen sink, observing Gwenda's scratches on his arms.
— Shit. — he cursed under his breath.
He didn't know what had just happened, but he admitted that he was scared. Her screams almost made him fall to his knees.
The truth was, as long as he was in Carsany, the most important thing was to keep her safe, but he started to feel that leaving her here during the days to go to work would be a risk. The information he received regarding the cases that link all the explosions had one common goal: Gwenda. Find Gwenda; assassinate Gwenda; lure Gwenda. The rest was the rest. As for the magic that was now entering through the explosion of the wall, Ethan knew that it meant a larger number of mystics invading this realm. The amount of guards in that area increased much later, but at least now they are controlling until it is rebuilt.
Now that Gwenda is dead to everyone, Ethan would be attentive to new cases. Because he was almost sure that the explosions would cease, and a rebellion would grow.
Ethan regrets a lot of things, and he believes that if only he had said half of what he had already done to Gwenda... forgiveness would be the last thing he would have.
So, for now, he would have to keep quiet and find a way to catch the culprit of this latest explosion. Ethan knew, he was completely sure, who acted like this, who blew up an entire location and killed hundreds of people just to reach one. And in the end, it was a failure.
And the reason was Ethan Sinclair.
If they find out that Gwenda was alive, Ethan would be hunted and tortured. And just that because he wouldn't dare to open his mouth.