She woke up screaming and propelled herself upward. Well, she tried.

Gwenda was thrown back, hands on her shoulders pressing down hard.

More hands.

Enough with the hands.

— Let me go! — she growled.

— Stop thrashing around. — someone grunted back, and only then did she realize it was still Ethan, that she was in his hideout, that no one had grabbed her and taken her elsewhere. She was... safe.

But still.

Gwenda tried to control her breathing, tried to compose herself. But his hand was warm, different from those, but so... it was gripping her, hurting her...

— Please, let me go. — she said firmly, and finally, he let Gwenda break free.

She sat up and came face to face with him, close enough to startle him with his eyes expressing terror. His crumpled face and hair messier than usual indicated he had just woken up.

Gwenda backed away until her back hit the wall, and she sat on the soft pillow. She buried her fingers in her hair and pulled them back, then wiped the tears away with trembling hands.

Mary Jane appeared to Gwenda. She saw her mother after years. Since she was little, she begged any god she believed in back then to see her again.

In dreams, she never got to see her mother, it was always her voice, calm and sweet. But this time it was dark and penetrating. Gwenda couldn't bear to return to that memory, to see in her thoughts and dreams. She didn't want to see her mother anymore.

When she returned to Ethan, she noticed his gaze, usually petrified, now wandering over her body.

As if that had triggered something in her, her skin began to burn everywhere. Gwenda frowned and stretched her arms, observing the welts she had made on herself with her nails.

— What was the nightmare about? — Ethan asked, indifferent, although he seemed somewhat breathless.

Gwenda looked away, not wanting to talk about it. She hadn't even told Vannyer, why should she say anything about her monsters to Ethan?

But he didn't have a pitying look. He didn't seem ready to grab her and drown her in water to rid her of all the evils that belonged to her. Ethan showed something different and... welcoming. Understanding.

She rubbed her face, wiping away the last tears that fell and controlling the sobs that were definitely uncontrollable.

Gwenda took a deep breath.

— I dreamed about my mother, that's all. — she said. And it wasn't a lie.

Liar.

She closed her eyes.

Ethan seemed to laugh as he replied:

— I've never heard of anyone dreaming about their mother and reacting like you did. Thrashing around and scratching yourself like an uncontrolled animal.

You're a waste.

She buried her face in her bent knees.

— Can we just... forget it and... —

— Forget? — he asked with a certain annoyance.

Gwenda gritted her teeth.

— How long have you had this? — Ethan asked again.

She remained still.

Gwenda leaned against the wall, facing him, and noticed that Sinclair was waiting for an answer he could consider.

She began to twist her fingers together.

— It started when my father died. — she said, swallowing hard — When I returned to the Capital, I already had control. But the work I did as Carvlinea unlocked that part of me again, and the nightmares slowly started to come back. — Gwenda couldn't hold Ethan's gaze so she looked at her restless hands — But what you saw today came back a few days ago.

Ethan looked at his own body, the red arms, and the scratches that split the scars in half.

Gwenda's jaw dropped, and she felt sick. She hadn't been able to see with the lamplight behind Ethan, so it probably illuminated her more so that Sinclair could see her.

— I'm sorry. — she said. And as much as she wanted to, she didn't reach out to touch what she had done.

Ethan shook his head.

— Forget it. — He moved away to the corner of the bed, descending and leaving the place colder without his presence. Gwenda shivered.

When she looked at herself again, to see the damage she had done to her body once again, she realized she was pants less. The world turned to dust.

The small scars barely seen in the dark were almost indecipherable beneath the irritated, red skin.

— Why do you have to have changed my clothes every time I wake up? — she asked, irritated.

— You were sweating. — he replied calmly and filled a glass of water before drinking it in a few gulps.

Gwenda rolled her eyes.

She was wearing a nightgown, but the white tank top was still underneath. She didn't like to show her body. She was afraid and ashamed, hiding any part of her skin from the chest down. Only her arms, neck, and face were welcome to Gwenda.

She still remembered the nights when she was crying and wiping tears on the pillow. When she looked at herself in the mirror before getting into the shower and the tears mixed with the hot water, nothing seemed to lift the weight she had on her body, the idea that nothing she did mattered to change and finally accept herself.

When the silence lingered too long to bear between them, Gwenda looked at his muscular back, and she saw Ethan stiffen, as if he knew she was watching him and enjoying doing such a thing. He was standing still while still holding the glass against the sink, his knuckles so white that Gwenda thought he would break the glass.

But then he demanded to know:

— Who gave you the scars.

A chill ran from her belly to her neck, making her swallow hard. She never thought she would someday tell anyone, and if she did, she would lie.

Liar.

— Enemies. — she replied to push her mother's words echoing in her head away, still a lie.

Gwenda saw him become alert, tense, in response to her words. Unlike before, when he was ready to tear someone's head off with his bare hands.

Again. The silence.

But this time, it was awkward. She had never needed to tell anyone about the scars on her legs except Trytan, but she had told him it was part of her job, and that was it.

And now she was with Ethan in a house in the middle of nowhere, everyone thought Agent Gwenda Matchstone was dead. What difference would it make? And if Ethan was the only one she would have to socialize with, what was the point in hiding who she really was? None, and she was aware of it. But at the moment, Ethan hadn't even begun to fight for Gwenda's trust, and she wouldn't give in so easily.

If she were to tell him something about her life, let Ethan do the same and show that they could be good friends, that they were true. No lies.

— And yours?

— And on your back. — he asked again, still tense.

Gwenda remained quiet, waiting for him to answer her question.

But when Ethan turned around, Gwenda stiffened her body with a gaze so penetrating it was almost attractive.

So she replied:

— My job demanded a few things of me.

— Including your sanity. — Sinclair concluded. Gwenda almost agreed — Who gave you that scar on your back.

— A mystic. — she replied, irritated to have to say something. — And yours, Sinclair.

— Being born demanded a few things of me.

Gwenda would have rolled her eyes if he hadn't spoken with so much truth and determination.

— What do you mean? — she asked.

Ethan downed one last gulp of water and left the glass on the sink before approaching the bed again.

He sat at the edge, avoiding the eye contact Gwenda wanted to make.

— A kind of curse, so to speak. — he said as he lay on the bed, his head resting in his hands.

She raised an eyebrow.

— And what was this curse?

— It's personal. Be content to answer about yourself and leave my past out of it.

Gwenda frowned.

— That's not how it works, handsome.

A ghostly smile spread across his face.

— But that's how it's going to work.

She laughed, unable to hold it back, and went to his side. They both looked at each other, both smiling sarcastically.

— Like hell it is. — she replied — Be content with being less of a jerk and more of a decent person.

Ethan leaned on his elbows, bringing his face closer to Gwenda's.

— How old do you think I am, Scar. — he whispered, and his breath delicately brushed Gwenda's face.

She took a deep breath and replied:

— Trying that now?

Ethan tilted his head, his full attention on Gwenda. A shiver ran through her body.

— Learn about the enemy before showing your weaknesses. — he said — Now, are you my enemy, Scar?

Gwenda felt ready to answer yes, but she didn't want to be Ethan's enemy, so she shook her head.

— No.

Ethan smiled, still close to her.

— Great.

— But are you mine?

Ethan watched her for a while, a supernatural calm flowing through those amber eyes.

— It's your choice. — he replied.

He got up from the bed and went to fetch a glass of water once again. He took a few sips and refilled it.

Gwenda almost laughed when she asked.

— What's with you and water? Are you thirsty every night?

— Something like that. — Ethan replied and returned to bed, causing Gwenda to return to her corner and pull the sheet to cover herself.

They both lay down again, but as much as her body screamed for rest, Gwenda didn't feel so tired as to close her eyes and sleep. After all, the last time she closed her eyes she had a nightmare, and it led her straight to her mother. Or rather, a version of her mother that didn't please her.

— What the hell was that you gave me? — she asked. — The taste was terrible, it seemed like a food I tried to make before giving up and going to a pizzeria.

— I know what it tastes like. — he replied, dryly — I take it when I want to escape my problems.

Gwenda thought about saying there were better ways to do that, but decided it wasn't very smart.

— What problems are you talking about?

Ethan turned his head to her, Gwenda did the same. He looked bored.

— There's no escaping the curse, Scar. — he said — I want to escape my own monsters. And I think I'm on the right path.

Gwenda raised her eyebrows.

— Do you really think so?

It meant she had something to do with it? Since she was with him now and practically destined to stay here until she could get out of Carsany and be forgotten by everyone.

— Yes. — he replied and turned his body to the opposite side.

Gwenda stared at his hair, hoping for something that could make her understand.

— You said you came from the Opposite Continent.

Ethan murmured a hum, but didn't turn to her.

— Is it true?

— Yes. I came on a merchant ship.

— Your mother. — Gwenda concluded.

Ethan's mother was a merchant, probably always on the move. Maybe one day Gwenda could meet her.

Stupidly, she began to think about what it would be like to meet Ethan's mother, what it was like to have a mother who was present. Maybe she could be friends with her.

— I never had a mother, Scar.

Gwenda blinked and took a deep breath.

Alright, she understood him, a bit.

Gwenda lost her mother when she was still entering adolescence, when she was a brat who didn't think before acting. She was always at her father's feet, liked to do everything he did, be like him. But she never thought about how her mother would feel about it, she didn't have the head for that kind of thing at that age.

They said that this blockage between mother and daughter was normal, that they misunderstood each other faster. But Mary Jane and Gwenda could barely communicate like a normal family. And if they did, it only lasted a few days.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

In the end, Gwenda had no idea why they fought. But her mother's expression and everything she did afterwards to show that she was always right, made Gwenda angry.

She had caught herself wondering if it wouldn't have been better to lose her mother than to witness all the scandal that was destined between them. But she knew it wasn't. It had never been better.

— Well, if you're here, it means you have a mother.

— Don't speak what you don't understand, Scar.

Gwenda gritted her teeth.

— What happened? — she asked, raising her voice. — She didn't want you? Gave you to someone else?

— Go to sleep.

Gwenda noticed him clenching his fist as the muscle in his arm stood out.

— Are you an orphan?

Ethan remained silent.

She wanted to stop asking, but she also wanted answers. She needed answers. Ethan lied about his mother, what else could Gwenda believe to be true?

Liar.

No. She wasn't the liar here.

— I don't understand...

Ethan turned sharply, shaking the bed. His jaw was tense.

— Yes, she didn't want me, abandoned me in a stable. — he said, clearly irritated — Someone took pity and took me home, cared for me like an animal and left me to live alone as soon as I learned to walk. They were afraid of what I represented, afraid to have a different child around.

Gwenda's heart raced in her chest and the air around her felt heavy.

— I lived in many houses. — Ethan was calmer now and huffed as he looked up — None were a home. In fact, I never had one to call my own.

A moment of silence.

— This place is yours. — she said matter-of-factly.

Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, probably seeking patience.

— I grew up moving. — he continued. — I was forbidden to go outside, barely knew where I was, what kingdom that was. Nothing in the world seemed as certain as fleeing and wandering the streets alone. For years, all I could think about was surviving in an unknown land. I never had lessons about anything in life; they beat me when I went looking for food in huts around the city.

Gwenda held her breath.

They did the same thing to her when she failed a mission. Gwenda didn't have the complete learning to succeed in all of them, and when she came back empty-handed, whether it was without a head or money, she was afraid to face Rubben.

If she ran away, she would be hunted, and she knew that man well enough to know that he would find her no matter where she was or how far she had gone. Rubben ingrained the word shame into her mind in every possible way.

— I was kicked out of restaurants and bars. I grew up with violence and shouts, I had to be what they feared to be accepted. And so it was done, for long, long years. I had to control myself many times to realize what I was doing. — he paused. — Many times, when the blood left my eyes and reality returned, I had a neck between my fingers, no matter whose. And then I would ask myself what the hell I was doing; who I had become. — Ethan shook his head. — It took me a while to realize that I never became a damn thing, I've always been a killer.

Ethan's wide open eyes, as if he was remembering, trembled. But not like when tears were about to fall, but rather remorse.

But then he blinked, and what remained in his gaze made her doubt the man next to her. The gleam indicated that Ethan would do again everything he did to survive.

You are the same. Killers.

Gwenda breathed in, trying to push away the shattered image of her mother.

— Anyway, I was alive — said Ethan — I managed to survive on my own. So the next step was to live, but I was far from having any success. I would never have a life if I continued like that, so I traveled the world in search of something that could contain me, since I couldn't do it myself. If my fury became less dangerous, I could find peace.

She said nothing, hoping that perhaps Ethan hadn't finished.

— It didn't work. — Ethan suddenly spoke and Gwenda almost startled. What he was saying reflected in her thoughts. — I'm still a monster, still at the top with trembling bodies at my feet bending until their knees bleed. — Ethan took a deep breath, recovering from what Gwenda had no idea, perhaps the control to stay lying down and not go out destroying everything. — I can't go back.

Back where? Gwenda wanted to ask, but she kept quiet. With all of Ethan's description, she was aware that the man beside her was dangerous, or at least he used to be. Gwenda felt her chest tighten.

Ethan sighed audibly beside her. Gwenda almost did the same, but the bed moved again when he got up in one leap.

— Don't wait for my return. And lock the house when I leave.

She frowned and propped herself up on her elbow as she watched him move away to the balcony doors.

— Where are you going?

Ethan didn't respond. Gwenda sat up, impatient, as he began to unlock the doors. Cold wind entered when he managed to open them, and Gwenda shrank back, pulling the sheet to protect herself.

With the dim light of the lantern now dancing with the outside wind, she could hardly understand what he was doing. But the night light showed Ethan's shadow changing hurriedly and putting on an outfit.

A recognizable sound of metal caught Gwenda's attention, and her heart raced. She prepared to go to Ethan.

— What are you going to do? — no matter how hard she tried, her voice didn't come out as firm as she wanted.

Ethan didn't respond. Gwenda saw his shadow holstering the gun, showing it to whoever might catch a glimpse. But the leather outfit would already be displaying what Ethan did for a living.

If she laid her hands on a gun, Gwenda wouldn't know what to do with it. Perhaps she would start shooting at the trees like a fool, but Ethan would take the gun away from her again for giving away the location to anyone nearby.

— Answer me — she pleaded. — Ethan.

He stopped adjusting the sleeves of the outfit, but he didn't turn to look Gwenda in the eyes. Then, without being able to see properly and know what the hell he was doing, Gwenda only realized he had already left when he slammed the balcony doors shut and the lantern went out.

Gwenda was left in darkness, in silence. She should be worried about what he was going to do, but the department probably called him, the cases he still had to solve without her presence. Gwenda wondered if Vannyer would be there to help, because, from what she saw at her own funeral, the friend didn't seem as well as the days when he visited his dead girlfriend. And she was there, beside some other body, keeping company to the dead.

But the fact was that Gwenda wasn't worried about Ethan. She had her mind set on what answers he could get and how she could use that to her advantage.

If Sinclair was as good as he claimed to be, and as Darcy showed, it would be faster to get answers. Especially since he worked in sector 6, another source that could be useful in all searches.

Somehow, Gwenda was almost certain that the three explosions were interconnected. They all had something in common. She just needed to find out.

Darcy Raux was still on Gwenda's mind, alive and empowered. She wouldn't forget so quickly the difference he treated her in relation to his other agents, how he treated her after so much suffering at the wrong hands.

And besides, Darcy Raux was a living legend. Her past impressed Gwenda since the day the chief decided to tell her to encourage her. And, with immense joy, she admits that it worked.

Raux was sentenced to life imprisonment even as a teenager, but she escaped, and so she remained until a new era was born.

Gwenda took a deep breath and got out of bed with her heavy body. She went to the balcony in the dark and locked it. Going back to bed was a tough and awkward task. First, she couldn't see anything, then her legs threatened to give way several times along the way.

Her father said it was better to sleep in complete darkness. Gwenda never cared and always slept with the window open, letting the light from lanterns and lamps outside be welcome inside her room. In the morning, she was always woken up by Yago Matchstone, banging pots or throwing a bucket of cold water at her.

Her father's laughter after his daughter woke up in shock and completely alert made the rest of the day lighter. But at that moment when she was practically attacked when she was still in a deep sleep, it made her irritated and not at all willing to have a conversation or physical contact with her father. Hugs during the day were dispensable, kisses on the hair made Gwenda snort and grumble.

Now she thinks maybe she was an idiot.

She still remembered her father's sadness when he saw Gwenda grow up and become someone else, someone he didn't know. But there were reasons. There were always reasons.

The fact that Yago didn't trust Gwenda as a father should, made the daughter's heart rebellious and her mind wander in fantasies that possibly wouldn't happen. Communication with Yago should have been better, she thought now. Gwenda should have been less proud and accepted his help.

But the reactions of the father that were already etched in her head... she knew how he would react, but Yago always said it wasn't true, that Gwenda already had an idea and needed to remove it, see it differently.

Giving him a chance, Gwenda would say. But Yago would never say that, would never say that he needed a second chance. He never said.

Whenever she asked for something, said something, the reaction she already expected was there, hidden beneath understanding. Yago Matchstone was understanding and positive, but Gwenda kept her problems to herself. She couldn't stand having to see exactly what she knew her father would do, how he would react. Sometimes she caught herself wishing her father would leave her alone, let Gwenda live her life. And that thought irritated her.

At 16, when she felt Yago Matchstone's presence about to enter her room, Gwenda closed her eyes and sought the patience she still had. With him by her side as she tried to learn to draw, when she wrote stories and texts on the papers she sometimes managed to buy, Gwenda couldn't concentrate, it was... a burden on her shoulders. She was getting tired of having her personal space invaded, and when she didn't allow her to close the door of her room, when he entered without knocking, Gwenda thought about the idea of sleeping elsewhere.

In the end, she knew that her privacy was invaded, she didn't have a social life she enjoyed, she didn't have much peace to do what she really liked.

But what good did all that do? The drawings and everything she once wrote were burned, turned to ashes, along with the entire house and her mother.

The mark Gwenda left was on the papers, and now it's on the bodies that walked her path.

Every second of the day she thought about what it would be like if her parents were still alive. Gwenda wouldn't have been a Carvlinea, certainly not. She wouldn't have sold herself to Rubben in exchange for safety and good conditions. She wouldn't have been caught by Arth Cheack, trapped in the basement as a hostage. She wouldn't have been contacted several times by the king to do his dirty work.

She would be happy in her own home, at peace, alone. She could visit her parents from time to time, or she could receive visits. But now Gwenda was in a house in the middle of the woods.

She missed it. Yago Matchstone gave everything he had for Gwenda to become someone and make a difference in the world. She admired her father, loved him, and would give anything to have him back.

Her parents fought for her, helped her, even though her adolescence and part of her life were sucked up by them. Somehow, they also created who Gwenda is today. Both the failed and arrogant, and the determined and brave.

Ethan would be back soon, maybe he went out to hunt, but Gwenda needed to have faith that he would return. And then she could sleep.

Gwenda would have to be awake when Ethan arrived, so she could open the doors for him. But as quickly as sleep came, she closed her eyes and did not open them again that night.

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

Couldn’t survive just with the money being a Carvlinea.

Ramelia and Deb, the heartless twins, were tailing Ethan. They let him work in Ramelia's sector under conditions. So now he couldn't do his personal work without being monitored.

And because of that, he was returning to the sector to pretend to work for a little longer.

Ramelia and Deb were more than everyone expected. They were like Ethan, as powerful as they could demonstrate. And he was being watched with precision.

If it wasn't Ramelia, the boss of sector 6, then it was Deb, who wandered around the Capital like a shadow. No one knew of her existence.

And Ethan was aware of the capability of both. They were the guardians of hell themselves, and they liked to make it clear that death would not pass through them. Ethan was death, and consequently, also the hell they protected people from.

But he felt powerful. Protecting people from him... he would feel more capable of destroying the whole of Carsany with a snap of his fingers than now. What they were doing only inflated his ego more than it already was.

Deb was grim-faced and Ramelia was Deb's mirror. Dealing with the two was a process Ethan was accustomed to.

He met them in the Celestial Volcanoes, where they lived with a Tamaytchi tribe. There, where the most skilled wizards gathered to train under the floating embers, Ramelia and Deb were outsiders from Mystra and were trying to find a purpose.

Well, Ethan saw the sincerity when they said he gave them a purpose, that Ethan guided them on this path. Being supervisors to Ethan was hard work, but it amused him every time.

When Ethan was in Graymont, they were wandering along the Majest River. When he was bonding with refugees in Osaka, Ramelia and Deb were in Graymont seeking the last traces of the heartless killer.

Once, he said, the three of them clicked. After taking each to bed one by one with acceptable difficulty, he got slapped in the face and punched in the stomach after suggesting the brilliant idea of the three of them sleeping together. What harm would it do? But the twins didn't see it as something fun.

In fact, the two were getting too close to Ethan, despite being grim-faced and showing nothing. If only he had said something, that he wasn't interested in anything more, instead of showing it that way, things might have ended better for him. He could be wandering freely around Alphardj.

They weren't obliged to go after Ethan, but they did it to bring order to what was considered impossible.

When Ramelia became the boss of sector 6 — not at all by coincidence —, Ethan cursed so much and got so deeply irritated that he left a hole in every tree he needed to vent his anger on the way.

The twins knew that Ethan would someday find something he needed in Carsany. They knew about Gwenda, had found her long before him.

And, partly because of them, Ethan didn't travel around these parts for a while with the intention of avoiding them. So yes, Ethan was angry at the twins, angry that they found Gwenda when he was traveling the world blindfolded.

They marked territory and entered Carsany's game; Ethan was doing the same.

One couldn't give away their own disguise without giving away the other's. And so the twins quieted down and didn't attack.

Deb hadn't found her hiding spot yet; that was too obvious. And it made Ethan smile all the way to his temporary sector.

He opened the door and walked in.

— It's a bit early for a visit, don't you think?

Ramelia stood up, still scraping the blade somewhere to make a sound that would threaten a pure heart. Ethan just showed his teeth, ignoring the fact that he didn't have his long, sharp canines.

Ramelia ran her finger over her curved sword, assessing and admiring how beautiful the weapon was.

Ethan had a firearm holstered at his hip. One move to aim, another move to shoot and shatter. He could do that and end the surveillance. He could eliminate the two, and they pretended not to be aware of that, pretended they had power over him. Pretending was the first act before convincing others. Persuasion.

Ethan pretended to be confident to his enemies, and they fled.

Everyone believed he had always had that power. But the truth is, he was once weak while pretending to be strong, not letting anything other than strength and power show. Ethan made it deserved.

— No. — he replied.

Ramelia emerged from the shadow, and Ethan had a full view of her.

His eyes wandered the corners of her body, at every curve, hips, waist...

— We're playing the same game, Sinclair. And you believe I'm armed to the teeth.

Ethan gave a little smile.

They had agreed to only speak this name, or else it would go badly for both sides.

The truth was that Ethan preferred talking to Deb, who was serious and majestic. Ramelia was more rude, but she didn't hide her fun feline side.

She swayed her hips toward Ethan and brushed off an invisible speck from his shoulder before resting her hand with a delicacy that no longer impressed him.

— Gwenda Matchstone is your target. — Ramelia became a serious woman, her expression in complete balance and wanting to demonstrate how much the situation was under her control. — And many others. We are looking into certain cases involving her. — Ramelia paused. — Because she's received several of them, and a lot of people hate her.

— I'm aware.

Despite keeping his eyes on Ramelia's, Ethan was alert regarding the blade she held.

— When do you plan to launch the attack? — she asked.

Their faces were close, but Sinclair knew Ramelia wanted to intimidate in a way he wasn't into. So Ethan placed two fingers on her chest and pushed her gently, without sudden movements.

Ramelia took two steps back and raised the blade to Ethan's neck.

He didn't flinch, even as he felt the chill around the place where it barely touched him and spread coldness. She tilted her head to the side, observing and perhaps putting together the pieces of something Ethan had no idea about. He never understood what went on in the twins' heads.

— Did you come from the Opposite Continent for this? — she asked. — To suddenly kill your protege?

— I think you misunderstood the situation, Ramelia. — Ethan replied and pushed the weapon away from his neck with a finger pressing against the blade's edge. The cut was superficial.

— Deb informed me of the situation.

— Are you working for the king? Or for the one who works with the king?

— Rubben walks back and forth and doesn't see what's in front of him, he's weak. Why would I work for him?

Ethan raised his chin, and the corner of his lip curved slightly upward.

Ramelia spun the curved sword.

— You're talking about your dark-skinned little friend. — Ramelia's voice was sharp, it always had been. She shrugged. — He's helpful, knows what he's doing and what's necessary. He doesn't just think about himself. Let's say it's worth fighting for what he fights for.

— I want a straight answer. — Ethan demanded.

— Yes. — she said. — Yes, of course. Why not work with him?

— You're working for him. You don't want to serve anyone, but you're being a pawn.

Ramelia laughed.

— Your envy is amusing.

She turned on her heel. Ethan was disgusted by the comment, but followed the supposed boss further into the sector.

He would prefer to be talking to Deb. Despite being brutish, Ramelia was better suited when in action. Maybe he should raise his hand to her now, threaten her. But Ethan stayed as he was.

— If we find her, Sinclair, we will take her.

— You won't lay a single finger on her. — he growled back.

Ethan couldn't see her face as they descended the stairs to the underground, and the lamps on the wall were lighting up by themselves with the brief magic that entered through the hole in the wall, but he was sure Ramelia gave a little smirk.

Ethan rolled his eyes as he divulged Gwenda's fully alive state. Ramelia was playing with him, extracting information bit by bit. Sinclair would allow himself to be carried away by anger and madness that he should protect Gwenda, and Ramelia knew that.

— It's not easy to decide what's best for the world, is it?

— Gwenda is as much mine as his, what I'm doing isn't stopping anything. — Ethan was hoping Ramelia would give the information Ethan was talking about to such a friend. It was Deb who always gossiped; it's a shame it wasn't her now. — If we're friends, why not join forces and train Gwenda to be what she should be.

— You know it doesn't work that way.

Of course not. But Ethan was willing to try, and if there was the slightest hint of danger, he wouldn't hesitate to take Gwenda away from wherever she was.

The problem was that the man Ramelia served thought the same.

— If he really wanted something with Gwenda, he should have claimed her when he had the chance.

— Again. — said Ramelia and stopped walking to slowly turn to Ethan. He just watched very attentively. — That's not how it works. He has more right than you.

Ethan took a step forward.

— Not if he keeps staying away. — Ethan scanned her entire face. — Not if he's dead.

Ramelia narrowed her eyes.

— Besides Gwenda never forgiving you when she finds out you eliminated him, you'll be destroying Alphardj's destiny.

— That's not what I care about right now.

Ramelia gritted her teeth.

— Are you some kind of brainless fool?

Ethan turned around. He was already irritated enough.

— The conversation was good. — he said and cracked his knuckles.

— Go find who blew up the arena. — she spoke loudly.

— You know who it was. — he spoke in the same tone as he began to climb the stairs.

— Do it.

And with the order from a sector boss, Ethan grunted in response and headed out to have a word with Rubben before opening the casino.