The morning was like one of the escapes Gwenda always loved, despite being asleep most of the time. Only hunger made her wake up.

But now that she was in that house with Ethan by her side, waking up sweaty when winter was near was becoming a constant, especially before sunrise. When this happened, she put on her moss green sweatshirt and went to the balcony doors, delighting in the cool breezes that entered through the holes in the blinds before opening them as quietly as she could, avoiding making too much noise while Ethan was still asleep.

Some days the bed was empty and cold, as if Ethan had long since gone to work as a Carvlinea. Of course, Gwenda didn't mind, but often during the day she found herself wondering how he managed to do it. If it were her in Darcy's place, she would be halfway to finding out about the explosion in the arena, which clearly led to Ethan. But if he could still walk freely without cross-eyed looks from sector 3, then they were further than Gwenda had thought.

She swallowed hard as she heard the crickets and owls around, the sound the wind made in her ears, and then sat on the stairs. Watching the trees, Gwenda felt light, the fresh air brought her peace and kept her away from thoughts about the nightmares she had in the middle of the night. Usually, the cold shower also helped... anything cold. Gwenda loved winter. Sometimes she caught herself smiling at the cold wind, at the uncontrollable shivering. It was automatic.

Her back was stiff with cold, but that was far from being a problem. It was as if winter could strip away any trace of pain in her spine. There was no layer of sweat impregnated in her pores, forcing her to remain still to feel the slightest bit of coolness in the middle of the night. The unbearable impatience, and then the restlessness and pain that led her to the bottom, drowning her in suffering. Gwenda wished she could tell herself she was used to it, but it would be a lie.

— Did you get to say goodbye to your father?

Gwenda jumped, about to get up and take the gun off her hip.

As soon as she saw Ethan leaning against the door, one shoulder propped up, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, she mentally cursed herself. He saw where Gwenda had taken her hand, and she made a mental note that she should train this impulse to grab a non-existent weapon. After all, she highly doubted she would receive one.

But his question came out of nowhere. Gwenda didn't feel ready to answer, so she turned back to the front, ignoring the shirtless slender body in the doorway.

The birds still sang, signaling that the sun was about to rise. The sky had a color that Gwenda had seen thousands of times. Blue on one side, red and orange invading this dark blue sky without stars.

She could barely see five meters away.

Ethan moved behind her like a feline, silent and trained, but let out a long sigh as he sat down beside her.

— I was in the final stage of training to be a Carvlinea when they gathered us in the square. — he continued. Gwenda turned to the opposite side. — I believe you were there.

I fled.

Gwenda thought it was an indecent thing to comment on, but she couldn't expect much from Ethan. He turned out to be very different from what she imagined he would be. And, unfortunately, that made her different too. Ethan Sinclair was changing her, but she didn't like admitting something like that.

— I wasn't a Carvlinea at the time. — Gwenda replied, her throat burning. — I was hunted. I wasn't forbidden to witness my father's hanging, but I would be with him if they had caught me.

She still remembered. The guards approaching her father while Gwenda was fetching water from the well. When blood began to accumulate on one side of her father's mouth and nose. When they held his neck with rough gloved hands and kicked the back of his knees, falling in front of a man. A man who personally went to her house. The horrifying crown on his head made Gwenda shudder with rage and disgust.

And then a guard's foot forcing her father's face into the sandy ground, his cheek crushed. Gwenda was already at the end of her rope with anger and fear as her father's eyes met hers, widening. As if only at that moment he was worried, remembering that Gwenda was there, absorbing the violence.

The shock of not understanding what was happening was still with her to this day, haunting her. The reason for that confrontation.

— I didn't understand why he had to die. They convinced everyone that my father wasn't a true subject, that he had betrayed the crown. Betrayed the king and his people. — Gwenda clenched her fists, shrinking. — I fled before I could see the end of it. I didn't witness his death.

Fled with Killian.

Run away.

— Answering your question. — she said, trying to shake off the sensations — I didn't have the opportunity.

— There were many rumors at the time about Yago Matchstone.

Anger struck Gwenda unexpectedly.

— Yes, of course. — she scoffed — Yago Matchstone. A worthy name, a name everyone has heard of, the creator of the deadliest weapons, the most successful bounty hunter for over five centuries, but, unfortunately, he was retired. — Clearly, it was something he himself suddenly decided, there was no retirement in this world, only jobs and rewards. — And, even more unfortunately, he was a traitor and no one knew. And, fortunately, now he's dead.

The venom slipped easily from Gwenda's mouth. It was a conversation she had never had with anyone but Darcy, the only one who knew her father in a way that Gwenda never quite understood.

Ethan continued, unfazed.

— What happened?

The truth. Ethan was giving her a chance to tell the truth, if only to him.

Gwenda took a deep breath, looking down past the stairs and ignoring the sudden presence of two horses still tethered together by a rope.

— I met a guy. — she began. — We spent a few years together, and he got close to my father faster than any other living soul I've ever introduced to him. He was like a son to Yago. And I was proud, always saw him for who he truly was, and he saw the same in me, even though we never showed our true identity to others. We acted the same way for the same reasons. It was like a dream, a young woman in love with someone who gave her what she wanted. — Gwenda tried to steer clear of useless details. — He claimed he was a lie, but I just laughed, thought it was some stupid flirtation. But when the guards showed up and took my father, I... I knew it wasn't a good thing, so as soon as the king's guards turned to me. — Gwenda pushed away the image of her father on the ground, the look he gave before the guards realized who she was to the traitor. — I ran. I left my father behind and just ran to where I considered safe. Straight to Átila. — She almost spat that name. — But...

— The house was empty.

Gwenda stared at Ethan, who was expressionless, and wondered what the rumors were.

— He was nowhere to be found. — she concluded. — I had to hide in a barrel because it was the only hiding place the guards wouldn't dare touch.

Ethan shifted uncomfortably.

The barrel of bars, where they stored the most precious drinks in the entire kingdom. The only place where the hands of Royal guards were forbidden, and where Gwenda could be safe. When she came out, she smelled like tequila.

— When I came out. — she blocked the memory — I wandered the city like a ghost for an entire night. Hungry and weak, filthy from head to toe as I begged any god to free my father. No one who... maybe recognized me in the streets, did anything. They just watched. The next day was the hanging, and my father was announced as an impostor. I was bathing in the nearest river of the city before returning and seeing people heading toward the castle, a crowd of corpses crawling. Some were crying, and I refused to join them. It was... unsettling.

— I know how it is. — Ethan agreed beside her, sensitive.

— I was in the square. I got there and stood watching behind a heap of bodies, until my father emerged, and something so deep and loud fit inside me. Loneliness. Because I knew it would be an end I never thought I would have, at least not so soon and in that way. — Gwenda had to take a deep breath and swallow hard. — When they put the rope around his neck, hands tied in front of his body, he met my gaze amidst so many others. Back there, hidden while they recited what my father had done to deserve death, while people shouted in glory for another traitor being executed, and others who were too shocked to do anything but put their hand on their heart and watch without doing a damn thing. Without shouting that it was a mistake, without defending him. So many pats on the back from strangers only to then simply discard him with lies...

— Scar.

She exhaled and opened her trembling hands, feeling an agonizing pain in her palms. Blood flowed beautifully, and Gwenda intertwined her hands before putting them between her thighs, her body still curled up with her knees pressed to her chest. She looked around, the sky taking on a more fiery color of a morning. The burning sensation in the latest wound was like a consolation.

Gwenda sighed and swallowed hard again.

— He told me to run. Not more than a silent whisper that reached me with a passing breeze. And I, like a cowardly idiot, ran.

— If you had stayed, you could have been killed.

She turned to Ethan.

— Don't come and tell me what would have happened and what I should have done.

— Alright. — he paused briefly. — But you should have run away anyway.

Gwenda grunted.

— Go fuck yourself.

— Only if you allow it.

She gritted her teeth, but a blush reached her cheeks.

— Don't you have to go to work? — she asked innocently. — I bet you'll be suspended for being late like this.

Ethan gave her a little smile and leaned his elbows a few steps above and stretched his legs, one ankle over the other.

— I think we can spend the day talking today, Scar.

She ignored the name.

— I hope you get expelled. — murmured Gwenda.

— What a wild heart.

— Thank you. — she said, and almost felt like she was being sincere.

— But I'm the best in all sectors, I think I'll stay even if I miss a week.

Gwenda blinked. She turned to him, serious and with her eyes shining from the comment.

— You're very proud, Sinclair. — she commented predatorily. — Know that you're below my level, agent. After all, how many know you outside sector 9? Correct me if I'm wrong, but the answer is no one.

She watched Ethan run his tongue inside his cheek. She had touched a weak spot of his. Great.

— Sorry to remind you, Gwenda. — he said — But you're dead.

She bit her lower lip hard to hold back the curse.

— He got my name right!

— A dead name.

— He called me by the right name for the first time?

— Definitely not the first time.

— How kind of you she placed her hand on her heart, the wide and fake smile plastered on her face.

Stolen story; please report.

Ethan closed his mouth, but quickly smiled back and replied:

— You're welcome.

Asshole. Gwenda wanted to spit that in his face, but she remained silent.

She frowned as she looked away and stood up.

— Where are you going? — he asked, and Gwenda rolled her eyes.

— Where else can I go, Sinclair?

She climbed the stairs into the house, but then stopped right at the entrance. A smile spread across her face as she turned slowly. Ethan was already getting to his feet and innocently stared at her.

— You know, you look like an Aaron. A simple and well-groomed name.

Ethan blinked. Gwenda believed he might be trying to reason.

— I look like many things, Scar.

The name came out like a song that made her blood heat up.

Gwenda looked him up and down, studying his body, robust which would probably make her shudder if he were her enemy, and his face, so unique and different from what she was used to that she needed to summon self-control and put in her head the following phrase: he kidnapped you and put you in a coffin, wake up you crazy woman. Because she had the barriers, prohibiting both her and him from getting closer. If it were up to Gwenda, she would have done just that.

She crossed her arms, the disturbing smile still on her face. But Ethan seemed to like it, instead of rolling his eyes or gritting his teeth, as she usually saw others doing.

— Aaron. — she said, and opened her arms as if she were showing something around — How about it? — Gwenda put her hands on her hips.

Ethan blinked again, confused.

Gwenda opened her mouth, but fell silent as he quickly climbed the steps up to her.

— Boy's name. I'm not 17 anymore, Scar.

She let out a forced laugh.

— Oh, and Scar is a beautiful name. — she mocked.

Ethan gave a little smirk. As he passed by her side, he murmured:

— I think it is.

Gwenda groaned in discontent.

— You have a taste for somewhat... unusual names.

— Your name is nothing less than the goddess of the hunt. I don't think you're in a position to argue about it. You should be optimistic.

Now he was referring to her real name.

— Because Gwenda means an optimistic person. — she almost laughed. — Maybe I'm not giving my best, am I, Aaron?

Ethan turned to her like a shadow.

— Don't call me that, it sounds like someone sick.

— Well... now apologize to the sick people around the world.

Ethan chuckled as he straightened the bed sheets.

Gwenda didn't want to, but she gave a little smile and licked her lips to contain it.

His muscles moved like waves of the sea. Striking and beautiful with the sunrise on the horizon. Bright and delicate before crashing and devastating everything in front...

— So you're staying here. — she concluded.

Ethan tossed the pillow, which had ended up at Gwenda's feet in the middle of the night, up beside his. Gwenda pressed her lips together to hold back the smile, but couldn't prevent the blush that rose up her neck.

— If you want...

— This isn't my choice.

— It is. There are many things about me that are your choice, you just have to figure it out.

Ethan went to the fireplace. And as if this act reminded Gwenda of something, she remembered that she was pantsless, only in a nightgown and a sweater. She shivered from the cold wind and from the fact that it revealed the scars on her legs.

She was nauseated by what she had done to herself, but she could live with it.

He placed the firewood and went to find something to light the fire.

Gwenda felt like a burden in this house as she watched Ethan move back and forth. She simply did nothing. But there was nothing to do; she was dead.

She opened and closed her mouth twice before speaking:

— I think I should do something to...

— Don't finish that sentence — Ethan spoke so seriously and confidently that Gwenda fell silent just to understand why. — You can't show up in town.

Ah. Ah.

— That's not exactly what I was trying to say.

— Oh, no? Because you thought so.

Ethan turned to her, the arrogant man resurfacing again.

Gwenda transformed her expression into anger.

— If only...

— You're not going to town. If they see you, you'll be officially dead.

— I need to do something.

— Feed the horses, do something in this area, and then we'll be even. Leave the money with me.

How did he know she was talking about money and that Gwenda needed to do something to help... she had no idea. It was something that had been unfolding in the days they spent together, Sinclair's secrets, as well as hers.

— Okay. — she said, annoyed. — But I could sell...

— We're still talking about going to town? — he asked, biting into a cookie from the glass jar on the counter. — Then no. — Ethan didn't even wait for her to respond.

Ethan was also gradually changing. Not in a bad way... well, maybe a little. But he was being less defensive and unleashing a part of him that Gwenda felt was slowly enchanting her. Perhaps because it was like the part of her that she kept hidden, both acting in the same way.

This was all too much Átila.

Gwenda shook her head and scratched her neck, avoiding thinking about it, and went to the couch in front of the fireplace.

— Do you want to hear a story? — she asked, unsure if she should tell.

Ethan stayed quiet for a moment.

— I'm here for that.

His response was like a cold shower. So dry that discouragement settled in Gwenda's heart.

She tried to say something, but only air came out. It was a waste of time; Ethan didn't deserve to know anything about it.

— Oh. — she said, no more than a murmur. — Forget it.

She stared at the embers, hoping Ethan would ask her to tell. But nothing happened. Sinclair remained silent and Gwenda even more so, motionless on the couch for a long time before getting up and fetching a book from under the bed, where Sinclair was sitting amidst scribbled papers that she considered to be related to sector cases.

Gwenda made another mental note to pay attention when he stored the information.

Ethan stared at her as she moved back to the couch, probably wondering how she knew about the books under the bed. It was incredible how he didn't account for the times when he wasn't home, as if Gwenda were too stupid not to snoop around.

That night, Ethan rummaged through his things in every drawer, making sure everything was in order, if Gwenda had stolen anything. She just watched as he opened the drawer with the feathers, inks, and blank scrolls.

Gwenda believed that Ethan sent letters through there, she just had no idea how he sent them. She hadn't searched around the house yet, looking for something different that he probably kept hidden. It wasn't impossible for Ethan to have a stockpile of the coolest weapons in Carsany, or even in the whole world. Stories said that the Opposite Continent was loaded with firearms like Carsany. The New Era, as they called that continent. Magic and firearms in harmony, something that the rest of the world would also want, besides Carsany.

It was almost as if only the humans of Alphardj were allergic to mystics. Idiotic, but true. Gwenda wondered how they would live with that until the end, especially when everyone outside Carsany was immortal and lived the story instead of studying it. A great chance for the mystics to persuade Carsany, considering that.

But Gwenda wasn't anyone to talk or even think about it. She was a Carvlinea who annihilated mystics. She was unworthy of many things. Especially her place as a ranger.

That still haunted her on sleepless nights. What Ethan had said.

Will you bring the race back or will stay hidden?

It was her cue and her appearance. Her destiny and her curse. Both walking hand in hand. The fact that she could now connect the dots made Gwenda just a host of endless feelings. It was easy to understand the reason behind things, why her father always spoke to her about Gwenda's future. That she should act without fear... he knew from the beginning what Gwenda was destined to be.

But what if... if the force that Yago Matchstone was exerting on Gwenda about her future had shaped her way of thinking, and now all she could organize in her mind was that end, being a ranger and bringing the race back. As if there were no other way to circumvent the destiny that her father talked about so much.

Perhaps it was time to think differently.

It would be the return of the Infernal Beasts, but Gwenda lived to kill mystics. It would be somewhat ironic if she resurrected the rangers. They would call her a hypocrite. She herself would call herself a hypocrite, and she knew it wouldn't be a lie.

She wondered if her father also knew, if he could see her from wherever he was and knew that Gwenda was denying her legacy. She didn't grow up with violence as a child, and she was very grateful for that, at least back then things had a different difficulty to combat.

But Gwenda lived with violence growing up and creating traumas for many years. There was a time when she began to question the existence of the gods. She believed in only one, just like her mother. Gwenda began to study Alphardj and her beliefs began to grow, but it was dishonorable and rotten. To believe in a god that is not hers. Carsany had only one, The Creator. The rest of Alphardj, at least, had about 12.

She reached a point where she gave up believing in anyone, even though she had hopes that her father was seeing her from somewhere, guiding her steps to something better.

Sometimes she wondered if her brother was there. The one who was supposed to be born before her. The one who died still in Mary Jane's womb in the first week of gestation.

— Is everything okay?

Gwenda closed the book tightly and the displacement of air hit her face. Ethan was standing in the middle of the house, his eyes on Gwenda's, and his expression simple, normal. He held a steaming mug, and by the smell, Gwenda knew it was tea.

The sound of the fireplace brought her comfort as it sharpened her senses back to reality.

— Yes. — she replied, nodding to compose herself. — I was just thinking.

She leaned back, straightening up on the bed with her back against the pillow propped against the wall. Ethan raised his eyebrows.

— You should reconsider your way of thinking. You seemed like you wanted to bore holes in the book with your eyes.

Gwenda sighed. She knew she remained as still as a corpse when she thought too much.

— I'm going to take a shower. — she announced.

Ethan murmured a hmm and gently affirmed before going to the sink. Gwenda got out of bed and grabbed a fresh nightgown before heading into the bathroom.

The shower was quick, she was tired and wanted to go to bed as soon as possible, especially as it was starting to get cold. She let the warm water wash away anything on her body and felt alive when she stepped out.

Her hair had returned to normal, and now water dripped from it to the floor. It had the wavy texture she always had, with some curls underneath that Gwenda admitted hat liked it. Either way, she liked how it was. She learned to like it.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Ethan handed her a tea, and Gwenda accepted it gladly, wrapping her hands around the warm porcelain and shrinking in front of the fireplace, watching the embers dance until her hair dried.

Of course, she felt Ethan's gaze on her back. The shiver down her spine was the warning that someone was watching her, or perhaps the beginning of unbearable pain. But she liked to think it was just the warning, and maybe if Gwenda ignored it, she could escape the pain.

So she believed it was Ethan's eyes on her.

She lay on the bed at some point, not exactly sure how she got there from being so tired. She just fell onto the sheets and stayed. She felt something move beside her, but her mind was too exhausted to understand what the hell he was doing taking so long to lie down and end this.

Gwenda turned her head to Ethan, and he stared at her.

It was like jumping off a cliff, and the butterflies in her stomach made Gwenda smile.

Ethan tilted his head, puzzled.

— Is my smile that ugly? — Her voice came out low.

— I never said that.

Ethan tossed the pillow next to hers, and she understood that he was changing the pillowcase. Should she change hers too?

— But is it?

— Not at all. — he replied immediately — You have beautiful dimples.

Gwenda felt her stomach churn, but she believed it was because she was lying on her stomach.

— Thank you. — she replied and put her arms under her pillow, adjusting herself.

Ethan lay down beside her and stared at the ceiling, also tucking his hands under the pillow.

— Are you going to town tomorrow?

He nodded once.

— I wanted to know if I could buy instant noodles.

Sinclair turned to her slowly. Gwenda couldn't decipher what went through his eyes.

He affirmed.

— I'll buy.

Gwenda gave him a thankful little smile.

This led her thoughts straight to Vannyer, her friend and former roommate. It was strange to think that now she was with a new one, the same one Gwenda thought would steal their case. And who stole Gwenda from Ryxer. She wondered if he thought that way.

— Goodnight? — she asked.

Ethan blinked, and a formidable sparkle appeared that made Gwenda part her lips in surprise.

He lowered his gaze to them.

— Goodnight.

Without waiting for anything else, Gwenda turned like a shadow, tossing her hair in his face probably, so much so that Sinclair squirmed in a way she thought he was removing the strands from his face and adjusting them near her, placing them on Gwenda's side of the bed. It wouldn't do much good, since she always ended up invading his bed at one time or another.

There were nights when she woke up almost on top of a sleeping Ethan, but sometimes she felt him taking up more than half of the bed, leaving Gwenda so close to the edge that she wondered why she hadn't fallen yet. Both were spacious, and pushing Ethan back was hard work, so she left that place for him and jumped over the practically lifeless body and settled on the other side. Probably with her, Ethan must push her back to her corner without much delicacy, but if that didn't wake her up, then it was fine.

A few minutes later, when she stopped squirming to find a comfortable sleeping position, Gwenda fell asleep.