Even after everything, hesitation still lingered in Scar. Leaving everything behind hadn't exactly been her choice, and now there was no way to return to what once was. So, acceptance became the right and proper path, navigating through new twists and leaving the old ones behind—as much as she could bear. Exactly like a cycle.

Ethan kept going to the city and working as a Carvlinea while Scar stayed at the house, looking for new things to pass the time. There were days when she would just watch her horse until hunger roared louder than anything else, then she would go inside and look for a snack.

Every evening and night, she would sit on the house steps and wait for him, bundled up in warm clothes and shielding herself from the cold while Ethan was expected to arrive at any moment. The smile on his face most nights was what warmed her, and they would finally go inside and light the fireplace.

She had no idea what day of the week it was or if one or two months had passed, but it didn't seem to matter when you were in the middle of nowhere doing nothing.

Scar skipped breakfast and sneaked out of the house, wandering around and feeding the horses in the stable. When she found a barn some distance away, she hesitated to open the door simply because she didn't know what she would find there and whether Ethan would be furious. After all, it was probably his stuff, or someone else's who lived in the area. So Scar waited days to ask about it.

— What’s in that barn to the south? — she asked while shuffling the cards she found in a drawer.

Ethan had come back for lunch that day, and at that moment he was putting on his coat to leave again.

— I don't know. I've been putting off my visit there.

So it wasn’t his.

— Why?

He went to the porch and turned in her direction.

— Because I don't know if I'll like what's in there.

Before Scar could respond or ask again what he meant, Ethan said goodbye and disappeared.

Of course, she wouldn’t insist, but curiosity and that part of her that drove her crazy until she discovered things seemed to speak louder, like always. So she started snooping in the same drawers she had already seen and grabbed the papers and ink.

It was hard to go back to doing something she had long stopped, but she still felt that this was for her, the words that came to her mind and the stories were a part of her that never left.

Slowly, Scar began to write again, igniting her heart with a fire that became recognizable with every word she scribbled on the paper. The callus on her finger started to hurt, but she didn't care. In the past, she ignored it easily.

The pen was a sword, cutting the paper with a contagious song. Scar made careful and experienced movements, dipping the pen in ink and marking it with her crest, her handwriting, and her words.

The feeling of doing this for the first time was like a warm blanket that warmed her heart. All the emotions she once felt could return from now on, could no longer be a legend to Scar. Phantom and old sensations, false. They could cease to be all that once she got used to having a pen between her fingers again.

But she stopped midway, looking at what she had written, the handwriting more brusque than before, very different from the round and calm script that had a beautiful air when she was younger. After being a Carvlinea, hardly any agent or detective had breathtaking handwriting. Haste was everyone's worst enemy. Time was the enemy of humans, and only them.

Once upon a time, long ago, in a distant land where creatures...

It wasn’t about humans.

Any story she had ever put on paper was never about humans and unknown territories where only humans existed. Humans, in fact, were extinct in her own stories.

Scar sighed, tired. Maybe now she knew why.

Over the years, in one way or another, she always admired the mystics. Considering the years she spent reading books about every detail of them.

If not in writing preference, then in how she dealt with some mystical aspects throughout her journey as a Carvlinea, especially the last elf who must now be dead by the hands of Raux or anyone else in the sector brave enough to take his life. Upon leaving Carsany, only creatures not at all human were lurking, and Scar managed to follow a path, understanding that dead forest of magic.

She still remembered the feeling, when she jumped from one tree to another, recalling her father's teachings when she was only five years old. It was her heart that screamed to move forward, pumping blood throughout her body in a code only Scar could understand.

Many theories were formed after she discovered her own origin. Who knows, maybe it was her power wanting to explode out of her, to feed on the things around her.

Maybe that’s why she preferred to stay inside the wall, where magic had long been extinguished, so she didn’t have to worry about burning from the inside out when she unleashed whatever was inside her.

But she knew little of the truth. Only that she felt so free and light outside the wall that it simply seemed wrong. The lack of magic comforted her, and she had no idea how to get rid of this grand trauma.

Living with her master outside Carsany was like living with her second father. And both were mystics, powerful and well-trained. Yago never released a single spark of his power, but Scar could imagine what he carried, besides the future visions.

If she combined the way her father looked at her and how he protected her as if she could trip and break her neck at any moment, Scar could judge from the beginning that, yes, there was something different and stranger than usual. But she grew up with it, always believed it was a standard for parents, until she reached a certain age and began to sneak out at night, wanting time outside their protection zone. Looking at the stars and the moon was something she started to enjoy doing, always on the roof and lying comfortably as if it were her bed.

Scar sighed again and gathered the papers on the bed, tidying them up. She closed the ink and put everything in the drawer, stashing it inside without any patience and closing it quickly before heading to the porch with a dragging walk.

It was almost night, but at least in winter, she didn’t need to close the doors to combat the moribund insects she hated.

Before she could sit on the steps after stepping down one, she swallowed hard when Ethan appeared among the trees. Injured.

The problem was that no Carvlinea was released so early if they could still walk and fight, just as Ethan could. Even though she knew he would heal, Scar was worried.

— What happened?

Ethan didn’t answer until he was right in front of her, one step below and still taller than Scar. The black bag he carried on one shoulder was the only thing clean of blood and dirt, the rest was a mess. Including his tangled blonde hair.

The cheek and lips were cut, the neck looked like it had taken a kick to the side, the hands were dirty, and the knuckles were red and raw. There was a cut in the suit on the right chest, seeping a bright and superficial red.

The amber in his eyes sparkled with what Scar imagined was accumulated tension. She was sure her eyes responded the same way.

Ethan approached stealthily, and Scar met him halfway. The warm touch of his lips on hers made the nape of her neck tingle. The wound on his lower lip grazed Scar’s, and Ethan seemed to enjoy it as much as she did with the fervor that welcomed him and the care she took while kissing him, delicate and letting Ethan take control.

She didn’t remember kissing him like this before, with so much affection involved, Ethan’s tongue wanting to explore every corner of her mouth as if claiming it for himself, only for himself.

It was enough for Scar to almost lose her breath completely.

Ethan squeezed her waist with his free hand and pulled their bodies closer before breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against hers, their noses touching and mouths so close they couldn’t stay apart for long.

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Ethan caressed Scar’s face, threading his fingers through her hair.

— I've been assigned a job somewhere else. — he said, his voice husky.

Scar blinked, uncomprehending, and pulled her forehead away when he continued:

— We're moving.

It felt like a kick to the stomach that sent her flying five meters.

She blinked again and stared at him, trying to decipher if she understood correctly. He couldn't be serious.

Moving. Ethan, after everything, wanted to move. After everything, the fake death, the case she could give her life to solve, the mysterious death of Trytan she had promised vengeance for, after suffering so much at Rubben’s hands and not being able to retaliate, especially now. She had gotten used to the idea of not making him eat his own guts, since now it was she who was dead. But seeing it from this exact angle, it seemed Ethan had everything planned, everything a scheme going according to his plan.

Scar had no idea how he could concoct a plan with these events, but something in her chest, that fine golden thread that could break with her own hands if she wished, a hesitant tremor shook her insides. She just couldn’t tell if it was a warning to stay away from Ethan or to stay by his side no matter the cost.

But Scar didn’t give a damn about what Ethan was probably trying to convey through the bond that connected them. She had her own plans.

Scar stepped back, stumbling on the top step and regaining her balance quickly.

She took a few steps back, staring at him, before turning with a frown of frustration.

This was out of the question until she found the answers. All this time... she stayed here, not taking the initiative, even dead to the world.

— What do you mean move? — Scar turned to him. Ethan had just entered the house.

— The Opposite Continent...

— Opposite Continent? — she asked. — You were assigned to the Opposite Continent?

He glared at her and, with heavy and deadly steps, Ethan went to the living room and dropped the bag on the round rug between the fireplace and the sofa. The thud that echoed made Scar grit her teeth.

— We can't stay here anymore, Scar. — Cold.

Ethan was addressing her with coldness.

— Why?

Their eyes met.

— I fought to be here. — Ethan remained serious. — And you have nothing to lose.

Scar clenched her fists.

— You don’t get to decide that.

— We need to leave. — Ethan spoke more rigidly.

— You don’t get to decide that. — she repeated with more determination and slowly.

A muscle twitched in Ethan’s jaw, and Scar could see the violence in his eyes that made her hesitate.

— You know you’re on the list of the dead. What’s holding you here that you can’t leave with me?

His last word affected Scar in a different way. A way she had never felt. No one had ever said that with a second intention to her, as if inviting her to be part of their life, to stay by their side until the end.

Yes. What held her there compared to the life he was offering her?

Scar bit her lower lip hard.

Ethan softened his expression as he walked around the sofa and approached Scar. With every step, it was a lost breath.

— Scar. — She could compare it to a purr. Ethan lifted her chin with his finger and thumb, making her look into his eyes. — I’m not doing this just for me. I’m protecting you.

— Protecting me from what, damn it? — she asked quickly.

Ethan caressed her chin, his eyes roaming her face, unshaken.

If she was in this house without being able to appear in public, what was he protecting her from? Who knew she was alive?

Scar took a gentle step back, avoiding his hand.

But instead of asking the obvious, she countered with another:

— I can take care of myself.

— No. — Ethan shot back. — Not anymore.

She felt the fury heat her body.

— I did until that day in the arena.

— That was the easy part. You’re not safe, Scar. Not here.

— Then where? — she dared to ask.

Ethan shook his head.

— Honestly, nowhere.

That made her look away to the porch, waiting for something to enter and drag her into the shadows. Scar shuddered.

— I thought I could keep you safe here. — He also looked at the porch. — I was wrong. — And then he walked to the bag in front of the sofa with long strides.

— What’s the threat? — she asked.

— One that everyone fears.

— Be more specific. — she demanded, rigid and impatient.

Ethan turned to her as he opened the bag. Scar couldn’t see what was inside.

— Someone like us. — The blood drained from her face at the answer. — More specifically, like me. A cold-blooded killer, manipulative, and many other bad things someone could easily describe.

He wasn’t going to give a name, and Scar didn’t care. This was madness. If there was someone worse than Rubben and Arth Cheack after her, she would know very well. She hadn’t lived her entire life blindfolded not to be aware of the problems she caused. And not once was it with a creature as dark as Ethan was saying. Unless... Ethan was a possessive fae male.

— I have a lot to lose, Ethan. — she said calmly. — Don’t make me do this, please.

Scar felt the absence of this word in her vocabulary. Please.

With Darcy Raux, she learned she shouldn’t give orders to superiors. With Ethan, she learned she shouldn’t give orders to anyone because everyone is equal, everyone is in the same position despite their personal and social differences.

Ethan rubbed his face in frustration.

— If we don’t leave soon, things will get ugly. I don’t want to have to clean up your blood, Scar.

— You won’t clean up anything. — she refused to go to him; she didn’t want to see what was in the bag. Her back had started to ache since she noticed the bag, increasing so slowly she barely realized it. — I’m not going with you. I’m not leaving all this behind. — She pointed to the shutters.

— All this what? — Ethan’s eyes never left hers. — A coffin? Dead loved ones? All the past you already left behind? You’re not Gwenda anymore.

Scar knew, with absolute certainty, that Ethan had always been responsible for her false death.

However, the reason he hadn't taken her to the sector while she was unconscious, but instead had distanced her from everything and everyone, was more than clear now. At the first opportunity, that gold-threaded bond between her and Ethan had formed into one, connecting them both.

And from the beginning, he knew. He knew who Scar was, what she was destined for, and who they were. Ethan was protecting what was his, disappearing with his belongings.

Scar grunted in response and said:

— I might not be, but a part of her is still in me. — Scar pointed to her own chest. — And she wants answers. I can’t leave the city, let alone Carsany.

Carsany was out of the question.

— You can. — he murmured — You’re just too weak to move on. It’s the only thing you should do right now.

Too weak...

Anger coursed through every nerve in Scar.

— And running away is something brave? Where I come from, people would carve coward into your back. Weak for running from a threat...

— That could kill you. — Ethan stood up.

— And you won’t? — she asked, indignantly.

He exhaled with intensity.

— I’m different.

Scar frowned and tilted her head, mocking.

Ethan explained:

— I know what I’m dealing with. I was trained my whole life and I’m qualified. You’re nothing but an easy and inattentive target. I’m from magic lands, Scar.

Scar blinked, disbelieving.

Was he really saying that?

— Go fuck yourself. — she cursed, slowly and with all the damn letters. — Don’t you dare compare your training to mine. You’re built for your damn magic land, where everything happens with a snap of your fingers. Here, you’re an aberration and a target. Here, you’re nothing. — Scar pointed below her feet, to the non-magical land she was standing on. Her home. — I’m at an advantage here. It’s my kingdom.

Which was about to be destroyed, if the wall fell, but she decided to keep that part to herself, even though Ethan probably read it in her eyes. But this was the kingdom of humans, of firearms. Surviving without magic was only for them. Humans.

This was another reason to continue with this case. If the wall was the target of the mystics, Carsany would be unprotected. Having the kingdom invaded was one of the few things Scar feared if the wall fell.

Maybe Ethan wanted to protect her from that, from the imminent invasion. But he hadn’t made it clear, never did. He never would. Scar had to find out everything on her own.

She marched toward the exit with confident steps but stopped to say:

— If you want, go, I don’t care. But don’t wait for my return.

And with that, she went down the stairs, grabbed the lantern outside, and mounted her horse. Luckily, she had left the saddle on earlier when she went for a ride to get back into the habit.

She was wrong. Leaving these things behind would be the last thing she’d want to do. She needed to unearth who she was before. She needed to be Gwenda for a while longer and then move on with her life.

Among the trees and the starry dark sky, Twilight ran in a single direction. The same direction where the moon was in the sky.