Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

17 | The Rules of Uncertainty

Life felt radically different beside Silta. Where his and Lyra's entrance to the building just a few hours prior had been a performance of blending in, nothing of the sort was possible in Silta's presence. She drew looks for being a royal, for being a champion, for being simply different. She wasn't designed to fit in anymore than Archer had been passable as a king's man.

"You know," he said as she took the stairs, already drawing looks from the ticket man and some leaving guests, "we probably would've benefited from bringing weapons."

"Guns are inaccurate, knives can be thrown back," came her reasoning. "Hands will work just fine."

"Do your hands have a fifty-foot range? Because mine don't."

"That's what the reputation is for, love. Keep up."

Silta neared the first guard at the door, and Archer took the second. He couldn't see her behind him as he knocked his out, but he did watch the body fall after, and he doubted she'd left him breathing.

She entered under the archway, the skirt of her dress billowing out behind her. A soft wind tunnelled down the hallway, ruffling his hair. He caught up, moving beside her.

"What's your plan?" he asked breathlessly, wondering if her effortlessness was just a performance. "Killing everyone? Because they'll be plenty more."

"It'll come to me," she said, eyes searching the same hallway Archer had walked semi-calmly before. If only he'd known how terrified he'd be the second time around.

"It'll come to you?" he repeated. Just as the words left his mouth, he heard voices from up ahead. Just before the crisps' uniforms came into view, he took her arm and pulled her back.

"I don't want to kill anyone," he snapped.

She laughed, shaking her head. "You've mastered the art of bringing your allure to a crashing halt with nothing but a mere sentence, love."

"I wouldn't call it unreasonable to ask that we pause for a moment in favour of coming up with a plan that doesn't kill everyone in this damn building." It wasn't that Archer wasn't a killer. If someone were trying to kill him, he'd kill them first. He knew he would, but he didn't want to hurt someone he didn't need to. If he didn't agonize over his first real kill, he might end up tallying them up like lines on a tattoo.

Silta looked impatient. The footsteps were nearing, echoing in the upcoming hallway. "You come up with the plan, then," she said.

He'd been hoping she would say that. He pulled her forward a few steps until he began to see the arm of the crisp around the corner, then he moved into the cubby to their right. It was nothing more than a coatroom, but if they stayed quiet, they wouldn't be seen.

"We're hiding?" she complained. She ducked under his arm, but he tugged her back.

"It's strategy, love," he said. "Keep up."

She made the elegant equivalent of a snort. As the crisps neared, Archer held his breath, waiting.

The crisps passed by; they were in full gear now and their helmets didn't give them the peripheral vision to see into the open room where the two of them had sought refuge.

"That was dull," Silta said.

"That's what I prefer."

"You need to learn to expect less, Kingsley," she said to him, heading back out into the hallway. "Plan less. Experience more."

Archer's heart was racing. This was more than enough experiencing for him. He was confident in his abilities on a day where his leg wasn't aching, but he could still be beaten—especially by a bullet. He had to be careful. He didn't need to end up as a splattered mess on the ground for no reason.