The Red of the Writing

Three | Rija

When I was a little girl, my biggest fear was the dark.

I used to beg and plead with my father to keep the candle in my small room lit through the night, to which he would shake his head, a sad smile gracing his face, and tell me that I had to learn to face the darkness. To face my fears.

Being brave doesn't mean you aren't allowed to be scared, he used to say. Bravery is just being able to hold your head high, even while your fears are staring you in the face.

And then, he used to plant a kiss on my forehead, rise from the edge of my bed, and blow out the candle.

Even after all these years, I still fear the darkness. But not the kind of darkness that filled my childhood bedroom.

No, now my greatest fear is the darkness that lives within us.

Rain patters gently against the stones of the road that I'm walking on. With every step, my worn shoes let out a soft squelch.

Usually, the streets of Zesa are bustling with life. You'd hardly be able to hear your own voice, yet alone the sound of your shoes.

Although there are still quite a few people around, it's not nearly as full as it usually is. Apparently, most people aren't in the mood to get wet today.

Many of the street vendors are still open, though, probably trying to make a few more mirra before they head home for the night. My eyes land on one particular stall, with brightly colored signs advertising the dish the vendor is selling. Kitaa.

Kitaa is an Azovian dessert. My heart aches, just a little bit.

I wonder if he can make it half as good as my older sister did.

The coins in my pocket jingle as they bump against my leg, taunting me. Even if I wanted to buy some, no vendor in Ayera will accept my Azovian nali.

I don't have time for sweets, anyways.

I turn back to the task at hand, mentally cursing myself as the shadow slips around the corner. If I'd been distracted by the vendor for even a second longer, I would have lost them.

Eyes up, Ri. I can almost feel the ghost of fingers tapping my chin. There's nothing to see down there.

A shiver runs through my body, from the rain or sorrow, I don't know. I tug my shawl tighter around my shoulders and speed up, making sure the shadow stays within my sight.

Perhaps, in any other situation, this would be suspicious. A figure lurking in the emptied streets, following another from a distance. But my appearance works to my favor.

For one, I'm clearly a woman. Women can be just as good at thievery as men, and yet, on principle, people are more likely to suspect the man. The simple fact of my identity shields me well.

But what's probably even more effective at deflecting any suspicions is my light brown skin, my jet-black hair. I am the perfect picture of a typical Azovi woman. And everyone knows that the new government has a particular disdain for Azovi refugees. It is only because of their mercy that we're allowed to remain in the country at all.

And what Azovi would dare to break the laws, when they're on such thin ice already?

All people see when they look at me is another displaced Azovi. Another stranger, another enemy alien, running away from all her problems.

They're not wrong, though.

The shadow is good; they weave through the meager crowds with ease, alternating between major and minor streets, occasionally doubling back or stopping to check their surroundings. But I learn quickly, and after months of doing reconnaissance, such tricks have become stale and ineffective.

Finally, as the moon nears its peak, the shadow reaches their destination, stepping up to the door of a shop that's closed for the night. Their right hand reaches up to quietly knock on the wooden door. Twice, once, then four times, with a pause between each group.

Everything is silent for a moment. And then, the door swings open.

The shadow steps inside, disappearing from my view. I wait. Five minutes pass, then ten, fifteen. The figure doesn't come out.

That's all the confirmation I need. I glance around the area, noting the relevant information in my head. Moira's. On the corner of Aayla and Odeline.

And, with that, I step back out into the rainstorm. The wind whistles around the corner of the building I hid behind, like I never existed at all.

* * * * *

After far too much walking, the familiar front porch of the safe house finally enters my vision. I allow my tensed shoulders to relax slightly.

Eager to wrap up my night, I reach into my dress pocket, my trembling fingers fumbling to find the key buried somewhere in the cloth. I'm cold, drenched, and feel absolutely miserable. Four hours of running throughout the city during a storm generally does that to a person.

My hand barely brushes the door's handle before it swings open.

I jump back in surprise, hands raised defensively. But then, a face pokes out, and all the built-up stress in my body drains away instantly.

At the sight of me, Tanik immediately opens the door wider. "There you are! What took you so long?"

I step inside, sighing as the heat of the fire in the fireplace hits me. "The target took me on a wild goose chase. I don't think there's a part of Zesa he didn't go through."

"You didn't lose him though, right?" Worry lines Tanik's face.

"No."

"Good." There's a quiet click as he locks the door. "What's the address?"

"Moira's. Little cafe on the corner of Aayla and Odeline."

He nods, a hint of a smile making the corners of his lips turn upwards. "Good job, Iza."

The sound of my code name takes me back to the streets, back to that vendor selling kitaa. Iza are a species of bird native to Azov. As much as the reminder of my homeland hurts some days, I don't regret choosing it. It's a nod to my heritage, no matter how small.

In lieu of a response, I just nod. I'm not doing it for the praise, and we both know that.

"You're not hurt?"

My heart warms a little. "No, I'm good." That's one thing I like about Tanik; he seems to genuinely care. It's such a rare quality, especially in the lives we lead, and the fact that he's been able to keep it through so much adversity is a miracle in itself.

I don't trust him - I can't afford to trust him - but I can admit to myself that he's the closest thing I've had to a friend since I fled Azov.

"Great. Go get changed, then." He flashes me a warm smile. "We can't have our best tracker getting sick, after all."

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head to deny that absurd statement. Turning away, I start towards the stairs. "Yeah, right."

"I'm not kidding!" Amusement laces his voice. "The Resistance needs you!"

I snort, not even justifying his words with a reply. But his words leave a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Do they?

* * * * *

Current word count: 3753

Well, what do you all think? These first three chapters are what I'll be submitting to round one of ONC, so please tell me if there's anything I can improve. And wish me luck!

Next chapter will go back to Rani's perspective, and we'll be cycling through our three protagonists from then onwards. :)

I don't know why I got so stuck on this chapter, I just did. Oh, well. It's out now, and I hope you enjoyed it!