The Red of the Writing

Nine | Rija

"And I win. Again."

Tanik slaps his last card down. Two crossed swords emblazon the upwards-facing side, which beat the mail armor card I threw down just a second earlier.

I scoff, putting down my own substantially-sized hand. "Yeah, because you're a cheater."

He rolls his eyes at me, already having heard this argument. "No, you're just bad at najrang."

"Am not!" I glare at him, reaching out to collect the cards for another round. "There's no way you keep getting swords in your hand every game, Tanik. The odds of that are, like, one in a million."

He flashes me a cocky smile. "Guess I'm just lucky, then."

"You lying injek-"

The harsh sound of knocking abruptly interrupts our argument. And every insult I have reserved for Tanik dies on my tongue.

I glance at Tanik, the playfulness of the atmosphere draining away instantly. His solemn face is like stone - hard and unyielding, not giving anything away. It's only because I've spent so much time around him that I can see the worry lining his features.

It's late at night, and somebody is knocking on the door of one of the Resistance's safe houses.

The locations of the safe houses are a carefully guarded secret - not even Tanik knows all of them, and he holds a decently high position in the organization. They look like ordinary houses - they actually are regular houses, just repurposed - with nothing to draw any sort of attention to them. And Tanik and I are always careful with our comings and goings.

In other words, there is no reason anybody should be knocking on our door.

Silently, Tanik rises off of the sofa, unsheathing the small dagger that has a permanent home around his waist. Locking eyes with me, he tilts his head towards the kitchen, which is on the left of the front door. An unspoken order.

I move to obey, trying to match Tanik's graceful, soundless strides. Once I reach the kitchen, I force my shaking hands to grab a knife from the knife block. Then, I get into position, out of sight from the front door.

Perhaps it was foolish, but Tanik once offered to train me with such melee weapons, and I declined. I know my way around the basics of knives and daggers - living in Azov, I had to know at least that much - but I'm well aware of how inexperienced I am, especially compared to Tanik and members of the Kaval. But after- after that day, even looking at melee weapons makes me want to throw up sometimes.

Blood blood blood so much it won't stop-

I shake my head violently, trying to swallow down the lump of terror that's lodged itself in my throat. My eyes catch on Tanik, whose hand now ghosts over the door's handle.

Tanik. I try to ground my spiraling mind. Tanik's life could depend on my skill with a knife. I tighten my grip on my makeshift weapon. And he's not going to die. Not now. Not on my watch.

The nightmares won't matter. The memories won't matter. Phirnu, none of it will matter, as long as Tanik isn't added to the list of people I've failed.

Sabira, Ishaq, Yasmin, Esma, Kashif-

Father, Mahina.

With one last glance in my direction, Tanik's hand tugs at the door. There's a creak, and then the door is open.

I hold my breath. There's no pounding boots, but that doesn't mean anything. The Kaval tend to try to keep their raids in highly populated areas quiet, so if they're trying to scope out the house, they might not barge in, guns blazing, just yet.