How to Make a Sinner Sleep

126 | grieve; tomorrow will come

A woman dashed around the corner of a house, panting as she pressed her back against the cold, damp wall. She peered around the corner briefly, noticing a glint of glass on the ground.

It was the shard of a mirror. She angled it, crouching down as she watched a group of men look left and right, splitting along different paths.

The edge was sharp and sliced her finger, but she didn't flinch, remaining somber.

When she confirmed they'd turned in the wrong direction, she glanced around thoughtfully. She could hear the chatter of noise inside, and a few windows along the three-story building lit with a soft glow of light.

It was an Inn. She hesitated before the scampering footsteps neared once more and her foot wedged into a protruding brick.

She propped herself up, using the brick as leverage to leap up as she snatched her hand out. The tips of her fingers grazed the second-floor railings of a room and she quickly grasped it, gasping.

One arm trembled furiously, and she dropped her injured hand, dangling using the other.

Gritting her teeth as sweat dripped down her delicate face, cherry eyes trembling, she dragged herself up, swinging her heel between the bars before pulling herself over.

Her body fell over the railing with a soft thud and she stiffened, swallowing her breath.

A light flicked on inside the room, behind drawn curtains.

Nicola felt a sharp throb of pain across her body and hugged her injured hand to her chest, warily gazing at the door. She pressed on the hand sharply, sucking in a breath as physiological tears sprung in the corners of her eyes.

The story played in her head. She was a woman escaping from a violent situation, desperate and sorrowful.

Her state was pathetic enough, and tears were a weapon she learned to utilize in her youth.

The curtains drew and she raised her red-rimmed eyes to a startled, scholarly face that she recognized.

"Miss Akasha?" The voice came through the glass, muffled due to the barrier. Then, the man came to his senses and hurriedly opened the door, helping her stand. "Goodness, what are you doing?"

"Professor Raymond." The words came out as an exhale of relief, mixed with confusion. "What.. what are you doing here, sir?"

"You're injured—oh my god there's blood—Alex! Alex, can you grab a cloth, one of my or your clean shirts would do just fine—this is certainly a surprise, and there's more blood, and—"

Nicola's gaze which had been steady and alert softened in moments, hearing the familiar ramble.

"Professor. I'm fine, thank you," she said softly, cradling her injured hand. The bandage had come slightly unwrapped, but she felt unwilling to redo it.

She stared in a daze for several beats at the unraveling bandage that had been meticulously tied days earlier.

The path they followed was unclear—Reed and his group of loyal soldiers. All she could be certain was that they were heading for the Dragon's Treasure.

Expectedly, her friends did not abandon her. She became a liability and it infuriated her.

They'd stopped by several towns along the way, closely guarding her. Then, there had been an attack in the forests, drawing the attention of the powerful soldiers who were camped by her tent.

She took advantage of the seconds their attention was distracted to escape, vaguely remembering the path to the last town they visited.

Reed had no intention of letting her escape. Was it to protect her, or to trap her?