The Ides of July // Loki - Book 1 ✓

Chapter 7: Honesty

THE BRUNETTE massages her arms where Magnus gripped them tightly. He deposited her in a sort of infirmary, where a single nurse bustles to activity and the bright white walls reek of disinfectant. The nurse says nothing as she works, despite Anna's protestations that - beyond a headache - nothing physically was the matter, leaving her resigned to sit on the straight-backed plastic chair in silence. Alone with her thoughts, her head continues to pound as it replayed the events of the morning in gruesome detail.

Why was Rifat murdered? Why did Iron Man do it? Was Anna in danger of the same fate? Worse still, was Rifat's death her fault?

She rubs her temples only to have her hand swatted away by the nurse. She finishes taking her notes on Anna's condition, or lack thereof, and hands her two small pills along with a plastic cup of water.

"What's this?" Anna asks, accepting the nurse's offering with a confused look.

"For the pain," the nurse says with a subtle French accent. "It will help."

Anna nods, placing the pills on her tongue, and swallowing a bit of water. The cool liquid rushes down her throat, hitting the rawness and emotion, and pushes past it to clear her throat. She inhales deeply while praying the lump in her throat will clear soon as well.

The door to the infirmary opens, and the man in the black leather jacket enters the room. He smiles at the nurse, who gives him a coy nod before disappearing into the back room.

"How are you feeling?"

Anna grimaces, "I...um...bad."

He frowns, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and sits in the plastic chair next to her. Leaning his head against the wall, he exhales, and Anna takes the opportunity to study the stranger's face. His jaw is sharp and square, and she can see the muscles moving under his skin as he contemplates his next words. Large, dark eyes are set beneath solid black eyebrows. A single broad scar disfigures the side of his face near his hairline, the small patch of lighter skin disappearing into his thick black hair.

"I'd say that it gets easier, but that would be a lie," he tells her. "I don't think it would help."

"I appreciate the honesty," Anna replies. After a pause, she continues, "Thank you."

"For what?"

She shrugs, "Saving my life? You...you don't even know me."

"Well, we can remedy that," he says. "What's your name?"

"Anna."

"Anna," he repeats slowly as if committing it to memory. Her name sounds foreign on his tongue, his faint accent tugging at the sounds of the letters. "My name is Eren."

They both fall silent, and Anna can hear the buzzing of the lights in the ceiling. The man lifts his head, pulling his hands from his jacket, and hands her a small, unmarked envelope. The thin white paper is slightly wrinkled and the flap open.

"What's this?" she asks.

"Honesty," he replies.

She slips two fingers in the envelope revealing a glossy stack of photographs. The first photo shows the frail body of a young child, pink shoelaces peaking out from underneath a bloody mess of fabric. She grimaces, glancing at the man, then flips to the next photo. A man clutches the body of another young man, his hands soaked in the dark red blood of the body in his arms. Third is a family laid out in the dust - mother, father, young son, and an infant - all riddled with the same dark stains.

Her breath catches in her chest as she flips through the rest of the photographs, tears welling in her eyes, until she lands on the last photo of two smiling girls. Their faces are familiar, framed with dark hair, and each is sporting a brightly colored t-shirt as they look at the camera.

"Kalila and Miriam," the man next to her says in a low voice. "The man you met...they are his daughters."

Anna runs a thumb over their faces, tears falling freely down her face.

"Do they know? About..." her voice trails, overcome with emotion.

He inhales sharply, "They're dead."

Now playing: "Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking" by Snow Patrol.