Eyes that belong to a face I’ve memorized completely, hazel eyes that bear a haunted gaze that mirrors my own, and they’re piercing right through me.
“Oh gods.”
Rorin
“Why do I bother?”
I slump down the clammy wall across from the man I’ve been questioning. He’s whimpering over in the corner, his body looking more withered in the dim light than it had in the bar. We’ve only got one decent answer out of him, and that was that he’d seen Ezra and heard whispers of what he was looking for.
He quickly figured out that, if I didn’t get the answer I wanted, he likely wouldn’t survive our interaction, and when I started to lose control, Bennett took over.
He’s beennegotiatingnow for the past half hour while I mull over what to do next – how I want to proceed. I can feel that I’m close… just not close enough, and if we aren’t careful, she’s going to slip through the cracks again.
I scratch at the scarred rune on my wrist, my nail tracing the interwoven pattern, and begrudgingly push myself off the floor, stalking over to where Bennett and… whatever his name is are having their conversation.
Hearing my steps, they both glance upwards to look at me, the man’s eyes quickly darting away. Bennett pushes up from his crouched position, sighing, “Rorin, he's just a man.” He pacifies, a palm cupping my shoulder.
“They’re all just men, Bennett.” I snap.
“Oh-kay. Rorin, he’s just an innocent man. You asked him what he knew, and he told you what he knew; now let the man go.” When I don’t give him my immediate compliance, he leans into my ear and whispers, “you are not accomplishing what you think you are by lashing out this way. You are not this person, Rorin.”
I can’t help but scoff, leaning away from him. “Clearly I am,” a saccharine smile plays at my lips as the anger inside me rises again, my Wield rising with it, “looks like I inherited something from my mother and father after all. They would be so proud.”
The words land bitterly, and Bennett drags a hand down his face. “Eveera wouldn’t want this.” My breath hitches, and I pinch my eyes shut. “She won’t forgive you for risking yourself on her behalf.”
“I’m not risking–”
“Yes, you are. You’re damning yourself with each innocent life you take.”
A pained and rueful laugh escapes me, the harsh sound bouncing off the walls. “I am damned without her anyway.” I take a step forward, and Bennett wraps a coarse hand around my bicep.
“We will find her, Rorin. We will bring home Obsidian’s queen–”
I wrench free of his grip, my lip curling. “WE CAN’T FIND HER IF NOBODY HAS FUCKING SEEN HER, BENNETT! SHE’S A GHOST IN THE BLEEDING FUCKING WIND.” I shout, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I catch my breath. Bennett looks like I’ve struck him, clearing his throat and trying to recover his stunned expression. My head hangs forward, looking down at the shriveled man, “get him out of here, Ben.”
“Wha–what?”
“Get him out of here. Before I change my mind.”
I spent that night and the subsequent nights that followed out in the hallway, not feeling up to talking with anyone. Interrogations were disappointing and exhausting, often ending with me storming out to keep my new promise of being subtle.
Each person we speak to says the same two things: “I’ve seen him erratic in a few taverns and popular brothels,” or “there has been an unusual man lurking after dark in the bazaars, arguing with shopkeepers as they close up.”
It’s been almost a week, and I’m no closer to bringing her home. No closer to making her safe.
Gods, please be safe, Nightmare. I plead out into the empty night air.
I figured out on the second night here that there was a rusted window at the end of the hall, and if I pushed and pried hard enough, I could get it open. There’s a wide enough ledge outside of it for me to sit on and take refuge.
The warm air coasts across my skin, and I tuck my chin on top of my knees, watching the busy night below me die down.
CREAAKKK!
“Ah! Shit!”
The metal roof shakes, and from my peripheral vision, I see Millie seat herself next to me. She pulls her knees up to match mine, her green eyes and loose golden blonde hair gleam in the moonlight, but her usual soft expression is stern. “She’s going to be different.”
“I know.”
