She hissed in pain as the man grabbed her hair, dragging her upright. Before he could strike again, she drove her knee hard into his groin. He groaned and released her instantly. She grabbed his head, slammed his face against the ground once, then twice until he stopped moving.
Her chest heaved as her knuckles throbbed. Her breath came ragged and erratic.
The second man didn’t wait; he turned and ran.
Mirela exhaled sharply, touching her cheek again. It stung. Her temple pulsed. She turned at the lightest touch on her back, ready to strike again until she came face to face with worried emerald eyes.
“Claire,” she whispered, standing up, towering over her.
With wide terrified eyes and trembling hands, Claire pulled her away from the body on the ground and into another narrow alley.
Claire caught Mirela’s wrists with shaking fingers and pulled her hands away from her face. “Are you alright?”
Mirela frowned. “I should be the one asking you that. What happened? What were they doing?”
Claire shook her head and swallowed. “They tried to rob me. One came first, then another. They kept asking if I had anything on me, and when they realized I didn’t…” Her voice broke. She looked at Mirela’s face, her eyes narrowing on a specific spot. A sob escaped her as she threw her arms around Mirela’s waist and pressed her face into her shoulder.
Mirela froze, her aching hands unable to move as she looked at Claire. She could only see the top of her head as the other woman clung to her. The warmth of her body pressed so close was… otherworldly. She had never imagined she would feel her this near, let alone in an embrace.
Swallowing the sudden urge to sob, Mirela slowly wrapped her arms around Claire’s shoulders and pressed her uninjured cheek against the top of her head, holding her tighter against her taller frame. They said nothing, simply held each other.
Claire was the first to pull away. Mirela almost reached for her again, desperate to hold on, to linger in that fragile warmth she had been starved of for years. But before she could, Claire caught her wrist and tugged gently.
“We have to get out of here,” she said, guiding her out of the alley and onto another street.
Mirela looked around, her breath catching. The shops were closing, the lamps dimming, people walking quietly to their homes. None of them stared. None of them whispered.
One man bowed his head as they passed. A woman carrying a child brushed against Mirela’s arm, offered a quick smile and an apology, and kept walking.
No one looked at her with disgust. No one recoiled. No one cared. Not a single person treated her as Ferron had always warned her. Her chest tightened with a need to scream, but Claire was touching her and holding her hand; there was no need for that now.
Claire stopped before a large wooden door, pushed it open, and stepped inside before turning back. “Come,” she breathed.
Mirela hesitated only a moment before following. Once she was in, Claire closed the door behind them and led her through a narrow corridor until they reached a small, dimly lit washroom. The air smelled faintly of soap and damp stone. A wooden basin sat in one corner, a pitcher beside it, and a mirror cracked down the middle hung crooked on the wall.
“Sit,” Claire whispered, pointing to a stool beside the basin.
Mirela obeyed. Her body ached, her cheek throbbed, and she had no idea where they were. But she was with Claire, and she wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her, so she sat down without protest, the wooden stool creaking beneath her weight.
Claire glanced down at her and smiled softly. “You’re taller than I thought.”
Mirela huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t get to be near a lot of people.”
“Right,” Claire murmured.
She struck a match, lighting one candle, then another. The flickering glow painted the stone walls gold. Mirela’s heart pounded as the light reached Claire’s face, showing her dark hair loose now and eyes glinting like emerald glass.
When Claire turned back to her, she reached out, fingertips tracing along Mirela’s cheek. The touch was so gentle that Mirela almost flinched. Claire’s fingers paused over the wound where the man’s fist had struck.
For a moment, Mirela felt completely bare and exposed beneath that gaze. Shame prickled up her spine, and she began to pull away, but Claire’s hand steadied her.
“Don’t,” Claire whispered. “Let me see you.”
Mirela froze, her breath shallow. She looked up into those green eyes, and the world narrowed until there was nothing left but the sound of their breathing.
Her heart stuttered. Relief flooded her because Claire was safe, because she was here, because somehow, with her near, the outside world didn’t feel dangerous anymore.
Claire’s hand moved again, brushing a stray strand of red hair from Mirela’s face. Her gaze softened as she studied every scar, every shadow. Then she turned, picking up a cloth from beside the basin, dipping it into the cool water before wringing it out.
