9.2 || In The Silence

62 10 84
                                    

It's bright outside. Throwing up a hand to shield my eyes, I twist sideways, boots skidding on loose dirt, only for my shoulder to knock into the corner of a wall. The scrape stings. With a hiss, I duck around the wall and keep moving. I was expecting a straight street, a line of houses lining each side, but instead it's a chaotic maze of slanted lines and angles, a jumble of mismatched buildings that barely resemble a functional street. The next house looms in at my right, and I dive behind it, pushing on until Edrali's house is no longer in view and my spine presses up against rough wood.

Gasping for breath, I squeeze my eyes shut, a sick feeling constricting my throat. I should go back. And yet I can't bring myself to do anything other than hide, shivering into myself, and pray that Edrali won't follow.

I'm not sure I could even pick the right path back if I tried. Dizzied confusion shapes all I see, blurring any clarity. Edrali called this my home, and yet I'm lost already, spiralling into a twisting kind of dread. It's stupid. I feared everyone here would hate me, and yet upon finding someone willing to forgive me, all I can do is hate him back. It's wrong.

I shouldn't hate him. I don't hate him. Yet my veins still hiss with subdued heat as if urging me to fight. As if I need to destroy his kindness rather than let it touch me.

Destroy. My laugh is dry and breathless, my whisper resonating far louder in my chest. "Why should anyone forgive you?"

Pushing my heels into the dirt in an attempt to ground myself, I rub a hand over my face, trying to ignore the way my cold, gloved fingertips catch on the ridge of my scar. I need to find Fiesi. I need him to be something familiar to cling to while I steady my thoughts. And I need to know he's okay.

I turn to the side and manage a single step before I freeze again.

Jaci's face pokes around the edge of the house. On instinct, I stumble back, but she is swifter, her palm brushing over my cuff before she locks my wrist in a tight grip. Nerves flutter through her expression, not dissimilar to the tangled chaos tied in my stomach, but determination hardens her gaze. She lifts her other hand.

The pale, frosty letters written there make me wince. "I still can't read."

She doesn't protest, retracting the hand immediately. Her shrug conveys something like well, it was worth a shot. Before I can say anything more, she turns, my wrist dragged along with the movement, and marches around the corner. A yelp trips off my tongue. Bracing myself, I yank in the opposite direction, though to no avail. Her grip is fiery. Or perhaps icy is more appropriate; I'm sure frost pricks at the skin beneath my sleeve, as if her magic glues her fingers in position. I'm forced to follow. If I fight much more, my feet will slide from under me, and I'd rather she didn't resort to dragging me across the dirt.

Still, fear clamps down just as fiercely. My heart races. As we rejoin what I presume is the main path, despite its irregular shape, I toss a hesitant glance over my shoulder. It lengthens when I catch sight of Edrali's house.

His eyes lock with mine immediately. He leans on the open door, a nervous air of his own shifting his stance. He offers a flickering smile.

I return it, though mine is tight with apology. Maybe I should call to him, yet the words are silt in my lungs, impossible to scrape out. Why can't I trust him? It used to be so much easier to accept help. Now it seems far more instinctive to flinch away from it, to find some dark corner to hide in alone.

Pushing my legs to move quicker, I hurry to Jaci's side, searching the side of her face. "I'm sorry. You can let go."

She doesn't grant me a look.

"I'll follow," I try again. "I won't run."

A brief, side-eyed glance. She raises an eyebrow.

"I won't!" I muster all the sincerity I can, but she shows no sign of loosening her grip. Swallowing, I lift my gaze to the jumbled line of houses up ahead. Even their construction is more chaotic than that of Cormé -- they're smaller, with irregular panels of wood stuck together in rows to form boxes of vastly varying shapes. Most are splashed with some kind of colour. I steal another glance at Jaci. "Where are you taking me?"

A Deadly BiteWhere stories live. Discover now