Colorless

40 - Blood Lines

It was just a glimpse. A split second and a flash of pink hair in the night. There was no reason to think it was her. No reason to believe that she'd survived. Kin had killed her himself. He'd lived with the guilt and memory of that night for ten years. It wasn't possible that it was her.

Kin slowed to a walk. It wasn't possible, he reminded himself. He shouldn't be chasing shadows. He had to go back for Cyran.

Just when Kin had almost convinced himself to leave, he saw her again. She sprinted from behind a nearby cart, darting across the street and between two houses. Under the streetlights, her hair was an unmistakable shade of dark pink.

Kin chest squeezed, his breath caught in his throat. Again, he was overcome with familiarity. It was her. It was impossible and insane, but it was her. He was certain of it without any reason to be.

His ribs ached and his ankle had yet to heal properly—and wouldn't if he didn't let himself rest—but Kin kept his pace. He followed the sound of her footsteps and the flash of her hair around each corner.

And then she was gone.

He stopped at the intersection of two roads on the edge of town. The wall loomed above him to his left, and each diverging road was silent and still. He hadn't seen which way she'd gone. Maybe, after almost killing Nell, he was hallucinating. It was similar to that night, holding Meira's limp body before the altar, feeling broken and alone. Maybe he'd just imagined her.

Each twist of his body brought sharp pain to his side, but he continued looking, searching for any hint of her.

A curtain fluttered. Or maybe it didn't. Kin squinted at the dark window, but there were no other signs of life.

Hallucinations, Kin thought, but his body didn't listen to the skeptical part of his mind. His padded steps made no sound, and he kept his body low.

There were a couple of blades in his pocket that he'd refused to go without. He brushed their handles with his fingertips until he found the one that he wanted.

The door had no lock. Or if it did, she'd avoided locking it for fear of the sound it would make. Kin stepped inside, aware as he did that he might be intruding on an innocent person's home. He tucked the blade up his sleeve.

She was waiting for him, across the other side of the first floor. A small table separated them.

Meira smiled. Her heart-shaped face was bright and full of life and changed only slightly by age and time. And his heart jumped in its chest as it always did at the sight of her smile. "Kin."

He mirrored her expression. The blade was cold against his arm. "Meira. Aren't you dead?"

"No. The boy who tried to kill me missed my heart." Her tone was light, almost laughing, her smile easy. She moved toward him like she wanted to embrace him. "I don't think you wanted to kill me. I think you missed on purpose."

"You're probably right."

"I've missed you."

"All the time." He held his arms out to her once she was close enough. Metal slipped from his sleeve, and a bit of magic plunged it into her chest.

She stumbled. A knife fell from her hand. "You're faster," she gasped.

Kin caught her before she fell. Once again, the blade hadn't pierced her heart. He guided her to the floor and held her in his arms.

Meira tried to lift her hand, but her arm was weak. Her gaze fell on the knife in her abdomen. "Poison?" she asked.

Black blood soaked the front of her dress. "It will be a painful death," he said. His tongue was heavy in his mouth. "I can finish it if you'd like."