My nails dig into the scratchy guard uniform, yet they do not relieve me of the constant itch.
"Why couldn't Ahmya do this?" I ask Bayou for the millionth time, and his cold gaze slides to mine.
I shiver. "Ahmya has another job," He turns back around to the museum we will infiltrate today. "Now go in there and whine to the guards. Distract them." He pivots as he starts to walk away, his footsteps mingling with the patter of rodents, and the shadows encasing him ripple. "Omnia sol caderet, et luna corruet."
The saying the Grand Revolt uses on missions, for luck. For hope. "Every sun must fall, and every moon must tumble."
I nod my head, breathing deeply before walking up to the guard's entrance of the Dead Quarters.
Knocking once, I straighten and put on an easy, cooling smile. Nobody truly knows what I am, half-tree, most likely. But how that would work? I was condemned into the prison I now guard, so I am by no means unused to sitting outside or distracting another guard to make sure the Grand Revolt has time to meet. And nobody here will question why somebody from Imbolc Island would be accepted as a guard, after-all, I look as if I was not even born on any of our 7 continents. Especially Imbolc, the privileged ones.
A Bubak female with her lips sewn shut opens the door, and sneers up at me. But then her face morphs into blank curiosity.
"I am Brishen," I was supposed to get a new name, a cover, but it is not like we are going to stay here after all of this.
Her hand unravels to produce a folded piece of stained parchment, and the charcoal she pulls out of her hair sounds almost scratchy as it presses against it.
'Drystan', she holds out the paper to me.
I nod. Weird. "Where are the rest of the guards?" I ask, a smile plastered on my bark covered skin.
I swear I see her cut and torn lips tilt up as she scribbles on her parchment.
"They swore they were just going to quickly get a drink," She rolls her eyes as I read the small sentence aloud. I crack a grin, feeling sap erupt along my bark. My hands start to shake, but I hide them behind my itchy, incorrigible outfit. Her brows furrow as they study me, and it makes me all the more uncomfortable.
Can she sense that I am not a real guard?
Can Bubaks do that? My history must be wrong.
THEY CAN SENSE WHEN ONE IS LYING!
Oh no, no, no, no. We are dead. We are so dead it is pathetic. My smile is shaking, and my hands are now also leaking sap as I press them together behind my back.
"You know," My voice wavers. "I got appointed for this position last week." Drystan cocks her head. "Yep, I did. They said it was awesome to finally have a new person..."
What if they just got a new person last week? Lie. She can sense lies.
"Well, not really, they just... I do not know, told me?" A hint of a smile appears on her lips, and I think it is saccharine. My trembling takes full effect now, and my knees buckle. The urge to get down and beg her, just to beg her not to turn us over.
Oh no. I am so dead.