❝𝑨𝒏𝒅, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕.❞
— 𝐏𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐄𝐋𝐇𝐎
꧁꧂
BARK!
Valé sharply turned right, nearly losing her footing as she stumbled into an alleyway.
On her way in, she dodged a large dumpster container, disturbing the business of flies that buzzed around the opening. Though she ran as fast as her legs carried her, every step was so sluggish, dragged and restrained. She was moving, but not moving.
BARK! BARK! BARK! Sprinting, Valé's fastidious customs had gone out the window, and she didn't think twice dashing through dirty puddles and piles of trash. She weaved in between trash cans, sidestepped large clusters of animal droppings, and stomped on what probably was a litter of rats. It was astounding how dirty the City had gotten in the past couple of years, particularly the center— gentrification had pushed tens of thousands inward. The alleyways' characteristic soap and linen fragrance had perished since then.
"Where'd she go?! Fucking hussy's faster than the fucking canines!" A brood of termites crunched under Valé's worn loafers as she stepped over what remained of a rotting wooden crate.
"I'll show that broad a thing or two once I get my hands on 'er!" Valé vaulted over an abandoned bookcase blocking her way. Quickly, she rubbed the dust and grime over her uniform to impair the canines' keen sense of smell. Approaching an intersection, she continued straight ahead, barreling past the neighboring passageways on her sides. Where this alley would lead her? Beyond her. The sun blocked by the enclosing buildings, orientating herself was useless. All she could do was hope she wasn't racing towards Altagracia, which had been completely gentrified years ago.
BARK! BARK! BARK!
It'd started during class. Despite her friends dropping out of school long ago, Valé had continued attending, partly on the wishes of her parents, former professors in a once renowned university. But she no longer engaged in classroom discussions like she had years ago—in fact, she suspected she wasn't even allowed to speak. She'd also stopped raising her hand when she needed help—her brothers would explain the material, if they remembered anything; they'd stopped showing up right away, choosing the backbreaking task of sowing and cultivating the Republic's shrinking food supply.
Maybe she should have joined them, too. "Right there, up ahead!"
Valé quickened her pace.
The terrain began to slope upward, a good sign for Valé—she was bound for San Mares, one of the City's centermost neighborhoods, not Altagracia as she'd feared. But the journey uphill was winding her, especially now that she'd been running for a while. Regardless, she braved the changing landscape, her stamina from years of dancing kicking in—the land would even soon, if she continued.
BARK! BARK! BARK!
Valé had always known her classmates despised her, and she'd expected so. She was supposed to be in the fields growing vegetables or working a sewing machine in a factory. Her presence alone was considered an intrusion. Receiving snide remarks and crude looks had become an ordinary thing entering her seventh year of schooling. And it'd be nothing more than that: snide remarks and crude looks. But for a while, Valé had a sneaking suspicion something else was being conspired—something broader, more perverse.
"Fucking mangy dogs are slowing down!" In her scope of sight, a half-empty bottle of alcohol glinted in the scarce illumination creeping in the alleyway. Passing by, she nabbed it and poured the booze on her shirt, staining the already soaking fabric. She flung the bottle behind her once she'd emptied it, and it shattered piercingly on the pavement.
"Someone toss a canister!" What her classmates had in stock for her, she could barely detail. But one of them had an older brother—a boy of good standing in the preparatory school, bound for graduation in the spring. She remembered him because he'd hollered at her on the way home from class weeks ago—seemed like age wasn't too much of a concern for him, not when she already resembled a grown woman. But what could she do? Remove her pituitary gland? Her changing physique was barely possible to hide under her uniform.
BARK! BARK! BARK!
Valé emerged from the alleyway and onto a main road, reeling from the sunlight attacking her eyes. Looking around, there were men in beige uniforms on every corner, but none of them had noticed her sudden entry. She crossed the road and skidded into a narrower, dingier alleyway.
"Check the alleyways! We got a truancy on our hands, a short, busty girl with a school uniform!" Shouting erupted on the main road, but no one entered the alley. Valé pressed herself to the wall. It was risky, stopping when the entire block had been alerted of her truancy, but she needed a minute. A minute to breathe, to process everything that'd happened so far.
"The dogs! They all got glass on their paws! Can't run for shit now!" A pang of remorse pounded her. Poor things, they'd been conditioned to chase after people like her, bred to scour and slay those who refused to comply. But had she not tossed that bottle back, she would have been their lunch, and Valé wasn't fond of being slobbered over.
Valé's calves cramped, nearly crippling her. Agonizing, of course, but the cramping was definitely better than what the upperclassman planned for her. An aching emptiness seized her stomach—Vale had to slip through the crowd to escape, leaving no time for a midday meal.
"Toss the canisters while we find us another dog! We're not in Altagracia or anything!" Valé unbuttoned her shirt, tearing the alcohol-drenched part and tying it around her mouth. She chucked what remained of her shirt on the ground; the newer dogs would hopefully fall for the decoy.
Valé continued down the alleyway. Sweat steadily dripped from her brow, sliding to her neck and pooling at her collarbone. What she'd heard was little—that the plan was scheduled for after school when she'd make the twenty-minute trek to her house alone—but enough to convince her she needed to go, and not just for the day: it'd be the last day she'd come to class.
Making a right, Valé was forced to screech to a halt, and her heart sank—three walls loomed around her, trapping her in like a rat. She cursed and spun back, wasting not a second. Glancing ahead, a fire escape hugged the side of a building. She kicked a random crate and jumped on top, not caring to check whether it was sturdy enough.
BARK! BARK! BARK!
They'd entered the alley.
Valé hastily ascended the steps of the fire escape, pushing through the impending sense of weariness threatening to crush her. Reaching the bottommost landing, the first canine materialized around the corner, joined by three more tailing behind. She rapidly started on the second flight of stairs.
"She's climbin' the fire escape!" The biggest dog—a slobbering Rottweiler—pawed at the first flight, snapping its jaws. Valé clambered up to the second landing when the platform shuddered—the men had grouped at the bottom of the fire escape, rattling the bars.
Her grip on the railing tightened, and she stayed close to the stairs.
"You're comin' down one way or another! You hear me?! You're comin' down!"
Why hadn't she dropped school when she had the chance? Why hadn't she heeded her cousins' warnings, still taking the same six a.m. route and slipping on the same ugly loafers just to hardly learn anything? Why? What was there to gain?
Climbing the third flight, Valé's footing slipped, and she barely gripped onto the railing in time—how tall was the building, six stories? If she reached the roof, she could find her way in, steal someone else's clothing, and if she found any, spritz some perfume on it—the tackier, the better. She'd hide out, and if anyone discovered her, she would gladly explain the situation to them—when the men in beige were involved, everyone understood.
But she was making it home for dinner. That was certain.
The landing of the fourth floor swayed, Valé stilling in her tracks. One more good shake and the fire escape was toppling for good. Now, more than ever, she needed to get to the roof. Valé inched closer to the stairs but was stopped in place when the landing shook again.
BANG!
Like a rug that'd been pulled from beneath her feet, the landing gave, tipping backward. Valé clutched onto the banister, her legs swinging in the air as she tried to ground herself again. In seconds, her arms began to burn, her upper body struggling to sustain her hold on the metal.
BANG! BANG!
Valé looped her arms through the bars of the banister, and she beheld what unraveled below. Their target dangling above them, the canines had grown vicious, snarling and baring their jagged, yellowed teeth. Her ponytail smacked at her face and pricked at her sweaty skin. Again, why? Everything had gone into disrepair when they'd come. So why had her first instinct been to climb a fucking fire escape? Had her now subpar education hindered her survival skills, too?
Why? Why, why, why?
"Step back—"
SNAP! The metal lurched downwards, and Valé's stomach dropped to her knees. With a final groan, the entire fire escape collapsed, and she plummeted. Plummeted towards the ground, towards the men in beige, towards the canines—
꧁꧂
Upon awakening, Valen was curled up in a shivering ball in her bed, her fingernails deeply embedded in her skin.
BARK! BARK! BARK! Valen's body locked, hardening to stone. No, the barking was all in her head, merely a hallucination produced by her withdrawal. The dogs had disappeared the second she'd awakened. It was all in her head. Just a stupid, damned dream—
BARK! BARK— Valen hissed under her breath as she sprang to the end of her bed, harshly yanking aside the curtain to find that she hadn't been hallucinating—a pack of wolves prowled the brush bordering the woods, the pups banding around the oldest members.
One of the pups arched its back and mustered a croaky howl, pointing its snout to the moon. "Fucking mutts," Valen grumbled, retreating to where she'd lay. Tossing the blanket over herself, she glued her eyes to the ceiling, even though all that existed was a deep, dark void.
She needed to mull over some things.
The barking faded in the background, swallowed by the dense vegetation. Her dream—or what she recalled—danced its way into her thoughts, a darkened, foggier version playing back to her. It was presented in spare, muddied chunks, flickering out at random—one moment she was tearing down an alleyway, cutting across a road in the next, and before she could absorb everything, she was plunging to the ground.
Breaking down the chunks, Valen dissected the things that struck her the most, starting with the setting: alleyways, alleyways, and... alleyways. She was running through alleyways, chased by a group of people. At first, Valen was tempted to dismiss the dream as a manifestation of a genuine fear she had as a teenager—being abducted by sex traffickers—but multiple discrepancies stood out to her. One, traffickers did not use dogs, not in dreams, not in reality, not ever—too loud, and would damage the 'product'. Second of all, they'd been operating in broad daylight. Every single dream she'd had about traffickers had taken place no sooner than sunset.
Lastly, traffickers wore darkly colored clothing; not beige.
Thinking about them closely, who were they? The uniforms looked nothing close to the tan jackets and olive green trench coats she'd seen on her colleagues. Perhaps her vision in her dreams had blurred? Hardly anything in a dream looked sharp. Still, it was the second time she'd seen them, and in the same uniforms, too. To Valen, nothing about that was coincidental.
The Science Behind Dreams.
Had the syringe remained hidden, Valen would have taken the book. Its name sounded corny—The Science Behind Dreams—but she desperately yearned for a solution to her sharp awakenings. How long could she endure them—the strange-looking, bleeding bird dropping from the sky, the hazardous fog wrapping around her neck, the explosions bursting her eardrums, the damned smell of gunpowder that even in consciousness ruined her nostrils? How long could she endure everything?
Valen shoved her hand under her pillow, grasping for her pocket watch. She crawled to the edge of her bed and held the timepiece in the moonlight, its metallic casing glinting brightly as she keenly read the hands: 12:37 a.m.
Snapping the pocket watch shut, Valen hugged her thighs to her chest. She'd said so herself—Hange would not be returning to base tomorrow—but after what'd happened minutes ago, Valen was unsure if she could face a couple nights more of the chaos, the visions.
A light flickered in Valen's head: if memory served her right, she owned a lockpick—she'd been given one when she was younger before she enlisted in the Cadet Corps. So if the door was locked, all she needed to do was to pick her way inside.
It should be rolled up in one of my turtlenecks. Piecing the plan together, everything was going swell—she had a route planned, lockpick at her disposal, and the laboratory mentally mapped. Despite the fact she'd just awakened from a night terror, she was feeling spry, waggling her fingertips. If she got her hands on the book, she could perhaps find the meaning behind her dreams and address their causes. Maybe there was a way to end this, right then and now, no sleeping pills involved.
A certain man barged into her thoughts.
He'd warned her. If he discovered her in the corridors again, she'd be punished, and the Captain was a man of his word. He'd only granted her the liberty of choosing her penalty solely because it'd been her first indiscretion. If he found her again, she'd be given laps, or even worse, stable duty. What excuse would she provide in the case she was exposed?
The key. Valen extended her hand to the nightstand, her fingers brushing up on the cold, corroded surface of a key. He'd given her the key to the medicine cabinet yesterday evening, when she'd had her 'incident' with the syringe. If Levi—or anyone else—encountered her in the corridors, she reserved the excuse she was going to the medicine cabinet.
Everything was coming together.
Valen peeled the bedding from her legs, sliding from her bed and allowing her soles to touch down on the stone. She buckled on a bra and braided her hair in the same style she sported every day, then buttoned on a clean shirt.
Nothing was stopping her now.
Valen turned the knob completely, soundlessly opening the door and slinking into the corridor. Like the first night she'd broken curfew, the castle was gloomy and perturbing, serene in its own strange way.
Valen toed to the stairway, located down the hallway to the right. She skulked down the third and second stories, shirking all the way to the ground level. Her memory guiding her, she nestled up to the wall and allowed the shadows to conceal her from any onlookers. In the dark, the castle appeared much larger than she recalled. Why did people construct such large buildings in the first place?
Rounding a corner, Hange's laboratory loomed in sight, Valen's eyes making out a dull outline of her doorframe through the darkness. The laboratory was unoccupied—not a flicker of light flowed from the slit between the door and the stone.
Valen held still and stopped breathing, listening sharply for anyone who roamed in the vicinity. Her only discovery was the soliloquy of a nightingale who'd snuck in the castle, giving her clearance. She crept to the door, readying her lockpick. She curved the knob and pulled, but the door stood firmly in place, only moving in its frame.
So it is locked. Using her lockpick and a pin she'd stashed in her breast pocket, she raked the lock, thrusting the pick back and forth until it clicked. Valen tried opening the door a second time, and it worked—it swung open. She stowed the lockpick in her waistband and pushed the door open, tiptoeing inside. The light pouring in through the laboratory's single, dirty window lent her minimal, but much-needed help navigating the space.
Valen stretched a hand, feeling for a countertop. Glass crumbled under her shoes—Hange had probably dropped one of her tools earlier. Exploring the laboratory, the hundreds of papers cluttering the linoleum reduced her traction—perhaps that's why there was glass all over the place.
If I can find this book... Her fingers graced a wooden, grooved countertop. Valen pulled herself toward the counter and cautiously hovered her fingers over its bearings—a large, glass beaker, a sticky jug, and... flowers? Very nice smelling ones.
But where could she find the book?
Valen moved to a neighboring counter, paper rustling under her shoes. She repeated her process, stretching her arms across the wasteland blanketing her countertops until her finger brushed up on something familiar.
Parchment. Valen scooted over, following her instincts, and her hand came down on a textured, stiff material. Her finger traced its embroidered lettering, roughly distinguishing the letters printed on its waxed paper covering.
The Science Behind Dreams. Having gotten what she wanted, Valen stealthily made her way through the laboratory, locking the door as she exited. She hugged the book close as she scanned the corridor.
Nothing in sight.
Valen resumed the journey to her quarters, her shoulder grazing the stone wall she leaned on. It was surprisingly easy, nabbing the book from Hange's laboratory. Of course, she'd return it eventually—it was only the right thing—but for now, she'd care for it tenderly, wrap its paper-bound body in her shirts until she gleaned every drop of information from its pages.
STEP. STEP. STEP. Back to the wall, Valen side-eyed an intersection up ahead. Though she'd yet to see them, she instantly secerned their identity by sound alone. There was something so unmistakably leaden in the way they resounded, echoed across the corridor.
But tonight, she'd emerge victorious.
A lantern's glow blossomed along the walls, growing larger and larger until Valen was only steps from entering its range. Instead of hiding away, she continued walking, even assuming her daylight saunter.
Valen finally stepped in the light, meeting the gray-blue eyes she so agonizingly despised. "Again?" Levi questioned, displeased. The illumination from the lantern magnified his disapproval, enunciating the lines on his forehead.
Valen dangled the key. "I was feeling unwell."
"I see then..." His focus drifted downward. "And why do you have a book on your person?"
"Oh, this?" Valen said, unfurling the book from her arm. "It must be Hange's. It was lying around in a corner."
Levi sighed. "Hange's always leaving her shit around." He waved behind him. "Come on. There's something I'd like to discuss."
Valen blinked—why the sudden invitation? Had he picked up on her ulterior motives? Regardless, she nodded to ease any roused suspicion. "Right."
"Down this way." In silence, she followed the man, winding down a corridor until arriving at the stairwell she'd descended from. She purposely stayed far behind him, hovering on the edge of the lantern's domain. Already, Valen discerned something was strange about his demeanor—upon seeing the key in her hand, he would have released her, allowed her to go in peace.
Whatever was brewing, she hoped he'd abide by common sense.
Ascending the third flight, they entered another corridor, this one completely shrouded in darkness. A sense of familiarity rushed to Valen—it's where Levi had confiscated her switchblade.
Maybe he's going to return my switchblade?
She could only hope.
Levi quietly opened a door and walked in, leaving it ajar so she could slip inside. As Valen closed the door, he circled his desk, smoothly setting the lantern on the corner. "What'd you summon me for?" Valen demanded.
"Easy. I have no plans on scolding you, for tonight, anyway," Levi responded, dampening her exasperation. "I was only wondering why Hange dragged you in her laboratory earlier."
"You're astoundingly nosy."
"If I'm asking you what happened, it's because Hange is—"
"Absolutely deranged? Evidently so. But there's something else on my mind." Valen crossed her arms. "Just because I am not doing anything in particular does not mean I'm available."
"Correct. However, you're forgetting we forged a truce." Valen loured as he slid his pen in his fingers. "Though you have improved your interpersonal relations, Hange was the only person you hadn't spoken to since your reassignment. This was my way of enforcing our truce."
"Enforcing our truce?" Valen plopped her book aside on an armchair, the same one she'd fallen asleep in. "I was avoiding Hange for a reason. You did this to punish me."
"And if it was?" Levi questioned. "As much as I appreciated your help, falling asleep before finishing your work does not qualify as punishment. You had no business wandering in the corridors after curfew, much less with a weapon on your person."
"It's for protection."
"From what? Rodents?" Levi pushed aside a stack of papers. "Don't misunderstand me. I don't like being unarmed, either. But nobody in this castle is conspiring to cause you harm."
"Never did I accuse anyone of conspiring to cause me harm."
"Then?"
"You of all people should understand."
Vexation scored his forehead. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he snarled.
"You're a grown man. You can figure this on your own."
"I..." He chuckled gravely. "You surpassed all your peers in hand-to-hand combat training but you're scared—"
"You misunderstood me," Valen quickly refuted. "I am not scared of anything."
"Everyone says they're not scared of anything," Levi responded, partially humorous. " He fixed his eyes on her. "But deep down, we're all truly scared of something. It's only natural."
Valen scowled. "What are you implying?"
"Oh, I'm not implying anything." He leaned over his desk—his smell of clean linen dazed her, nearly placing her in a trance. "But maybe you should examine yourself closely before making such a bold statement."
"And you?" Valen challenged, propping her elbow on his desk. "Are you scared of anything?"
"Of course I am. What? Did you think I was going to assume the same cocky bravado?" Solemnity glazed over his expression.
"There's a lot of things that scare me. Too many. But I don't allow it to consume me."
"As you should. You're Humanity's Strongest."
Levi looked to her, not in annoyance but more so dismay. "Being Humanity's Strongest doesn't mean anything when you see your comrades get eaten alive every month. You might think your strength spares you from your suffering, but it doesn't. If anything, you're just burdened by the responsibility of carrying out their dying wishes."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I've seen soldiers of all calibers come back in body bags. Even those who graduated at the top of their class as Cadets," Levi answered. "Don't allow your pride to blind you. The moment the Wall's behind us, everyone's fair game. Including the strongest."
Valen opened her mouth, but ultimately reserved her manifesto for a later occasion. The conversation had grown emotional, far too emotional for her liking. What was she supposed to say? I'm sorry, I should have said I'm scared of mouse droppings? Perhaps he could afford to be overemotional.
She, on the other hand, could not.
Unexpectedly, Levi dipped under the desk before surfacing again, prudently slamming a green, slender bottle of liquor beside his pile of paperwork. He plunged again and produced a second object—a small glass cup.
Levi popped the cork from the neck. "You're drinking," Valen commented.
His eyes floated upward to hers, bored. "And?"
"You're a Captain."
"Gives me all the more reason. You being around doesn't necessarily help things." Valen's nose wrinkled as he poured himself a glass, the biting stench of alcohol invading her nostrils—by the smell alone, she discerned how disgustingly cheap it was. "Would you like a glass?"
"I abstain from alcohol."
"I assumed so." Levi capped the bottle and stowed it in his drawer. "I won't judge you too harshly. If anything, it's for the best you abstain. Liquor doesn't do your liver any good."
"Then why are you drinking?"
"That doesn't concern you. Why do you spend so much time in the woods?"
Valen slung him a perplexed look. "And what does me being in the woods have anything to do with the fact you're poisoning yourself with cheap fifty-proof liquor?"
A slight smirk formed on his features. "Are you concerned for me?"
Valen's ears reddened and her stomach flipped. "I am not concerned for you in the slightest. You can drown in liquor for all I care," she spat. "But if I joined the Scout Regiment, it was because I wanted to be led by soldiers, not drunkards wearing uniforms."
"Right..." Levi drawled, staring at the golden liquid. "So, I'm assuming you're not giving me an answer."
"And why should I give you an answer?" Valen questioned. "I'm twenty-one. What I do in the woods is none of your business."
"There are bears, wolves... people."
Valen less than appreciated his snide joke. "I'd be more worried for the person. What do I look like, being stabbed in the woods..." Something resembling a laugh escaped her lips. "I pray for the bastard who creeps up on me."
"I would, too. You're intolerable enough in normal situations." Valen glowered as he took a nice, long sip from his cup. "Personally, I don't know what you find so interesting about all those trees."
"Of course you don't. You're cooped up inside all day, doing paperwork," Valen remarked. "I'd be surprised if you've even touched a piece of bark before."
Levi curled his lips. "Are you suggesting I abandon my duties entirely?"
"No, but maybe you should consider doing something else in your spare time," Valen said. "Something other than depleting the Scouts' tea supply."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Going for a walk. Climbing a tree. Anything." Valen swung her legs over the armrest. "You could even go for a swim."
"Where am I supposed to swim? In the stream?" He swigged from his glass. "The water barely reaches my ankles. And I'm not trying to get beheaded by a rock."
"You imbecile, of course you don't swim in a stream," Valen lipped. "There's a spring. A natural one, big enough to swim in."
"I'm going to ignore the fact you just called me an imbecile," Levi said, wry. "There's no way there's a spring around. That's the reason we moved HQ. Because there wasn't a source of water nearby."
"Never said it was big enough to sustain a whole branch of soldiers," Valen clarified, swinging her legs back down. "Five minutes southeast from the castle, in a small clearing. The stream crosses right through. What? Do you need me to guide you there myself?"
"No, no, I believe you," Levi said, unusually passive. "How deep is the spring?"
"It's up to my collarbone. There's no fish, strangely." All the conversation surrounding the spring spurred her urge to swing by and go for a swim. After all, she hadn't bathed—by the time she'd finished cleaning the toilet, she'd been too worn out to go anywhere. But it was what, one in the morning? As brave as she was, meandering in the woods at this time would be imprudent of her—the trees practically swallowed light. "It's lovely."
"Lovely? That's a strange word, coming from you." He gulped down the remainder of his glass but made no move to finish his paperwork. Instead, he opened his drawer, once again exhibiting his liquor bottle.
"Stop drinking," Valen scolded.
"Make me," Levi countered, pouring more liquor into his glass. Valen strode over and wrenched the glass from his hands. "What in the Goddamn hell do you think you're doing?"
"What I should have done the first time." Valen opened the window and dumped the glass' contents, firmly shaking the cup until every last drop had fallen to the ground. She sauntered back, empty glass in hand, and slid the cup back toward him. "Much better."
Levi bowed an eyebrow. "You do realize I still have three-quarters of a bottle?"
"Three quarters more I can dump," Valen retorted. Levi rolled his eyes. "Is there anything I can do to convince you to stop drinking?"
"You can start by going back to your quarters and leaving me alone. You're getting on my nerves..." His eyes strayed from the glass. "Or do you have any other suggestions?"
"Go outside and touch some grass. Perhaps that will make you more tolerable," Valen remarked. "Dunking your head in the spring could work."
"Dunking my head in the spring... that sounds nice." He lowered the bottle. "How far did you say it was?"
"Around five minutes," She cocked her head. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I think I might just go for a swim." Levi stood and flicked the lantern. "There should be enough oil to keep this going for an hour."
Valen regarded him quizzically. "And how do you plan on getting there?"
"You gave me directions. Five minutes southeast," he answered matter-of-factly. He stayed quiet before speaking again. "Maybe you should come along."
Valen made a face. "And why should I come along?"
"After that whole fiasco earlier in the cellar, some fresh air might do you good. Of course, that's all up to you, whether you want to come along or not." Valen tapped her fingers on her thighs. "So? What do you say?"
Valen chewed her lip, contemplating. She still considered trekking in the woods at dusk dangerous—that was the simple truth of things—but if something were to happen, Levi would be there to lend a hand.
Soaking in the spring could do her good.
As much as she loathed his existence, perhaps tonight she could pretend to tolerate him. "Alright," Valen said. "I'll come along."