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angstylittleguy · 1 year ago

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Dalton's Drawings

An important bonding opportunity for Bennett and Dalton, though neither leave feeling any better.

tw: mentions of suicide

character context: Dalton is a size-shifter whose height is affected by his emotions. Bennett frequently gets stuck in time loops and the only way to get the loop to end is for him to survive the day.

word count: 2.5k

-> In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong masterpost link: Here

-> character introductions and moodboards: Here

Bennett stalked down the hallway, humming lightly to himself as he pulled his Air Pods from his ears and shoved them in his hoodie pocket, the music ceasing suddenly. He knocked on Dalton's closed door. "Yo, Dalton. You ready to go, man?"

When no response came, Bennett creaked open the door, peeking his head in. "Hey man, are you in here?"

The silence lingered as Bennett scanned the room. Dalton's bed was unmade, something that he never allowed to happen. The guy was a neat freak, never wanting anything in his space to be out of place. It made Bennett quirk a brow for sure. The second red flag was that Dalton's phone was laying on the floor, screen faced up and still playing music from the earbuds that were attached by a thin white cord. Next to it, a fancy crayon that had been snapped in half from the impact of it hitting the hardwood floor.

Bennett stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "Dalton?" He called, his voice much lower now. He picked up the phone and paused the music, placing it on Dalton's desk.

"Are you...?" Bennett got on his knees and peered under the bed. "Ah."

In the far corner of the room, pressed against the wall and almost totally concealed by the shadows of the bed, was Dalton, about the size of Bennett's hand.

Dalton glanced up miserably at Bennett, his heart pounding in his chest because of the massive eyes watching his pitiful form. He buried his head in his knees.

"Hey," Bennett murmured, trying to keep his voice low because he knew how much loud sounds affected him at this size. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, you know." The brunette dryly laughed, his voice betraying the humor he was attempting. "The usual."

Dalton tried to make a joke to lighten the mood, to make the fact that his friend found him sulking under his bed the size of a bug less pathetic, but it didn't help any.

"You're pretty small, did something happen?"

Bennett was aware of Dalton's abilities, they all were. But they didn't see it often— not the extremes, anyway— Dalton would always hide away in his room until the size-changing spell ended. They all knew he hated his abilities, just as much as Bennett hated his. Dalton found it humiliating, and they all agreed to give him privacy when things like this happened. It always felt wrong to Bennett to leave him be when he was going through one of his spells, however. They occurred because of how he was feeling, and to leave him alone felt like Bennett was abandoning him. Maybe when he needed them most.

When Dalton was this small, it meant he had a lot on his mind.

"Just thinking," Dalton said, his voice so small that Bennett had to strain to hear him.

Bennett laid down on his stomach, resting his chin on his folded arms as to not tower over Dalton as much as he could. It had to be frightening to just see a giant head watching him from a crack under the bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He already knew the answer, but he figured he might as well ask anyway.

Dalton shook his head. "Not really."

Bennett extended a careful hand, outstretching his arm across the length of the bed so that it almost brushed against Dalton's tiny form that seemed to shift deeper into the shadows. "Do you wanna come out? We can watch a movie or something until you're feeling better?"

He looked at Bennett's hand, it larger than life itself and he so impossibly small. Dalton was on high alert, worried that with one twitch of Bennett’s fingers he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from scurrying down the length of the wall and disappearing into the darkness.

"Listen, dude." Bennett interrupted his inner monologue with a frown. "It's totally okay to be scared right now. Hell, I would be freaking the fuck out if I were you. But you don't have to do anything you don't want to. We can stay in here and hang out, or I can go, you just say the word."

Dalton wiped frustratingly at his eyes, tearing his gaze away from Bennett's hand to look at him. "You don't have to go," he said numbly. "Can we just... stay like this?"

"Of course, man. I don't wanna do anything to make you uncomfortable."

He pulled his hand back to rest under his chin, causing Dalton to flinch with the unexpected movement. Bennett tilted his head to the side with a sad smile, watching his tiny friend wipe at his eyes as his ears flushed red.

"Ugh, this is so embarrassing." Dalton pulled down the beanie he wore so it covered his ears and nearly his eyes. "I hate this so much."

Bennett chose not to speak, and so Dalton continued. "I'm not scared of you, for the record. Just... uneasy, is all."

"That's totally fair, bro. It would we weird if you weren't."

Bennett tried to shift again, adjusting his position on the floor as Dalton watched him with a careful gaze. Finally, he pressed himself up into a sitting position with his hands, Dalton's vision no longer filled with Bennett's face, but rather his legs. He felt his heartbeat increase as the wooden floor creaked beneath the shift in weight.

"Sorry," Bennett chuckled, his voice now coming from high up and out of sight. "Uncomfortable on your hard ass floor."

He sat with his back against the bed now, his legs outstretched on the floor and facing the closed door. Dalton swallowed the lump in his throat as he forced himself to a stand, his entire body trembling as he walked out of the shadows on shaky legs.

(It’s fine. This is Bennett. You trust Bennett. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.)

Dalton bit the inside of his cheek.

(Not on purpose, at least.)

He paused just at the edge of Bennett's line of vision, staring up at his friend's mop of messy blond hair from his position on the floor. He was fidgeting with his hands, opening his mouth to say something but being unable to find the words.

From Dalton's perspective, Bennett was colossal. He was a massive force that could do with him as he pleased and there would be nothing Dalton could do until he managed to shift back to his normal size. And even with this major power imbalance, Bennett was patient and trying his best to look out for Dalton, never doing something that he wouldn't want him to.

Dalton walked out from under the bed, doing his best to mask his uneasiness. "Tell me about it," he said, voice slightly wavering. "I've been stuck down here for the past two hours."

Bennett's eyes widened and he quickly snapped his gaze down to Dalton, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin from the movement. "You've been like this for two hours?"

Dalton nodded sheepishly, craning his neck to meet his eyes.

"Dude, I'm so sorry. If I had known I would have come to check on you sooner."

"Ah, no it's okay." Dalton waved his hands in front of him awkwardly as if he were swatting away the idea. "It's better this way, anyway."

Bennett's frown never shifted from his expression, but his eyes softened just enough for Dalton to notice.

Dalton looked down at his feet.

"So," Bennett said, but his voice trailed off and he never finished his thought aloud. His gaze shifted to Dalton's desk, and he was able to see whatever he was working on from his spot on the floor.

"May I?" He asked Dalton, finger pointed at the desk.

Dalton shrugged, and Bennett shifted a little to grab the unfinished drawing.

It was of Meiling, her smiling complexion colored with oil pastels that showed off her warm skin tone. Half of her shoulder-length black hair was colored as well, but the color abruptly ends and a single black line trails to the edge of the paper, even staining the desk as it was dragged towards the floor.

"This is really good, dude," Bennett told Dalton, looking down at his small form that watched him examine the drawing with cautious eyes.

"But," Bennett said, "I don't think she's into guys."

Dalton flushed red. "Ah! No! That's not why I was drawing her!"

"Dude, it's okay. I'm not judging. I just wanted to tell you you probably don't have a chance with her before you get your hopes up."

Dalton buried his face in his hands and threw his head back. "Noooooo, it's not like that! I just— inspiration struck, okay?"

"Yeah, man. I get it, she's pretty—"

"Oh my god, Bennett. No. Okay, look in my sketchbook at one of the last few pages."

Bennett stood, his height making Dalton dizzy. He stepped closer to the desk, running a finger along the rows of sketchbooks that lined the shelf. "Which one is it?"

"The black one."

"Like, ninety percent of them are black."

Dalton groaned. "Just— put me on the desk."

Bennett's head whipped downwards to stare at Dalton who stood uncomfortably close to his socked feet. "What?"

"Put me on the desk."

"You want me to put you...?"

"On the desk, yes."

"You want me to pick you up and—?"

"And put me on the desk."

"You want me to—?"

"OhmygodBennettjustdoitalready."

Bennett awkwardly squatted, laying his hand flat on the floor next to where Dalton stood. The brunette stared at it for a moment, before glancing up at Bennett's lingering gaze, and climbing on.

The moment Bennett's hand was in motion, Dalton fell to his knees, the uncomfortable feeling of skin surrounding him. He held on to Bennett's thumb for balance, knowing that a fall from this height would surely kill him.

Dalton was deposited on the desk in a matter of seconds, but his legs were weak as he struggled to force himself to a stand.

He trekked across the wooden surface, stopping when he reached the markings from the oil pastel that he was using when he shrunk. He rubbed at it, staining his hands black as he tried to wipe away the marking. Dalton pointed up at the shelf with a newly black finger. "It's that one."

Bennett grabbed the sketchbook, laying it down next to Dalton as he wiped his hands on his pants.

He flipped through the pages, finally landing on a self-portrait in the same oil pastels.

"What do you notice about mine compared to hers?"

Bennett hummed as he stared at the two drawings. "Well, one is obviously of you…"

"Yes, that's true. But what about our faces?"

"You have pale, pasty skin?"

Dalton pressed a hand to his cheek. "No, dumbass. She's smiling."

Bennett looked back to the drawings, seeing the one of Dalton expressing a deep frown, with the most defeated eyes Bennett had ever seen on a person. His face was somewhat red, especially around the eyes and the tip of his nose as if he had been crying just moments before. Compared to the drawing of Meiling, whose eyes were bright and full of life, her smile brighter than lightning, Dalton's self-portrait was depressing.

"Why... why did you draw them like this?"

The brunette blew air out of his nose, glancing down at his feet before looking back up at Bennett's massive form. "I'm sure you've noticed it too," he said, peeking over his shoulder to the drawing of Meiling that laid idly on the desk. Her smile seemed just as big as he was right now. "She's always so... happy."

Bennett cocked his head sideways. "And you're not?"

"How can I be?"

Dalton threw his hands up miserably, gesturing to himself. "I mean, just look at me. I am four inches tall right now. And for what? Because I'm a little sad? I'm a little sad all the time, so this is just my life now! And Meiling? She didn't get stuck with some shitty superpower that affects her everyday life. She's never been happier, and I'm—"

"Jealous?" Bennett finished for him.

"Yeah. I'm jealous."

Dalton sat down on the desk, propping his chin up in his hand. "I used to draw as a way to express how I'm feeling. It normally helps— or it used to— didn't matter if I was sad or angry or happy or whatever. But I can't do that anymore, because, well..."

He gestured half-heartedly to himself again, frown coating his lips. "I guess you wouldn't get it, though. You got pretty lucky—”

"Lucky?" Bennett almost laughed, shifting his position so he stood on his knees and rested his folded arms on top of the desk next to Dalton. "I would not describe my situation as lucky."

Dalton's expression seemed to say, 'then what?' so Bennett continued. "I would describe it as 'The Fucking Worst.' Do you understand how many times I've died? Like, actually, physically died? More than I would have wanted, which means more than once."

Bennett talked with his hands, and with each wild gesture thrown in Dalton's direction, he flinched, debating standing up and moving back further on the desk. If Bennett noticed, he didn't do anything to show it.

"And yeah, it could be useful if I needed a do-over or something, but like, to get that do-over I'd literally have to die. And that's so scary, dude. Like, I can't—"

His words fell short as he wasn't sure what to say next. He glanced down at Dalton who stared at him with big eyes.

"I'm sorry," Dalton said. "That does suck."

"I feel like it happens to me more often than others. Like, normal people only die once." Bennett paused for a moment. "Well, yes, duh, of course people only die once. That's not what I meant. I'm saying, if a guy somehow survives a terrible accident, what are the odds he's going to get into another one a week later? And then in another one two weeks later? Probably not likely, you know?”

Dalton nodded silently.

"But for me, it is likely. I'm like… cursed to die. I think it's the universe's way of forcing me to use my ability. I mean, Rory uses hers all the time. Josiah ends up invisible almost once a week. You use yours pretty often. When do I have a chance to use mine? Dying doesn't happen to someone that often, but the universe needs me to use my ability. So, things happen that force me to use it."

Dalton wasn't quite sure what to say, and Bennett dryly chuckled. "Didn't mean to ramble," he said. "Can we just agree that both of our abilities suck?"

"Yeah," Dalton nodded. "Our abilities suck."

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darkmarkmarauder · 20 days ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬’ 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞. 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐰, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬.

𝐇𝐞’𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚��—𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞—𝐚𝐢𝐫—𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥��𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐬.

𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫.

𝐓𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐲. 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢��𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦—𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧.

𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭—𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞—𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞.

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞?” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬.

“𝐈—𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭—” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. “𝐒𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐲, 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝? 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨?”

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

“𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨—”

“𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧. “𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝.”

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞. “𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. “𝐎𝐡, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.”

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬��𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠.

“𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲?” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. “𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠?”

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝—𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈’𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲. “𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭.”

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐰𝐧. 𝐀 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠.”

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫, “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲.” 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬.

“𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭. “𝐍𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞.”

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐚 𝐬��𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐲.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐢𝐭. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐓𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐇��𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞.”

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭.

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. “𝐖𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐠𝐨, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧—𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬: 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲.

“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫. “𝐈𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫—𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. “𝐓𝐨𝐦, 𝐈—”

“𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐤. “𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

“𝐈. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝. 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞.” 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 ��𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐍𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬. “𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬?” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫. “𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝.

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. “𝐃𝐨 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐠. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲.”

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲. “𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞.”

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. “𝐓𝐨𝐦—”

“𝐆𝐨,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐛��𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲. “𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒔𝒉 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦—𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐈𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞, 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬.

𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

“𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲,” 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰. “𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.”

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭. “𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭. “𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲.”

“𝐀𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭? 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨,” 𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐱𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.”

“𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫,” 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭. “𝐍𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐬,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤. “𝐖𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭. 𝐒𝐨…”

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. “𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐨𝐦.”

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝. “𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭—” “𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲?” 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐚 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞-𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. “𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥.”

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬, 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞? 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭. “𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝. “𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞.

𝐈𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝, 𝐭𝐨𝐨.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐰 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬.

“𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭,” 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. “𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞? 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞!”

“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠,” 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝. “𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭—𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥.”

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭. “𝐍𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. “𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲.”

“𝐍𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕?” 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫. “𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭—𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭?”

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬. “𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐝.”

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫. “𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬?” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤.

“𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈—”

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚��𝐥𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞.

𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥—𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐦. 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐱𝐚𝐬…

𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐱𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

“𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥,” 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. “𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐞’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.”

“𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩,” 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬. 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐍𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐍𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞? 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭—𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡!”

“𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝒖𝒑,” 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐭.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝. “𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. “𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭, 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞—”

“𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭,” 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫. “𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬.”

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰. “𝐎𝐡, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞? 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞?”

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭.

𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐱𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝. “𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞. “𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.”

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐱𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. “𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐰, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟.

“𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ��𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. “𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝. “𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲.”

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. “𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝,” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝. “𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭.”

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐇𝐞’𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

soooo the chamber mentioned isn’t the chamber of secrets it’s one of the many cursed vaults that were under Hogwarts, I wanna add songs per part or jus release a playlist post. IDKK I’ll see, hapy reading friends;)

also sorry if my spelling/grammar is bad English is not my first language

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