Chương 22: Chapter 21: Dead Ends

After the deal was struck, the three of them set off. Kaela walked in silence, her dark eyes sweeping every corner with sharp attention. Rolus trotted ahead, his small figure familiar with the labyrinth of streets as a rat knows the guts of a barn. The landscape changed gradually, and Selena felt as though they were crossing an invisible border between two worlds.

The houses of crumbling adobe with their rotting thatch roofs and walls cracked like maps of poverty were left behind, replaced by structures of carved stone and polished wood. The packed dirt ground turned to cobblestone, the stones irregular but firm beneath her sandals, laid with a precision that spoke of craft and coin. The air transformed along the way; the stench of poverty, that mixture of trash, excrement, and woodsmoke that permeated the West District, thinned out, replaced by a dense, sweet aroma.

Selena looked up and understood: coral trees flanked the streets, their lush leaves a crimson so intense they seemed to burn under the sunlight. The bushes bordering the manicured gardens had a metallic sheen, as if someone had dusted them with copper powder, and their hues, ranging from burnt orange to bronze, created a botanical tapestry of almost aggressive beauty. It was a silent luxury, the luxury of those who can afford nature to be an ornament rather than a means of survival.

The guards appeared then, like a natural extension of the orderly landscape. Their boiled, cured leather armor creaked with every step, the metal reinforcements on shoulders and chests catching the crimson light of the trees. Hanging from their thick leather belts, alongside the inevitable short-bladed dagger, were truncheons of pure iron solid and brutal, the weapon of order when words ceased to be enough.

But what captured Selena's attention was the crest engraved on their pauldrons: a silver tower, slender and proud, with a sword placed horizontally beneath it, like an offering or a warning. The symbol of a power that needed no introduction. Rolus, perhaps sensing the tension in the women's silence, made a low sound with his mouth a slight click that snapped Selena out of her stupor. She lowered her gaze, remembering the lesson learned from Kaela's lips: you do not look nobles or their guardians in the eye.

She ducked her head and followed the boy, passing unnoticed by their scrutinizing eyes. They walked for a few more minutes, the bustle of the commercial district growing around them like a river of voices and merchandise. Suddenly, Rolus veered sharply into an alley. The light dimmed instantly. Stone walls rose on both sides, tall and damp, filtering the sun into thin golden slivers that barely reached the worn cobblestone floor.

The alley opened at both ends a service passage, a secondary artery in the clean body of the wealthy district. Selena paused for a moment and read the street signs visible further ahead, where the light became generous again:"Holms Brothers & Spices," a carved wooden sign featuring golden peppercorns;"Vermillion Fabrics," with a roll of crimson cloth painted so realistically it seemed to flutter;"Volkov's Cobbler," featuring an elegantly drawn riding boot.

Shops with names, with reputations, with a clientele of deep pockets. Then, her gaze returned to the gloom of the alley, and she felt the contrast like a slap: she, Kaela, and Rolus belonged to the edges of the social strata, not to those streets bathed in sun and prosperity. —Miss— Rolus voice brought her back. The boy pointed his thin finger toward the end of the alley, where a shop stood out against the stone. —That place, the one further ahead. That's where you told me I should go and ask for the order.

Do you want me to do the same? Selena nodded, her head moving with a firmness she didn't feel in her chest. —Yes, please. Do exactly the same thing. Then she cast her eyes on the sign hanging over the door, swaying gently in a breeze that didn't reach the alley. It was a crude but recognizable painting: a long-tailed lizard with scales of different colors arranged like a rainbow, clutching an egg with its coiled tail.

Beneath its front legs, extending to the back, a membrane suggested flight, the ability to glide between trees. A nimora guarding its egg. And below, written in simple but careful letters:"The Nimora's Warmth Inn." Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. Rolus, after glancing both ways with caution learned in the town's most dangerous alleys, made his way toward the door. Selena saw him push the wood and disappear inside.

A burly man, stationed at the entrance like a hound, intercepted him. They exchanged a few words, Selena only saw their lips move and then, to her relief, the guard stepped aside and let the boy through. Selena turned to Kaela. The tanner was watching her with one eyebrow raised a gesture that was already becoming familiar, a mixture of curiosity and cold evaluation. —Well? — Kaela whispered, her voice barely a thread that didn't want to travel beyond their mouths.

—We wait— Selena replied, and the two words weighed like stones. Minutes passed. To Selena, they were hours. Time stretched in the dark alley like sticky elastic; every second another beat in her racing heart. Her head, that machine that had once belonged to the man from Earth and now inhabited Selena's skull, only felt thirst. A thirst for answers. But there were no concrete questions swirling around, no orderly questionnaire she could deploy. There was only a sensation: cold, lonely, desperate.

The desire for everything to finally click into place. For everything to make sense. For things, at last, to be better. When the inn door opened and Rolus small figure emerged from the interior gloom, Selena felt the air freeze in her lungs. The boy came running back, his face serious an expression that didn't belong to him, one that seemed borrowed from an adult. When he reached them, he spoke without preamble, his voice high-pitched but confused. —Miss, the guard asked if I came for the same thing. I said yes.

After that, I reached the kitchen manager and asked him: 'Give me what was agreed.' — He scratched his arm, a nervous gesture Selena recognized. —But his look was strange. He looked me up and down and said: 'He only paid for three days, brat.' Selena's heart, already galloping, found an even more frantic rhythm, thudding against her ribs like a cornered animal. Three days. It matched. Everything matched what Orla had said, what Rolus had told her, and the deadline that was running out in the stone cabin.

—Did you ask what the reason for the order was? — Selena's voice came out rushed, though she kept her tone low. Rolus nodded, his dark eyes fixed on hers. —He described a man. Tall, thin, and in modest clothes; he has a scar from his fingers to his wrist. He said that man had brought the order from someone else— He frowned, concentration wrinkling his childish forehead as he searched his memory for every syllable, every nuance. —But he also said that the food I took those times... was only for someone refined.

He paused, confusion still reflected in his child's eyes. —Then he said he didn't know anything else, and that he wouldn't say anything more— He shrugged, a gesture of helplessness that was heartbreaking in a child. —After all, according to him, there were many who ordered anonymous food of that quality at the inn. The words fell into the alley like stones into a dark well. Selena heard them hit the bottom one by one, feeling the echo in the hollow of her chest. Three days. A plan with intermediaries.

A tall, thin man in modest clothes who had brought someone else's order. Selena, the original owner of this body, had not acted alone. She had accomplices. The thought hit her with the speed of a knife-thrust: she was part of something bigger. Someone had provided her with the means the money, the isolation, the food for three days to carry out her plan. And if that plan had failed, if Selena had died in that cabin, then perhaps... her death was no accident.

The thought settled in her mind with the coldness of a logical conclusion. If she was part of a larger operation, if she had disobeyed, if she had failed, if she had known too much... then someone might have decided that her silence was the only guarantee. And that someone, perhaps, was the same person who had paid for three days of isolation and surveillance. Selena felt the weight of that possibility in her chest, a cold knot tightening right where the warmth of life should have been.

But deep down, in that same chest, standing with Kaela and Rolus in the dark alley between stone buildings, she felt something else. A small certainty fragile, but real: even if that door closed, even if that lead led nowhere, she could always follow the path of the most dangerous clue she had so far. The only one left. The only one that could give her answers. And then she spoke it. The name rose from her lips like a spell, like a key that might, just might, open the right door: —Bjorn.