Chương 29: Chapter 28: Groundless Fears

—Kaela— Selena said, her voice emerging slowly and measured, like someone preparing to leap into a void. —I need to find a person. He's quite distinct. A mercenary. He has a mohawk; he's blonde and tall, with a thick, unkempt beard. He also has a heavy scar across his left eyebrow.

Bjorn's image sharpened in her mind with almost painful clarity: his imposing figure silhouetted against the morning light, his icy blue eyes evaluating her without mercy, his voice as coarse as the grinding of two stone slabs as he offered her answers in exchange for two Silver Crowns. The man who had guarded her door without question, indifferent to whatever happened inside. The only lead she had left. Kaela made a small grimace.

Her face betrayed something Selena couldn't immediately identify concern, yes, but also that bitter knowledge held by those who understand how the world truly works. Then, she looked at her directly and spoke. —The Black Lock Guild. —She sighed, a heavy sound with resignation. —That's if you have money. If you don't, they'll rob us before we even reach the house I showed you the other day. Her annoyance was evident, a shadow crossing her face like a storm cloud.

—If you ask children like Rolus to inquire about him, they'll probably rob you. And if they don't, they'll get into trouble they won't be able to get out of. There was no other solution. The path, after everything she had traveled, after the exhausted leads and the dead ends, pointed in only one direction. Just one. And after the truths she now knew, Enara and the temporary nature of the shelter, the fragility of everything in this world not even danger could have stopped her now.

The certainty hammered at her chest, marking her heart with every beat. —I'm sorry— Selena said, her voice sincere and laden with regret she didn't need to feign. —I think if you lead me there, you'd be in danger. She paused. She looked Kaela straight in the eyes, searching for a glimmer of understanding. —But you don't know how much I need this— She emphasized the last word, letting the full weight of her desperation settle into that single syllable. —I need it. Kaela looked at her.

An emotion played across her face that spoke louder than words. It was resignation, that tired acceptance of one who knows there are forces that cannot be stopped, rivers that must flow even if they sweep away everything in their path. She nodded slowly, as if sealing a pact that both knew was dangerous. Then, she stood up. Selena only said. —Thank you. But the tanner was already moving.

She walked with that characteristic, decisive stride, heading toward the place she had taken her only a few days prior, to that forbidden territory where the boundaries between poverty and crime blurred like morning mist. The walk was nothing but silence. A dense silence, the kind that only exists when one person respects the other's decision despite being against it. Selena knew it deep down; she felt it in every step they took together, in every alley they crossed without exchanging a word. Kaela did not agree.

Kaela feared for her. But Kaela accompanied her anyway, because that was what friends did in this hostile world: they walked with you to the edge of the abyss, even if they couldn't jump with you. Upon reaching the corner, the same one where they had hidden the first time to watch the men gambling behind the old door, Kaela stopped. When she spoke, it was a single word, uttered in a voice Selena barely recognized: The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. —Careful.

Selena's eyes glazed over. Tears welled up, hot and stinging, but she did not cry. Her mind was elsewhere, focused on the task ahead, on the step she was about to take. But she did speak. The words broke from her lips with a firmness that surprised even her. —Wait for me. I'll be back. Then she turned and walked down the street. As she passed the men gambling around the old door that served as a table, a shiver tightened across her back like an icy embrace.

She felt their gazes rake over her, evaluating her, weighing her. But there were no vulgar words, no insults or propositions, even though most of them had noses reddened by root-brandy and eyes glassy from drink. Perhaps her humble clothes, her air of having nothing worth stealing, protected her where other things could not. Soon, the white adobe house came into view.

There it was, just as it was in her memory: whitewashed, though the lime was peeling away in tatters; the thick wooden door with heavy ironwork; the windows closed like eyelids that didn't want to see. The guards met her before she could reach the threshold. They were men in common clothes, dark and worn so as not to draw attention, but they carried knives strapped to their waists.

The coppery tint of the blades betrayed their material: bronze, cheap but effective, capable of opening flesh as easily as steel if the one wielding it knew how to use it. One of them, a tall man with arms covered in scars that looked like maps of past violence, spoke in a rough, phlegmatic voice, as if the words had to force their way through a throat full of sand. —What are you looking for? There were no pleasantries. No "good morning" or "miss."

Only the clipped, direct question, the one that separated those coming to do business from those coming to waste time. Selena swallowed hard. Her heart was beating fast, so fast she feared they might hear it. —I want someone found— she said, and her voice sounded steadier than she expected. The man didn't speak to her again. He simply nodded with a sharp jerk of his head and guided her inside the house. He led the way through the rooms, and Selena followed, trying to etch every detail into her memory, just in case.

The floor was packed earth, just like in the poorest houses, but here the ground was clean, swept, with no trace of refuse. The doors were heavy, made of solid wood, and the air was thick with dense smoke that smelled powerfully of burnt resin and plastic, that chemical, artificial odor that made her head ache. After opening a couple of doors, the man stopped. He gestured toward one of them. —Here is the person you must commission.

He looked at her with disdain, his eyes traveling over her humble clothes, her plain brown dress, her worn sandals. —I hope you aren't wasting our time, girl— A twisted, cruel smile formed on his lips. —Your body would make for a fine payment if this is a joke. He left her alone. Selena stood for a moment before the door, feeling the man's words hook into her chest like barbs. Then she took a deep breath. Once. Twice. She pushed. The room revealed itself to her.

The contrast with the rest of the house was brutal: here the floor was wood, not earth, and it was polished until it glowed faintly under the light of several candles set in iron candelabras. A large desk of dark wood and elaborate carvings occupied the center of the room. And at the back, against the wall, were entire shelves filled with jars of colored powders greens, blues, reds, yellows and green leaves hanging from strings, drying slowly, giving off that resinous aroma that permeated the entire house.

Behind the desk, a man watched her. He was well-dressed. His tunic was of a fine fabric, a deep blue that Selena hadn't seen in any market stall, with silver thread embroidery at the cuffs and collar. He had no scars on his body, no marks of violence, no trace of physical labor. His hands, resting on the wood of the desk, were white and well-cared for, with clean nails trimmed with precision.

When he spoke, his voice was elegant and modulated, with that cadence given only by education and the certainty of never having to fight for anything. —Selena— he said, and the name sounded on his lips like a private joke. —Don't tell me you've come to do business with me again. He chuckled. It wasn't a vulgar laugh, but a contained, almost refined sound, as if even hilarity had to submit to certain rules of etiquette.

—I suppose it's as I told you— he continued, now speaking of himself in the third person with a pedantry that chilled the blood. —'Ralien the Severe' is the best. Selena stared at him. Her mind worked at full speed, processing the scene, the words, the danger. This man knew her. Or rather, he knew the original Selena. She had done business with him before. And now he was waiting for her, as if he knew she would return, as if all of this were part of a game whose rules she still did not know.