Savage sat us all down at her solid wooden desk. It was crowded. We sat knee to knee on rickety chairs polished smooth by butts over the course of two hundred years. Sunlight slanted in through thick green windows. Before the deputy started in on interrogations, she got us water and barked at Glasses to look at my wound.

  He hummed, shaking his head a bit as he prodded it. He looked up at me after pinching the long wound together, making me hiss under my breath. He stated with a dry grin, “Well, I can sew ya up. Won’t be pretty, but you won’t mind, will ya?”

  I sighed, “I just need it to be usable.”

  Voj’Kasak mentioned that he needed me to get more scars to respect me with my damn name instead of calling me an incomplete child. I sat still and let Cody “Glasses” Williams jab needle and thread into my arm. My forearm, the worse of the two wounds, he didn’t touch. The med patch kept it from bleeding. The whole time, Savage was eyeing me like she’d prefer to put a bullet in me and call it a day. The compassion in that woman.

  I did understand, though. The irony of it all.

  “Elora, you said it spoke to you,” I started, glancing at her to avoid watching Glasses stitch me up. It hurt, but it was bearable. I wasn’t going to whine about it in front of these frontier folk.

  She nodded hesitantly, glancing from her tin cup of water to me, then to Deputy Savage. “It said, ‘You wear it well.’ I don’t know what it meant.”

  “Wait,” Akilah said, leaning toward her, “All I heard was glass chimes. It said actual words?”

  Elora nodded, her red hair bobbing. Blood had dried in it, clumping it in chunks. Tan’Fukshan, we were a gory sight. The door was open, but the stifling air hung close. Sweat beaded and trickled down my temples. Could have been the stitching that caused that, though. I checked my stats in my HUD. My HP recovery had slowed when we entered the office. I longed to be in the sun.

  Savage’s knuckles rapped on her desk, pulling my attention from the sensory discomfort of Glasses tying off the stitch job. The thread tugged at raw flesh, an itch building within the throbbing. I tried to clench my fist to ground myself, but it was weak and made the wounds sing with pain. Savage rocked back in her chair and propped a boot on her desk, crossing her arms. Her head tilted to the side as she looked at Elora, gaze narrowed. She held the moment hostage with her silent gaze. When she spoke again, it was with a touch of disdain.

  “Alright. Let’s assume you ran into the Killer, and you heard it speak. You know ain’t no one’s even seen it before, right?” Savage stated, smug doubt written in her expression.

  We looked at each other. I didn’t know that. I heard the newsies shout about the Killer strikes again, but I never read the paper. Call me callous, but I was more concerned with my own goal to destroy the System than some rando PKer. I mean, we all had five lives to start with…

  I really was an asshole.

  I looked down at my rust-spattered pants. A creak drew my gaze back up again. Savage stood, palms on her desk, leaning toward us with an accusatory stare. Her eyes fixed on me, but she spoke to Akilah and Elora.

  “How’d you two get involved with this one, anyhow?”

  Akilah’s expression shut down completely. She stared right back at Savage with flat eyes. Elora smiled a little and glanced at me, then explained, “I was stuck in Lord Ashwynn’s Feast of Friends quest, and they helped me out.”

  “Oh, did they?” Savage scowled, finally looking directly at her. “Why?”

  “Dathai’s not so bad, you know." Elora shrugged. Her lips curved mischiviously as she said, "Far from perfect, kind of a grumpy pants—with a heart of gold.”

  “Aww,” I muttered, grinning.

  “He’s a jailbreaker, you know that, right?” Savage spat, her lip curling up.

  “When the law is more important than decency, there’s something wrong with the world,” Elora said softly, but her green eyes glittered with quiet defiance.

  Savage didn’t blink, but I felt something in her demeanor change. Elora’s words resonated, caught Savage. The evidence was there in the pressure of her hands on her desk, the millimeter of shift in her shoulders, the change of rhythm to her breath. Savage eased to a full stand and glanced at the sprawling room, the people there. A few of the deputies had taken up at other desks, and one leaned by the door, hand braced casually on his pistol.

  I’d already clocked where everyone was and hadn’t heard them move but to shift in their chairs or shuffle papers meaninglessly. They were all waiting on her to give an order. I took a slow, deep breath and resisted the urge to touch my new stitches. The hell had Glasses used? Frayed wool?

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I can offer y’all protective custody.” Savage said with a magnanimous note to her voice. “Killer don’t show up in Thorn Ridge. Usually goes after weak ones, like you.”

  Her gaze strayed to me, telling me I wasn’t leaving here, regardless of what I said. She might've let Akilah and Elora go. Me? I had to bargain for my freedom.

  I loved the attention.

  “Look, I get you don’t believe we ran into the Killer, but evidence suggests it. I think we would all be dead right now if not for Elora.” I already had an inkling of what the Killer meant, but hell if I was gonna say what and take away our edge. My edge. I waited for Savage’s riposte, my good hand cupping my throbbing one in my lap.

  “‘Cause she could speak with it?” Savage asked.

  I nodded, closing my eyes. The scent of dust, oiled wood, blood, and sweat from myself and my party all filled my nose. The stink of us was sharper with my eyes closed. I just wanted some sunlight. To lie in it and heal.

  “So, what are you getting at, orc?” Savage demanded.

  She could dish the power play but obviously couldn’t take it. The corner of my mouth twitched up. “We need freedom. I can bet you it will come again. For her.”

  Elora’s gasp made my eyes snap open. “Me?”

  “Yes,” I murmured, glancing at the elf.

  “Yes, you! How can you talk to that thing? What do you know!” Savage’s voice cracked like a whip. She slammed her palm into her desk, causing a ripple in the room. Deputies shifted, papers stopped shuffling. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the one by the door move from a lean to a stand. Savage glared at Elora with an interrogator’s hard eye.

  “I don’t know!” Elora cried, hugging herself.

  I couldn’t tell if it was an act or if it was real this time. Elora was a lot tougher than she looked. After watching her protest, I knew she didn’t know why. I had caught a clue in the words the Killer had said to her. Something she wore. I sighed dramatically, as if the intimidation act bored me. Kinda did.

  The last time I’d played this mental poker with Savage, I lost. This time, I wouldn’t.

  “We can’t figure it out by you yelling at us. How about this.” I suggested, leaning toward her.

  Her expression, her posture, her distrust. None of it shifted as she waited on my words. I was waiting on them, too. I needed to say something that would make sense and get our asses out of Thorn Ridge while enjoying the protection of a force with greater power than we had. The Killer liked to hit and run lowbies. Cool.

  We had to make it difficult to do that. Until we were ready to catch the fucker.

  I let out a slow breath and said, “Escort us to Heartland. We can go to the Heartland Lord and stay under his protection until we figure out how Elora can speak with the Killer. Then, we tell you, and we all lay an ambush for it.”

  Savage hated the idea. It was written across her features in bold block letters. “Why? What’s the Heartland Lord got to do with this?”

  “Dathai’s Ashwynn’s bitch,” Akilah smirked.

  I cast a glance at Akilah and slow-blinked at her. "Wow. Not how I'd put it."

  I held my breath. As offensive as it was, it had a little truth to it. What’s more, if Savage took it literally, she might not ask any more questions. I chose to stay quiet. Let Akilah’s words and Savage’s misunderstandings work for me.

  Savage didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she eased back into her seat and said, voice dry as sun-bleached bones, “I’ll propose it to the sheriff when he gets back. Meanwhile, walk me through that attack. Tell me everything that happened. Every godforsaken detail.”

  The memory was already blurred by adrenaline and distance. I closed my eyes again. Akilah gave the deputy the second-to-second explanation, and it helped me recall the moment before—and what came after. She described seeing nothing until my arm spurted blood, and then a shimmer, which made her panic and put up her staff. It saved her eye.

  Elora’s version was clearer. She described the path of the thing, how it cut through us in a zigzag pattern, like an gust of razor wind. When it was close, she’d had the sense to put her arms up. I hadn’t had the bandwidth to consider things until sitting there, removed from the situation, but her wounds were shallower than the rest of ours.

  “The smell,” I added, opening my eyes. I tapped my nose with my good hand. “Ozone. Like before a lightning strike. When it got close, it got bad enough to sting.”

  I glanced at Savage’s notebook. She’d written everything down, even started sketching, asking Akilah questions about the layout of the terrain. Savage might not have been brilliant at using the System, but she was a lot smarter than she let show. As long as she was using that detective brain to help us, I appreciated it.

  Its attacks were to incapacitate. Not kill.

  Why would a PK do that? Because… Because it sensed something. Searched for it until it found the one that had it. Elora.

  We just had to figure out what it was before Savage did and leverage it into keeping Jake and me from going for a swing on the gallows. Just.

  I scoffed at my own thoughts, drawing a sharp look from Savage.

  I shook my head at the look, gesturing at my wounded arm. “We had things to do, but I guess shit happens.”

  Elora glanced at the door. I knew the feeling. I wanted to get the fuck out of Dodge, too. Until Sheriff Zayan showed up, we were trapped, without the strength to escape. It would take a while to heal up as it was. Without sunlight, my healing would crawl.

  I knew one thing for sure. If we couldn’t heal up and get a strategy together, we were done. When the Killer came back—and it would—we might as well be swinging from the sheriff’s noose.

  -ARCHIVE-