The blue-haired boy skidded to a stop, his breaths ragged and tears streaking his flushed cheeks. His voice trembled with anger and confusion as he shouted, “What the hell is going on here? You! You’re from the trial!”

  Stick froze. His pulse thundered as he met Nakamura’s piercing gaze.

  PP immediately stepped in front of him, the chains on his shackles clinking faintly as he adjusted Shadis in his arms. The unconscious man’s breathing was shallow but steady.

  “It was Hadvar,” Stick stammered, his voice breaking under the weight of Nakamura’s glare. “He…”

  “Hadvar?” Nakamura’s face twisted in bewilderment, and then something sharper—doubt, perhaps.

  Stick swallowed hard, the words caught in his throat. He could see it already—Nakamura would never believe him. Nobody would. Hadvar had been locked away in the hole for years, forgotten by the world. How do I explain this without sounding like I’m lying?

  Nakamura took a deep breath. Without a word, he removed his cloak and draped it over the lifeless guard. His expression was unreadable as he rolled a nearby barrel in front of the body, obscuring it completely.

  “What… what are you doing?” Stick asked, stunned.

  Nakamura didn’t look at him as he answered, his voice low. “As soon as they find the poor man, all hell will break loose.”

  Stick hesitated, unease pooling in his stomach. Something about the way Nakamura moved—so calm, so deliberate—unnerved him.

  “Who is Hadvar?” he finally asked.

  Nakamura turned to him then, his expression dark. “You’d better forget that name if you want to live.”

  Stick’s breath caught. The weight of Nakamura’s words sent a shiver down his spine. He’s not bluffing.

  Before Stick could respond, the distant sound of marching footsteps reached their ears. The rhythmic clatter echoed through the alleys, growing louder. A patrol was closing in.

  “Come on,” Nakamura whispered sharply, gesturing for them to follow. “We have to get out of the city before they sound the alarm.”

  Stick hesitated, his nerves fraying. He didn’t trust Nakamura.

  “Why are you helping us?” Stick asked as Nakamura led them deeper into the side alleys.

  “I’m running too,” Nakamura admitted. “Fleeing from Carnifex.”

  PP’s narrowed eyes flicked to Nakamura, his wariness clear. “And why should we trust you?”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “We don’t have a choice,” Stick said before Nakamura could reply.

  He glanced at PP, his unease mirrored in the older man’s expression. “Not with the guards this close. We have no idea how to navigate the city.”

  PP’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Reluctantly, he followed, still keeping a cautious eye on Nakamura. The group wove through the labyrinth of narrow alleys. The quiet tension between them hung heavy, broken only by the faint rasp of Shadis’s breathing and the distant clang of boots against stone. The silence shattered when a piercing alarm bell rang out, cutting through the air like a knife.

  “Damn it!” Stick cursed, his chest tightening as guards began pouring into the streets.

  Whatever escape plan they had, it had now been thrown out of the window. They ducked under the stands of a nearby marketplace. Stick’s heart hammered as he scanned the area. His eyes landed on a familiar figure—Becket—hurrying into a small, weathered house just ahead.

  “We need to move,” Nakamura said sharply, his voice low but urgent.

  Stick didn’t hesitate. There was nowhere else to go. With a glance at PP, he headed for Becket’s door and knocked. The sound of his fist on the wood felt deafening against the chaos outside. The door creaked open, revealing Becket’s startled face. His eyes darted to Shadis’s pale, bloodied form in PP’s arms. Then his gaze shifted to Nakamura, and something flickered in his expression—shock, or perhaps recognition.

  “What are you doing here?” Becket asked, his voice tight.

  “Let us in. Please,” Stick pleaded.

  The words came out more desperate than he intended. Becket hesitated, his gaze drifting nervously to the commotion in the market. The sight of Shadis’s injuries seemed to sway him, but it was Nakamura’s commanding tone that sealed the decision.

  “This is an order, Soldier,” Hiro said, his fists clenched.

  With a resigned grunt, Becket opened the door wider, motioning them inside just as a pair of guards entered the marketplace. Becket shut the door behind them with a soft click, muttering under his breath. The small, ramshackle house was dimly lit, its modest furniture and sparse decorations a far cry from the man Stick had only known in Carnifex red. Becket, however, wore a simple blue shirt and beige trousers—almost unrecognisable.

  “Over here,” Becket said, leading them into the living room.

  He closed the blinds, peering out as the guards swarmed the market. Stick’s pulse thundered in his ears as he listened to the muffled commotion outside. It was several agonising minutes before the marketplace began to empty, and the tension in the room ebbed slightly. He realised his jaw ached from clenching it so tightly.

  “What’s going on out there? Who is it, Anthony?”

  The soft voice startled Stick. He turned to see a young woman appear from the kitchen, cradling a baby. She couldn’t have been much older than him. Her curious gaze swept over the group, her expression shifting to alarm when she saw Shadis.

  “It’s nothing, love,” Becket replied gruffly, his tone unconvincing. “Just work.”

  Stick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Love?

  “On a Sunday?” The woman’s brow furrowed. Then her eyes landed on Nakamura and widened in recognition. Her posture stiffened, and she gave a small bow. “Sir Nakamura…”

  “Priscilla,” Nakamura said softly.

  But his unease was evident. He avoided her gaze, his hands flexing at his sides. Stick caught the faintest whisper from Shadis, who repeated the name under his breath. He’s responsive!

  Priscilla’s nervous smile faltered as she glanced at Becket. “Excuse me, sir! I didn’t know a Praetorian would visit us today. I’ll prepare a meal right away!”

  “No need, really…” Nakamura began, raising a hand, but she was already gone, retreating into the kitchen.

  The group exchanged uneasy glances. The tension was thick, suffocating. Stick felt as though they’d stumbled into something they weren’t supposed to see. Becket cleared his throat, gesturing to a nearby table.

  “Well, as you can see, you’re invited for lunch. Why don’t you sit down?” His tone darkened as his gaze shifted to Nakamura. “But before we eat, I have some questions. And I want answers.”

  https://www.patreon.com/IgLu_Books