Ruben's heart stuttered. A shadow of fear cracked through him, cold and sharp. When her head shifted, he moved before thought could intervene.
He sprinted, seized Corbin and drove him into the shadow of the nearest building. Wood splintered faintly as they hit the floor, Corbin swearing and thrashing.
"Get the fuck off of me!" Corbin spat, trying to shove him away. "What the hell…"
Ruben clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes burning. "What are you doing?" His voice was low, furious.
Corbin's glare smoldered back. Once Ruben pulled his hand free, Corbin sat up, brushing grit from his clothes. "I don't know," he muttered at last. "I was thinking about Dario. About him being dead. And you," his voice cracked with irritation, "... you just mutter that he's alive with nothing to back it up. Then I see that bitch. And suddenly everything I've lost these past few days is right in front of me."
Ruben shook his head, jaw tight. "We're not doing that. We don't even know if they're here for us."
Corbin laughed bitterly. "You really think they're giving us that month? That's what you believe? They want us dead, Ruben. After they kill us, they'll just announce we were running and they had to put us down like dogs."
"That doesn't matter," Ruben snapped back. "We can't fight when we don't even know who's after us. They wouldn't send just one new recruit."
"She already did fine against me once," Corbin hissed. "Maybe that's all the confidence they need."
Ruben's glare didn't waiver. "None of that matters. What matters is leaving. This place has a lot of entrances. We came through the side. We can go out through the entrance or the back now."
Corbin let out a sharp sigh, chest heaving, but he nodded. "Fine."
They slipped out of the villa and into the streets again. The air had grown heavy, thick with the smell of rain waiting to break. As they walked, Ruben muttered, "I don't want Lea or Kade to be dragged into our problems. If we involve them, we could mess up their standing as Paladin."
Corbin gave a short laugh without humour. "Who says Paladins even stand together? Just because they wear the same stripes doesn't mean they're allies. We don't know how any of that works."
It was like he was trying to rub it in more that they are not Paladin, that part of his dream upon coming to this world had been stripped away from him.
Ruben's voice dropped. "What I do know is that we are not strong enough. Not yet. We can't keep fighting like before."
Silence stretched. Ruben exhaled. "I'm sorry. For earlier. Saying Dario's alive for no reason and all, I know it got you annoyed…"
Corbin shook his head. "Don't apologize for believing. Just learn to find and give a reason. It's not everything you say that people can just take."
Ruben managed a small nod.
The sky had darkened, rain started coming down hard. Pounding the streets. Ruben yanked his hood up, droplets soaking through instantly, and they broke into a jog uphill.
"Where the hell are we going?" Corbin shouted over the downpour.
"I don't know!" Ruben shouted back, half laughing despite himself. "I was following you!"
"You're behind me dumbass!"
Ruben's laugh cracked through the rain, wild and brief. He sprinted harder, and Corbin, cursing, chased after him.
They crested the hill together, lungs burning, and found themselves before a hotel. Small, tucked against the slope, its windows glowing faintly gold in the rain.
"Here," Rubn said, catching his breath. "We'll just wait it out inside."
Corbin didn't argue.
They entered the lobby. Warmth pressed them as they pushed through the doors. The lobby was hushed but well-kept, its walls paneled with dark wood polished to a dull sheen. A chandelier hung low, its crystals swaying faintly with each gust from the storm outside.
The air smelled of citrus polish and fresh coffee. It was comforting.
Behind the counter stood two staff members, young and composed. A woman with neatly braided hair and a patient, professional smile, and a tall young man with rolled up sleeves and ink stains along his fingers, his duties most likely extended beyond the desk.
Two guests occupied the lounge.
One was a man in his thirties, black hair combed neatly through strands had begun to fall loose, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He sat with the air of someone trying to remain unnoticed, shoulders tucked, eyes darting every so often toward the windows.
The other was striking for different reasons. She was a younger woman whose ash-white, platinum hair fell in soft waves down her shoulders. Her eyes, bright turquoise, seemed almost luminous against her pale complexion. She sat with the poise of someone who knew she was being observed, her gaze was calm and playful.
Neither looked up immediately when Ruben and Corbin walked in.
The two boys walked up to the counter. The tall man with his sleeves rolled up straightened when they approached. His jaw was sharp, dusted with stubble, and his eyes darted to them with more calculation than warmth. "Afternoon," he said, voice quiet. His name tag read Tibo Costel.
Ruben noted the smudge of ink at the base of his thumb, the faint crease lines on his vest as though he ironed it himself, hurriedly before the start of his shift. He kept glancing at the ledger on his desk, his pen tapping against the edge of the page with restless impatience.
Ruben quietly told him that he and Corbin were just here to shelter themselves from the rain and they didn't actually need a room. But Tibo fumbled, misreading a page in the reservation book, his lips shaping the wrong date. He caught himself too late and muttered something under his breath about how he almost reached for the wrong set of keys.
Before Ruben could say anything, the woman beside him stepped forward.
"Pardon him," she said smoothly, her voice a balm. She reached past him with graceful efficiency, plucked the correct keys, and slid the ledger around in one motion. "He's still new here. Interning."
Her name tag read Annelise Croft. She carried herself like a page from a training manual, composed. Her hair was braided into a single Dutch plait over her shoulder, not a strand out of place, and her blouse looked pressed so crisp it almost gleamed.
When she smiled, small lines touched the corners of her hazel eyes, a patient smile honed by repetition but honed by genuine care graced them.
Ruben inclined his head. "It's fine."
"Do you need a room?" she asked.
Ruben shook his head. "We just need to wait out the rain."
At that, Annelise's smile quirked. A laugh escaped her, quiet and light. "First time in Brumália?"
"Yes," Ruben nodded.
"Then you should learn quickly." She set down a pair of keys, folding her hands neatly over them. "The rain only worsens once it starts. You'll be here all night, most likely."
Ruben's expression faltered. He imagined Lea pacing, waiting, her words echoing in his head. Be back before the rain. He swallowed. "I see."
Annelise tilted her head, reading his hesitation. "You can stay in a room together. On the house."
Ruben opened his mouth. "That's kind, but I can…"
Corbin's hand shot out, tugging his sleeve. "Thank you," he cut in quickly, voice firmer than polite gratitude. "We'll take it."
Annelise gave an approving nod and slid a brass key across the desk. "Room 303. Up the stairs, second floor."
Ruben forced a smile, but as they walked away he leaned toward Corbin. "Why'd you stop me from paying?"
Corbin's reply was low, serious. "Because we've got no cash. Only cards. And we can be traced. You want them to find us quicker?"
The realization hit Ruben like a slap, and just when he had pulled Corbin out of a bad situation. He exhaled, annoyed with himself. "Right. Almost forgot about that."
"Exactly." Corbin muttered.
They stopped outside of room 303. The hall was quiet, lined with heavy carpet patterned in burgundy and gold. Ruben reached for the key, but froze. His nostrils flared.
"I smell blood."
Corbin straightened, his whole body was tightening. He had already ripped off the cast he was supposed to keep on well before Ruben had found him again. "Where?"
Ruben's eyes shifted. Across the hall, a door hung slightly ajar. The number plate was room 302.
He stepped forward silently, pushing the door open with the careful patience of someone who knew what they'd find.
The suite was deceptively ordinary. A small living space. Polished furniture, curtains drawn against the storm. Two armchairs faced a low table. On the table were two mugs of cold tea that smelled like it. Upright and untouched. The other cup was overturned, a dark stain seeping into the floor beneath.
To anyone else, it would just look like a normal room awaiting its occupant's return. But Ruben's eyes caught more.
His nose caught it first.
He closed the door softly behind them. The room seemed to breathe heavier in the silence.
"There was another chair here." Ruben murmured, nodding to the floor. "Indents are on the carpet. I think it was dragged before maybe he lifted it out. The table too, there's a scrape along the weave. It was shoved, violently. That's probably how the mug fell."
Corbin stood rigid, following his gaze.
Ruben crouched, his eyes moving with surgical precision. "Someone was here. Probably not for a long conversation. It was a couple of hours ago, the tea is cold." His gaze shifted to the rug. A dark blotch bled out across half of it, poorly hidden beneath the repositioned furniture. The air held that metallic smell.
He didn't need to touch it or get any closer. "Blood. A lot of it. Whoever it was, they were shot. Likely killed outright. Look." He pointed at the rug's corners. "It was rolled, and they most likely couldn't fit the body in or realized it was too much of a bother to carry out the building like that."
So they set it back.
Corbin's throat bobbed. "Then… where's the body?"
"They couldn't have carried it through the lobby. Not with this much blood." Ruben's tone was flat. He also would have smelled more blood if it was hidden in the room. The blood seeping from the carpet was taking over any other smells.
"So maybe they used another exit. Service stairwell. Or something else."
Corbin muttered uneasily. "We should tell the clerks."
"Yeah and then ask who left within the last couple of hours." Ruben said.
But Corbin's reply was blunt. "We can't. We're not police or detectives… or Paladin."
He was right. Ruben felt a sour feeling. He wanted to fix this, he felt so ready to. The scene didn't sicken him. Only disturbed him by its silence. It was too neat. Standing there felt like trespassing in someone's final moments, hours old but still warm in memory.
A sound cut through his thoughts.
The creak of a hinge, deeper in the suite.
Both boys turned sharply. From a doorway attached to the wall of this living space, a small voice emerged, thin, frightened and high-pitched.
A boy stepped out slowly, his frame slight, his hair deep and navy and it fell into his eyes. His irises, stark blue in the dim, glistened with tears. He looked no older than ten.
"...Please. Help me."