Christopher Armalite sat in a bakery, gazing out of the window that overlooked the main shopping street of Taurus. He was a bit uncomfortable with the fact that he was the only customer in the place that day, but he forced himself to relax. There was nothing about him that would draw attention, anyway.
“Here you go.”
Chris looked up. A young woman stood by his table with a tray of bread and tea. She smiled brightly.
“Oh.” He suddenly remembered that he’d ordered something—a type of promotional bread. He pushed back in his chair to make room for the food she was placing before him.
The girl eventually straightened, folding the tray under her arms so she could tuck it against her chest. She smiled at him again… and didn’t move.
Chris raised an eyebrow at her. Do I have something on my face?
“Wow,” she said at last, her black eyes glittering with mischief. “You must really be in love.”
Chris almost fell out of his chair at the sheer idiocy of the statement. But, being the master of self-control that he was, he only displayed his surprise with a raise of his eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
The girl smiled knowingly. “Those longing looks out the window, and all those sighs. It’s a dead giveaway!”
“Um… that doesn’t mean—”
The girl held out a hand. “You don’t have to explain it—love just happens sometimes, y’know? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She leaned forward a bit. “So? Who is she? And why does twilight make you daydream about her?”
Chris wasn’t sure what he could say to get the girl to leave, but a voice from the kitchen saved him the trouble.
“Not again, Michelle!” A middle-aged man poked his head out from the back of the bakery. “Stop bothering the customers and help me get this out of the oven!”
The girl frowned and scurried toward the kitchen, glancing back for one final look at Chris.
“Good luck!” she called before disappearing from sight.
For a moment, Chris sat in a mild daze. The silence surrounding him felt heavy… and it wasn’t that way before the girl showed. He stared down at the bread that had been placed before him.
What’s wrong with me?
He blinked his eyes once in an attempt to clear his head. The girl, unfortunately, had commented on something Chris had hoped to suppress—his unusual emotional confusion. He hadn’t been the same since losing to Shannon Casull.
Chris tore a piece off a piece of his bread and pushed it into his mouth. There must have been some kind of herb in it; it had a fragrant smell to it, and tasted bittersweet.
Love. Well, he probably did look like he was in love. Love and hate had a lot in common—they could both fool one’s heart and severely cloud judgment. And neither feeling left its owner in much control.
Chris had never really felt much of anything for anybody, and he wanted things to stay that way. It was what helped him complete his missions and kept him succeeding when the slightest hesitation could result in his anti-climactic death. So the fact that Chris couldn’t sleep at night because he was obsessing about Shannon Casull, well, it unsettled him to no end.
What’s he doing now? Chris couldn’t help but wonder. He saw Shannon’s face under his eyelids and heard Shannon’s voice in his inner ear. He fantasized about what Shannon was doing, and why, and for how long. He wondered what kept Shannon up at night.
So? Was it hate that he felt, or love?
Chris smiled at the stupidity of the question. He also fantasized about his axe shattering through Shannon’s sword and continuing toward Shannon’s head.
Chris pushed away his tea. He was going to fight Shannon again, and he was going to win.
And I’m going to do it soon, he added to himself as he watched Shannon and a young woman walk across the street.
“Let’s see…” Winia checked the shopping list in her hand. “Two kinds of spices, flour, new plates, lamp oil—that’s everything.” She glanced over at Shannon. “We can go home now.”
Shannon shifted the packages in response. She didn’t think the items weighed too much, but they were still bulky and piled entirely on his left arm. He walked awkwardly by Winia’s side.
Winia frowned at him. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you used both hands?” she asked.
“I like to keep my right free.” He shifted the packages again.
“Why?”
As she spoke, Shannon reached toward Winia with his right hand.
Whap!
A small ball, worn from overuse, slapped into Shannon’s palm. A child spluttering apologies ran up behind it.
“Sorry!” the boy cried, waving his hands frantically. “Did I hit you, lady?”
Winia stared at the boy, her heart thundering from the close call. Shannon dropped the ball and kicked it toward its owner.
The boy ran after it. “Thanks!” he called behind him.
Shannon continued down the street. Winia quickly ran to catch up.
“Um, Shannon?” she asked, her voice a little higher than before. She cleared her throat. “Let me, uh… carry half of those.”
“Don’t bother,” he answered tiredly. “I’ll lose my balance if I try handing anything to you.”
Winia pursed her lips and stayed silent. She tilted her head toward the ground and couldn’t help but smile slightly.
That was when she slammed into his back.
“Mmph!” she snorted, grabbing her nose. She realized he had stopped dead in his tracks.
The look on Shannon’s face made the hairs on the back of Winia’s neck rise.
“Sh-Shannon?” she almost squeaked. She cleared her throat again. “What’s the matter?”
His eyes never lowering, Shannon knelt on the sidewalk and dropped Winia’s packages. His sword made a faint clinking sound as he gripped the hilt at his waist.
Winia’s blood ran cold. Seeing the sword hanging by his side was a powerful reminder of what she’d almost forgotten: who he was, and what he was running from. Winia ferociously looked around.