Charlotte sat beside me, still warm to the touch. Thirst and hunger gnawed at my insides, and I could feel my stomach cramping. However, my situation was nothing compared to Charlotte, her face was ashen, eyelids drooping—clearly her curse had sapped too much of her energy. Generating so much heat for so long was impossible without proper nourishment. I thought about speaking up, asking our captors to help her, but I held my tongue. The two men in the front seats were unpredictable, and after what had just happened, I couldn’t afford to let my composure crack again. For Charlotte’s sake and my own, I needed to stay strong. Maybe I can convince them to tend to their “cargo’s” condition… I pondered. Or maybe—
A loud growl from the front seat interrupted my thoughts. Luke, the driver, let out a tired sigh. “Let’s pull over and cook up some lunch,” he said, patting his stomach.
William gave a curt nod. “Alright.”
Luke steered the car off the road near a wide stream that fed into a distant lake. As soon as we rolled to a stop, he climbed out and walked around to the front trunk. I heard the clatter of supplies as he pulled out a cooking kit. Meanwhile, William flung open the back door on my side. His rifle was in his hands and his expression was stern as ever. He jerked the barrel towards the flowing body of water, a wordless order for us to get out.
I helped Charlotte out of the car. The moment her feet touched the ground, her knees buckled and she pitched forward without a sound. I lunged and caught her before she could hit the dirt. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” I whispered, draping her arm over my shoulders. She didn’t respond. Her eyes were vacant and her breathing was shallow and raspy. She was clearly delirious—whether from the heat of her curse or simple exhaustion, I couldn’t tell.
Using myself as a crutch, I half-carried, half-guided Charlotte toward the stream. The guards motioned for us to sit by the bank. As soon as we were close to the water, Charlotte tore free from my grip and fell to her knees at the edge of the stream. Driven by sheer desperation, she plunged her hands into the water and brought handfuls to her mouth, gulping frantically.
Luke glanced over at her and shook his head in disdain. “Such savagery,” he muttered, though not loud enough for Charlotte to hear. He crouched nearby, setting up a small pot and kindling a fire with a flint and steel. A flame flickered to life, and he balanced the pot over it to start cooking whatever rations they had brought.
A few paces away, William sat on an old stump facing us. His rifle rested across his lap, finger close to the trigger as he watched me like a hawk. His message was clear: if I made one wrong move—if I even thought about running—he’d shoot me down without hesitation. Not that escape was an option with Charlotte in this state. I swallowed hard and turned my attention back to her.
Charlotte had finally gotten her fill of water and was now sitting back on her heels. With the back of her hand, she wiped her soaked lips. Her back was to the guards and me as she tilted her head up to the sky. I heard her mumbling something under her breath. I scooted closer, straining to catch it. She was whispering “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” over and over.
My chest tightened. I slipped an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her into a hug. Tears blurred my vision and slid down my cheeks, but I managed to hold back any sobs. “Shh… It’s alright,” I murmured, not sure if she could even hear me. She kept whispering apologies, her voice cracking.
My heart ached. I wanted to tell her she’d done nothing wrong—that neither of us had. Why do they hate us so much? I thought bitterly. We were just children, living the only lives given to us. What did we ever do to deserve this?
I clenched my jaw. What can I do? I wondered, frustration boiling inside me. Should I try to fight? To run? These men were agents of the King himself—was all this cruelty actually ordered by the crown? If it was, maybe our fate was already sealed. But how could I just sit here while Charlotte suffered? She was in critical condition and these bastards didn’t even care. A spark of anger flared within me as I felt her shivering in my arms.
A savory aroma wafted by, cutting through my dark thoughts. I smelled boiling meat and vegetables, and my empty stomach twisted with longing. Luke was cooking some kind of stew over the fire. Charlotte lifted her head at the smell, momentarily pulled from her stupor. My mouth watered uncontrollably as the scent of the stew intensified. Before long, the contents of the pot began to bubble, and the rich fragrance of seasoned broth and herbs filled the air.
Charlotte seemed to regain a bit of clarity at that, her eyes following Luke’s every motion. Finally, Luke took two tin bowls and filled them with stew. He carried one to William. “Here,” Luke said gruffly, handing it over.
William, for the first time since we stopped, tore his gaze from me to accept the food. He set his rifle down against the stump within arm’s reach and started eating. Luke served himself the second bowl, then set it on the stump beside William. Without so much as a glance at us, he turned and headed back to the car.
A moment later, Luke returned carrying a small paper bag. He tossed it at our feet. “Lunchtime,” he called, not exchanging so much as a glance. Then he dropped down next to William and dug into his own meal.
Charlotte lunged for the bag and tore it open. Inside were four small slices of dried bread. She thrust two slices into my hands and immediately began devouring the other two. The bread was stale and rock-hard, but she was so hungry that she scarfed it down without complaint. I could see her throat strain as she swallowed, practically choking in her haste. Still, it was better than nothing—she was grateful to have anything at all. In seconds, she had finished her share, though I could tell by the hollow look in her eyes that she was nowhere near satisfied.
I forced myself to eat one of my slices. It was like chewing on wood, but my hunger was so intense that I barely noticed the taste. When I was done, I looked at the last piece of bread in my hand, then over at Charlotte. She was staring at the bread, unconsciously licking the crumbs from her cracked lips. I didn’t even hesitate; I pressed the final slice into her hand. “Here,” I murmured, “you need it more than I do.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened a bit. Her hand trembled as she held the slice. “A-are you sure?” she whispered, voice hoarse.
I mustered a faint smile. “I’m sure. I already had one, didn’t I?”
For a second she just looked at me, and I saw tears welling up in her eyes again—this time not from pain or sorrow, but gratitude. “Thank you,” she breathed. She broke the bread in half to make it easier to eat and popped the pieces into her mouth. In the blink of an eye, the food was gone.
I turned my head and watched the two soldiers while Charlotte finished chewing. Luke and William were helping themselves to second servings of the hearty stew, chatting in low voices as if we weren’t even there. Our plight was nothing more than an afterthought to them. A wave of disgust rolled through me.
After a few minutes, the men had eaten their fill. Luke clamped a lid onto the pot to save the remaining stew for later, then busied himself packing up the cooking gear. William walked over to the stream with a couple of canteens to refill them with water.
Luke stretched and yawned. “Nature calls,” he announced to William, jerking a thumb toward the line of trees.
William gave a wordless nod without looking up from the stream. He still had a sidearm on his belt, but he’d left his rifle propped against the stump while he filled the water. For the first time since our capture, both of our captors’ attention was elsewhere.
I felt my pulse quicken. This might be our only chance. My eyes flicked to the rifle leaning against that stump, just a few paces away. My mind raced. If I’m fast enough… I could grab the gun, shoot William… then grab Charlotte and run… I swallowed hard. My heart thudded against my ribcage and my breaths came quicker at the thought.
Just as I began to shift my weight to make a dash, I felt a faint tug at the hem of my coat. Charlotte’s hand. Without turning her head, she had reached out and pinched my coat between her fingers. “Don’t,” she whispered, so softly I almost didn’t hear it.
I froze, then glanced down at her. Charlotte’s eyes, still dull with exhaustion, met mine. She didn’t shake her head or say another word—she didn’t need to. I knew she could sense exactly what I was feeling and what I was about to do.
Slowly, I exhaled, letting the burst of adrenaline seep away. She was right. Charging an armed soldier in broad daylight was a terrible idea, especially with her unable to run. As much as I hated our situation, a reckless attack would only get us killed. My shoulders sagged in defeat. But what else can we do? I thought helplessly. Just go along with this? Conflicting thoughts warred in my head, leaving me paralyzed and overwhelmed.
I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. In the distance, I saw Luke returning from the trees, buckling his belt casually. Time was up. William had finished at the stream as well and was heading back toward the car, rifle now in hand.
“I’ll drive,” William grunted at Luke as the two converged near the front.
Luke shrugged, looking indifferent. “Fine, fine,” he replied.
William barked at us to get back in the vehicle. We had no choice but to comply. I helped Charlotte to her feet and guided her into the back seat again before sliding in beside her. William took the driver’s seat this time, with Luke in the passenger side, and soon we were back on the dusty road.
The afternoon sun beat down as the car rumbled onward. I held Charlotte close, and she leaned against me with her head on my shoulder. A bit of color had returned to her cheeks, and her skin was no longer scorching to the touch—just faintly warm. Compared to earlier, she was doing much better. I felt a small wave of relief. She had slipped her arm through mine as soon as we started driving again, and I clasped her hand in both of mine. It was all we could do to comfort each other.
About 4 hours passed in tense silence. Judging by the position of the sun and the unfamiliar road signs we occasionally passed, I figured we were maybe a bit over a quarter of the way to the capital. At best, we’d reach the halfway point by nightfall. The thought of spending another night in captivity made my skin crawl, but I tried not to think about it.
“We’ll have to stop for fuel at a town up ahead,” William announced, breaking the silence. “It’s a military outpost. When we arrive, you watch the cargo,” he added, glancing aside at Luke.
Luke let out an audible sigh and muttered, “Alright.” He didn’t sound thrilled at the idea of being left behind with us again.
A few minutes later, the car began to slow. Through the windshield I saw the outline of fences and a gate blocking the road. William rolled down his window using the side crank. A guard in a dull gray uniform stepped forward, holding up a hand.
“Identity?” the guard demanded, peering in.
“Officer William. Transport,” William answered curtly, handing over a small booklet—his identification papers, I assumed.
The guard scrutinized the papers, then looked us over. After a moment, he gave a sharp salute. “Welcome, sir.” He waved to someone out of sight, and the gate ahead creaked open. William pulled the car forward, rolling up the window again.
Calling this place a “town” was generous. As we passed through the gates, I realized it looked more like a military base than a civilian settlement. Barracks-like buildings stood in neat rows, and armed soldiers patrolled the streets. Barbed wire fences glinted in the afternoon light. This wasn’t a normal stopover—this was a heavily controlled port city.
We drove down a main road, and soon the sparkling expanse of the coast came into view beyond the rooftops. Dozens of ships were docked in a natural harbor to our right. Unlike the wooden sailing ships I’d read about in history books, these vessels were built of metal and steel. Their hulls and chimneys shone under the sun, a testament to modern engineering. My eyes widened at the sight—under different circumstances I would have been marveling at them.
William navigated the car toward a squat concrete building near the docks. He pulled up in front of it and braked. “Alright,” he said, putting the car in park and opening his door, “you drop off the cargo here. I’ll go arrange a refueling for the car and handle our orders. Meet me at the mayor’s office with the car when you’re done—and don’t do anything reckless.” He shot a pointed look at Luke as he stepped out onto the street.
Luke rolled his eyes. “Your facade of calmness fills me with dread, you know,” he retorted, sounding irritated. “You could just avenge them now, if you wanted—”
William slammed the driver’s door and rounded on Luke, suddenly furious. “The King’s word is absolute,” he growled, his voice piercing the air.
The very air seemed to go still in the wake of William’s aggression. Luke’s mouth snapped shut and he backed down immediately. “Alright… Uncle’s word is absolute. Got it,” he muttered under his breath, raising his hands in surrender.
I frowned. Uncle? What did Luke mean by that? Was the King literally his uncle? If Luke was of royal blood, even a distant relation, he certainly didn’t carry himself with much nobility or class. I filed that detail away for later—there were more pressing concerns right now.
William cast one last threatening glance in our direction—more as a warning to Luke than to us, I suspected—then marched off toward a cluster of buildings.
Luke released a heavy breath and walked around to our side of the car. He yanked Charlotte’s door open first and gestured with his pistol for us to get out. We obeyed quietly. Charlotte stood on her own now, though she swayed a little. I held her arm, ready to catch her if needed.
“Move,” Luke ordered, nudging my back with the gun barrel. He corralled us toward the concrete building’s heavy iron door. It creaked on its hinges as he shoved it open. Inside, it was dark and smelled of mildew. Luke found a light switch on the wall and flicked it on, illuminating a long, narrow hallway.
The sight that greeted us sent a chill through me. Lining both sides of the corridor were rows of closet-sized cells. Each cell door had a little barred window at eye level. I wasn’t tall enough to see inside them, but I didn’t need to; the stench of decay and the oppressive stillness told me enough. This was a prison for personnel who had committed treason.
Luke prodded us forward down the corridor. “Not what you expected, huh?” he said with an unexpected calmness. His voice echoed off the stone walls. We reached an open area at the end of the hall that looked like a small guard station or waiting room. Luke grabbed a wooden chair that rested against the wall and dragged it over, positioning it a few feet in front of us. With a lazy motion, he sat down, straddling the chair backwards and folding his arms across the backrest. His eyes were nearly level with ours now, and they burned with some unreadable emotion.
A heavy silence hung in the air. Charlotte pressed close to my side; I could feel her trembling again. I fought the urge to step back, to put distance between us and this clearly unstable man. Luke hadn’t raised his gun yet, but I could tell he was itching to use it. I swallowed, unsure of what he expected us to say or do.
After a long, uncomfortable pause, Luke spoke. “I’ll be frank: I hate you both.” He let out a low, humorless chuckle as he scratched the back of his head. There was a wildness in his eyes that put me on edge.
Charlotte inhaled sharply beside me, and I tensed. We had known these men despised cursed children like us, but hearing the pure malice in Luke’s voice still sent a spike of fear through me.
Luke leaned forward on the chair. “Do you know why?” he continued, voice dropping into a deadly whisper. “Do you have any idea what you and your little friend have cost me?”
I shook my head faintly, my throat too dry to speak. My mind raced, trying to guess what he meant. Our friend…? Alexander?
Luke’s lip curled. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small silver object. With a click, I realized it was a pocket watch. But instead of checking the time, Luke held it up for us to see. Inside the opened cover was a tiny photograph: a posed portrait of a family. I recognized Luke in the photo—he looked a few years younger, standing beside another young man around his age, along with an older couple who were likely his parents.
“That’s my brother,” Luke said, tapping the man next to him in the photo. His voice was deceptively calm. “He was assigned to Orphanage Number Thirteen. Sound familiar?”
My heart skipped. Orphanage 13— that was our orphanage? Luke’s brother…?
“It was a routine transport mission,” Luke went on. Every word dripped with bitterness. “Piece of cake. They send some promising new recruits to escort a batch of orphans—an act of goodwill, they call it, to show the rookies around. And it doubles as a way to report the orphanage’s output back to the capital. Important intel on the King’s little production pipeline of cursed children.” He spat on the floor. “Those of us in the King’s extended family are expected to volunteer for such duties, you see. A little contribution to His Majesty’s work.” He snapped the watch shut with a sharp click.
For a moment, Luke just stared at the closed pocket watch in his hand, his jaw clenched. Charlotte and I exchanged wary glances but stayed silent. I had a dreadful feeling about where this story was heading.
Luke’s eyes flicked up to me, cold and hard. “My brother’s task was simple and non-combative. Successful completion would’ve earned him a promotion.” Luke’s voice began to rise, each word quivering with barely restrained rage. “But something went wrong. He never returned from Orphanage 13. For two weeks, nothing—no letters, no telegrams, no sightings. Then they found his body parked on the side of the road.” Luke’s face twisted, and I saw his knuckles go white around the pocket watch. “Eight bullet holes in him. The transport carriage burned to cinders. That’s how they found him.” He slammed his fist against the back of the chair, causing Charlotte to flinch. “Tell me why,” he hissed. “Why did my brother die on what should have been a safe mission? What happened out there?”
He leaned close, inches from my face. “Speak.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out at first. My thoughts were whirling. The transport mission… bullet holes… charred wreckage. Alexander’s face flashed in my mind.
Memories clicked into place with horrifying clarity. Alexander might have—no, he must have done something. Something drastic. But Luke was staring daggers at me, demanding an explanation I didn’t have. I licked my dry lips. “I-I don’t know what happened to Alexa—” I began, intending to say Alexander’s name, to explain that we knew nothing of his whereabouts. I was interrupted.
Luke cut me off with a snarl. “Let me be clearer. Do you have any evidence that your precious friend killed my brother?”
I snapped my mouth shut, stunned. He was already convinced Alexander was responsible. How could I possibly convince him otherwise when I myself didn’t know the truth? My eyes darted to Charlotte. She looked just as frightened and confused.
My mind raced. We did have something—Alexander’s note. He had left it hidden for us in his jacket, the one he gave me before he vanished. if I told Luke about the note, would it help? We’d been honest with these men so far and gotten nothing but pain for it. If I revealed that I held a note from Alexander taking responsibility for what transpired, Luke would likely see it as proof we were co-conspirators. It could make things even worse.
I realized Luke was still waiting for an answer. My silence was only fueling his anger. I swallowed, my throat clicking dryly. “I—I don’t have any evidence,” I forced out, barely above a whisper.
Luke’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “Oh, is that so? My bad,” he said with a cruel smirk. In an instant he stood, tossing the chair aside. It clattered to the floor behind him. “You know, sometimes people just forget things under duress.” His tone was almost casual, but I saw him roll up his sleeves. “Maybe I can help jog your memory.”
He took a slow step toward us, and instinctively I moved in front of Charlotte, shielding her with my body. Luke didn’t reach for his gun. Instead, he bent down and gripped one of the loose iron bars that lay on the floor—a broken piece of a cell door’s grate. With a grunt, he lifted the metal bar. It was about three feet long and looked alarmingly solid. My blood ran cold.
A crackle of orange light danced in the corner of my eye. Charlotte’s skin was flickering with sparks of flame. She was perilously close to igniting—her curse triggering in response to her fear. “N-no…” she pleaded, barely audible, hugging herself tight as little tongues of fire sparked off her arms.
I glanced back at her and gently touched her hand. “It’s okay,” I lied, trying to sound calm. I gave her a tiny, strained smile—the best reassurance I could muster—then turned back to face Luke. My heart was thundering so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
Luke now stood a few paces from us, brandishing the iron bar over one shoulder. “William likes to act all honorable and by-the-book,” he said, as if making casual conversation. He began to circle slowly, forcing me to turn with him to keep Charlotte behind me. “But truth is, he ought to despise you little cursed demons more than anyone. Did you know a cursed one took his family from him?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. William’s family?
Luke bared his teeth in a vicious grin. “Oh, yes. Some witch with a ‘blessing’ for erasing memories crossed paths with his wife and kid. When the dust settled, we found William half-dead and bleeding out, with no recollection of her or their little girl. He didn’t even know who they were—his mind wiped clean.” Luke tapped the side of his head mockingly. “Imagine that. He never regained his memories of them at all. Can’t remember their faces, their names, nothing. To him, it’s like they never existed. But I remember. I do. His wife loved him so much.” Luke’s voice hardened, his gaze turning distant for a moment. “So believe me… I can hold enough hate for two people.”
Without warning, Luke lunged. He swung the iron rod in a brutal arc. I had no time to react. The metal struck my ribs with a force I’d never imagined. A crack like a thunderclap echoed down the corridor as the impact lifted me off my feet and hurled me sideways.
I crashed into the concrete wall. For a moment, the world went white with pain. The breath was blasted from my lungs, and I collapsed onto the cold floor, landing on my back. I gasped desperately, but only a choking wheeze escaped my mouth. It felt like my chest had caved in.
Through a haze of agony, I noticed I had fallen in front of a tall mirror mounted on the wall. The glass was streaked with grime, but I could still see my reflection. My torso looked… wrong. My shirt was already darkening with blood where the rod had struck, and my body was twisted at an odd angle. The realization that my ribs were likely broken sent a stab of panic through me.
I tried to scream, but it came out as a strangled cough. The effort wracked my shattered chest with fresh waves of pain. I tasted blood and iron on my tongue. Somewhere to my left, Charlotte was shrieking in terror. I wanted to tell her to run, to hide, something, but I couldn’t form the words. Each ragged breath felt like knives sawing at my insides.
I rolled onto my side, curling up in a futile attempt to protect myself. A hot gush of blood spilled from my lips, staining the floor red. Above me, Luke loomed like an avenging demon, backlit by the harsh ceiling light. “That’s for Sypha,” he spat, his voice seething with vindictive glee.
Sypha…? The name barely registered through the fog of pain. I clawed weakly at the floor, trying to drag myself away, but my limbs refused to cooperate. Move, I begged myself. Move, damn it! But my body was no longer mine to command.
Luke’s shadow shifted as he raised the bar again. I saw it high above, silhouetted for an instant against the light. This is it, some part of me thought. I’m going to die here.
“Run, Robin! Run!” Charlotte’s voice pierced through the ringing in my ears. I could hear the tears in her scream. She was pleading, desperate, but there was nowhere for me to go.
Luke roared in fury, “And this is for Rosemary!” The iron rod came crashing down onto the side of my skull. An explosion of agony obliterated every thought in my head. My right eye went dark as a wet crunch resonated through my skull. Blood splattered across the floor and the base of the mirror. The pain was so vast and overwhelming that I couldn’t even draw breath to scream.
A high-pitched whine filled my ears, drowning out everything else. My vision swam with red. It’s not fair… a distant part of me thought, strangely calm as my body was engulfed in pain. After everything, to die like this, at the hands of someone like him… It’s not fair. A molten coil of hatred uncurled within me, mingling with the pain. If I had any strength left, I would have used it to tear him apart. I wanted him dead. I wanted him dead.
But I was helpless. My limbs felt like lead, my body broken. Hot blood was pouring down the side of my face, and I realized I could no longer see anything on my right side. My eye… I tried to blink, but the world remained half-dark. The realization sent a jolt of terror through me, momentarily cutting through the haze. I was going to bleed out. I was going to die.
Through the relentless ringing, I could barely make out Luke’s distorted voice raving above me. He sounded distant, like he was shouting at me from underwater. I thought I heard him laugh—a chilling, unhinged laugh. And then, through the blur, I caught a new sound: a roar of anger that was not Luke’s.
Suddenly, Charlotte flew into my vision, a small figure colliding with Luke’s broad form. She had thrown herself at him with every ounce of strength she had left. Luke staggered back half a step, clearly startled. Charlotte clung to him like a wild cat, her arms wrapped around his torso from behind. I saw flames erupt across her skin where she touched him. Her curse had fully ignited—she was literally burning him alive.
Luke bellowed in pain and outrage as his shirt caught fire and the flesh on his back sizzled. He dropped the iron bar with a clang and reached over his shoulder with his left hand, grabbing a fistful of Charlotte’s hair. With a vicious yank, he ripped her off of him. I heard Charlotte cry out as he flung her to the ground. She tumbled across the floor, the flames around her sputtering out as she rolled to a stop a few feet away.
Luke’s left hand was charred an angry red from where he had grabbed her, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was laughing—a terrible, broken sound. His eyes were wide, almost manic, and a ghastly grin split his face. “Brother, do you see me?!” he shouted to no one, his voice reverberating in the small space. He spread his arms wide, as if addressing an unseen audience. “Are you smiling from your chair in Heaven? I’m going to make you proud! I’ll avenge you!”
My heart sank. He was completely unhinged. Luke snatched the iron bar off the floor again with his good hand. Charlotte was struggling to get up, her legs shaky beneath her. She had stopped burning, probably too drained now to maintain the flames, and she looked up at him with dazed, terrified eyes.
“No…” I croaked, the word barely a breath. I was powerless to stop what was coming. Luke’s silhouette loomed over Charlotte as he raised the bar high, aiming to crush her skull or worse. I tried to scream, to get up in order to throw myself in his path, but my shattered body refused to obey.
A deafening gunshot rang out, freezing everyone in place. My one good eye registered a spray of blood mist in the air. Luke’s body jerked violently, and the iron rod slipped from his grasp, clattering loudly onto the floor. For a heartbeat, he stood ramrod straight, a look of shock on his face. Then his knees buckled and he crumpled forward.
Charlotte was on her feet in an instant, a smoking pistol clutched between her trembling hands. I recognized it—Luke’s sidearm. Somehow, in the chaos, she must have grabbed it. Now her chest was heaving and her eyes were wild with adrenaline. Wisps of smoke curled from the gun’s muzzle as she ran to me.
“Robin!” she sobbed, falling to her knees at my side putting the gun beside me. Her hands hovered over me, shaking, as if she was afraid to injure me further. “Stay with me, please… hold on! Talk to me!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic rush.
I tried to focus on her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, evaporating into tiny puffs of steam against her still-hot skin. It took all my willpower to force my lips to move. “G…good job,” I rasped. The words came out slurred, mixed with blood. I mustered a weak, pained smile.
Charlotte choked out a laugh-sob at my reply, but her eyes were filled with panic. She could see how badly I was hurt. I was losing blood fast; it pooled around me and stained Charlotte’s royal dress attire where she knelt.
I reached a trembling hand up and touched her arm. “Run…” I breathed. My vision was tunneling. “Please… go. Run.”
She shook her head violently, fiery orange locks whipping back and forth. “No! I’m not leaving you!” she cried. “I’d rather die here with you than run away alone.”
I wanted to argue, to tell her that one of us surviving was better than none, but before I could say anything more, Charlotte pressed her hands firmly against my side where the worst of the bleeding was. I hadn’t even realized how bad the wound was—the metal bar must have ripped into me when I got thrown into the wall. Blood was pouring from a gash in my right flank, just under the ribs. Charlotte’s palms began to glow as she summoned the last reserves of her power.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking. Then I felt the heat. Searing heat, like a branding iron, suddenly pressed against my wound. If I’d had any air in my lungs I would’ve screamed in agony, but I only managed a strangled gurgle. Charlotte was trying to cauterize the wound—using her curse to burn the edges closed and stop the bleeding. The smell of charred flesh—my flesh—rose in the air, and I shuddered violently. My nerves lit up with fresh pain, bright and excruciating, yet somehow distant. My body was failing; I could feel it. The world dimmed at the edges as each heartbeat pushed less and less blood through my veins. I knew it was over.
“Please don’t go… stay awake, Robin! Stay awake!” Charlotte’s voice echoed as if she were shouting at me from the end of a long tunnel. I wanted nothing more than to obey her, to stay, to live—but I was so tired. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
I’m sorry, Charlotte, I thought as the darkness closed in. I don’t think I can… hold on… much longer…
In the last sliver of my vision, I saw the mirror across from us. Through the spatters of blood on the glass, I could just make out the reflection: Charlotte cradling my broken body, her face contorted in anguish as she screamed my name. It was a heartbreaking sight, and it faded to black as the last of the light slipped away.
Everything went dark.
It’s over, isn’t it?
…
I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the familiar low ceiling of the orphanage’s living room. Sunlight danced across the wooden floorboards, and the scent of old books and freshly polished furniture filled my nose. I was… home?
For a moment, I just lay there, confusion clouding my mind. Had it all been a nightmare? The pain, the blood, Charlotte’s tears—had I imagined it? I slowly pushed myself up and realized I was sprawled on the rug in front of the sofa. My clothes were different; I wasn’t wearing the blood-soaked outfit from our journey, but rather a simple shirt and trousers I remembered from my childhood at the orphanage.
“Robin, you shouldn’t do dangerous stuff like that,” came a familiar voice from behind me.
I turned around. Alexander was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, regarding me with a disapproving look. He looked younger—closer to the age he’d been in my earliest memories. My heart leapt at seeing my friend alive and well, but his words confused me.
“Sister told you not to climb trees,” Alexander added, raising an eyebrow.
Climb… trees? I blinked and slowly looked down at myself. My hands and knees were scraped and dirty, and now that he mentioned it, I felt a stinging pain in my right leg. Memories flooded back—the old oak tree behind the orphanage, Charlotte daring me to race her to the top, my foot slipping on a mossy branch… I had fallen.
“I…” I stammered, trying to piece it together. This was a memory. It must have been a memory—a precious one from before everything went wrong.
A soft voice spoke up from behind the sofa. “It was my fault. I told him to climb with me.” Charlotte popped her head up from where she’d apparently been hiding. She looked about 8 years old, just as she had been then, with soot smudges on her cheeks and an apologetic twist to her lips.
I remembered this. Sister Eryll had forbidden us from climbing that tree after I almost broke my arm a few months prior. But Charlotte had convinced me to give it another go while Sister was busy with Father Ezekiel in the chapel. And, predictably, I had slipped and fallen right on my backside, giving myself a nasty cut on the leg and knocking the wind out of my lungs.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, scrambling to cover for Charlotte. “It wasn’t her fault—I overestimated my climbing skills.” I gave Alexander a sheepish grin.
Alexander stood up, shaking his head at both of us. He was maybe 9 at the time, lanky and already a head taller than me. “Actually, I think both of you are at fault,” he scolded, though not too harshly. “Neither of you should’ve been climbing in the first place.” He tried to look stern, but then rolled his eyes. “But, whatever. I won’t tell Sister Eryll. You’ve clearly learned your lesson, right?”
Charlotte and I both nodded earnestly. My leg was still bleeding, and I felt ashamed and a little afraid of the trouble we’d avoided.
Satisfied, Alexander offered me his hand. I grasped it with both of mine, and he pulled me to my feet.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said. “Back to bed. Surely reading books by yourself is less trouble than climbing trees?” There was a hint of a teasing smile on his face.
Charlotte hovered behind us, wringing her hands. “H-how can I help?” she asked timidly, peeking around me.
Alexander answered sarcastically. “You can help by not leading Robin into any more stunts,”
Charlotte puffed out her cheeks in a pout. “I meant with Robin, you dummy! Should I get the first-aid kit, or—”
“Some coffee for me would be ideal,” Alexander interjected with a sly smirk, already guiding me toward the staircase in the hall.
Charlotte stuck her tongue out at the back of his head. “I’ll get bandages too,” she muttered, scampering off toward the kitchen.
Alexander chuckled and threw an arm around my shoulders to steady me as we made our way upstairs. I leaned on him, grateful. My leg hurt where I’d cut it on the bark, but I could still walk.
“You know,” Alexander said as we climbed the creaking wooden steps, “Charlotte’s gotten a lot better at controlling her blessing lately.”
I nodded. “She hardly ever sets herself on fire now,” I joked weakly. It was true—only a year ago, any strong emotion would cause Charlotte to burst into flame uncontrollably. Father Ezekiel and Sister Eryll had worked tirelessly with her to teach her how to dampen her curse. There were still scorch marks on some of the orphanage walls from her earlier outbursts, but she’d come a long way.
Alexander smiled. “It feels like just yesterday that we had to keep dousing her with water whenever she cried. Father and Sister really had their hands full, didn’t they?” He was trying to keep the mood light, I could tell.
We reached the top of the stairs and headed toward the small infirmary room, but Alexander veered off to the right, toward the children’s sleeping quarters instead. “Let’s sit you down first,” he said.
My heart sank a little. Charlotte’s improvements were wonderful, but they only highlighted my own lack of progress. Unlike Charlotte, whose curse was external and fiery, mine was elusive and strange. I had the ability to transform, to shapeshift my body into a copy of someone else by touch—but I struggled to control it. More often than not, I’d shapeshift accidentally with a bump or a scrape, and I hadn’t gotten any closer to mastering it in all our years at the orphanage.
Alexander noticed my silence as he helped me over to my bed. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, easing me down onto the thin mattress.
I sighed and looked down at the bleeding cut on my leg. “I’ve been… unable to control my powers,” I admitted quietly. It felt weird to call it a “power” or a “blessing” when it caused me so much trouble. “It keeps happening when I don’t want it to. I don’t feel like I’m improving at all.”
Alexander knelt in front of me and began rolling up my trouser leg to examine the wound. It stung, but I barely noticed because I was so focused on my worries. “It’ll take time, Robin,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t stress too much. These things don’t improve overnight.”
I bit my lip. That was easy for him to say—Alexander’s own blessing was amazing, we would teleport to his idol with an almost clinical ease, it never seemed to plague him the way mine did me. “Time isn’t helping,” I mumbled. “I try so hard to avoid transforming, but it still happens. Sure, I can avoid triggering it more now, but… I want to actually control it. I want it to happen when I decide, not at random.”
Alexander finished cleaning the scrape on my shin with a handkerchief from his pocket. The bleeding had slowed. “Avoiding unwanted transformations is a form of control,” he pointed out as he stood up. “You’re better at that than you were a year ago. That counts for something.”
He offered me a reassuring smile as he fetched a clean strip of cloth from a shelf and started wrapping my leg. I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but I still felt a gnawing frustration. Once the bandage was secure, I shifted on the bed and pulled my blanket around my shoulders, suddenly feeling a bit cold despite the summer air.
“I want to find my true face one day,” I confessed softly.
Alexander paused, meeting my gaze. “Your true face?”
I nodded, staring at my hands. “When I change shape… it’s like I lose a part of myself each time. I don’t even remember what I originally looked like.” My voice trembled. This was something I’d barely admitted to myself, let alone out loud. “I’ve been so many different people, I… I’m afraid that if I ever manage to control it, I won’t know which face is really me… if that makes sense.”
A gentle expression crossed Alexander’s features. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside me. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “Whatever your real face is, it’s you. And you’re still here. All these transformations… they don’t change who you are inside.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Father Ezekiel always told us that any blessing—any power—can be honed with practice and faith. It might take years, but you’ll get there. Don’t lose hope.”
I managed a small smile at him, though I wasn’t entirely convinced. Still, hearing Alexander sound so sincere was comforting. He normally played things off as no big deal, so I knew he meant it when he tried to be motivational.
We sat in silence for a moment. The pain in my leg had dulled to a throb, and exhaustion from the climb (and the fall) was catching up to me. I absently picked at a loose thread on my blanket, my mind wandering. An idea began to form—something I’d always been too shy or too scared to try.
I reached out and tugged lightly at Alexander’s sleeve. “Alex…?” I ventured, using the nickname I knew he secretly liked.
“Hm?” He looked at me curiously.
My heart pounded with nerves. “Can I… try something? With you?”
Alexander raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
I took a deep breath. “I want to try to transform… into you,” I said. My voice came out barely above a whisper. “Only if you’d let me,” I rushed on. “The other kids think it’s scary when I do it, but I just… I want to see if I can. I’ve never tried it willingly on someone without them being scared or angry. And you—”
“Yeah, sure,” Alexander interrupted with a shrug, as if I’d asked for something as simple as borrowing a book.
I blinked. “R-really? You don’t mind?”
He gave a half-smile. “I don’t mind. It might be fun. Besides, I’m kind of curious how handsome I’d look duplicated.” He said, striking a pose. I couldn’t help but laugh.
Relief and excitement flooded through me. I hadn’t expected him to agree so easily. My hands trembled as I pulled off the thin gloves I always wore to avoid accidental transformations. Alexander removed the leather gloves from his hands as well, flexing his fingers once before holding his palm out to me.
“Ready when you are,” he said, a note of eagerness in his voice.
I nodded and placed my bare hand against his. Instantly, I felt the familiar surge of energy, like liquid light coursing from his skin into mine. My breath caught as my body reacted. A bright glow enveloped us both. I closed my eyes as the sensation swept over me: the strange weightlessness, the shifting of bones and flesh like clay being molded by invisible hands. It was over in just a few seconds.
When I opened my eyes again. The glow faded, and I realized Alexander was staring at me—at the new me—with his mouth open in astonishment.
It worked. I had transformed seamlessly into his mirror image. The process was exhausting, yes—my head swam and I had to take a deep breath to steady myself—but it was one of the smoothest transformations I’d ever done.
I gave a weak grin. “It worked…” I panted.
Alexander broke into a huge smile. “Woah… That is creepy!” he exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers. He leaned forward, inspecting my face—his face—up close. “It’s like I’m staring at my twin.” He waved a hand in front of my—our—eyes, and when I blinked, he laughed. “Unbelievable.”
I couldn’t help but look down in embarrassment. “Hey, I warned you,” I murmured, attempting to smile. It was odd hearing his voice come out of my mouth.
“But it’s also incredible,” he added quickly, clearly impressed. He stood up and grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet as well. We were the exact same height now, and when he turned me toward the mirror on the wall, two identical Alexanders stared back. I couldn’t deny it was unsettling—I’d copied every detail of him, from the mole behind his left ear to the unruly cowlick in his dark hair.
Alexander let out a whoop of laughter. “Imagine all the things you could do for the King with a power like this!” he said, spinning me around. He was joking, but I noticed a spark in his eyes—he genuinely saw potential in what I could do. “It’s like having a doppelgänger. The ultimate disguise.”
I half-listened, more preoccupied with how different I felt. The throbbing pain in my leg had disappeared. In fact, all the little aches and bruises from the fall were gone. Transforming had effectively healed me by giving me Alexander’s uninjured form. I pulled up the leg of my trousers—Alexander’s trousers, now—and saw nothing but clean, unbroken skin where there should have been a nasty scrape.
Alexander noticed my astonishment. He peered at my leg and let out a low whistle. “It’s like a fresh slate too, huh? All your injuries vanished.” He nudged me playfully. “Your power is truly amazing, Robin. Don’t listen to the other kids—they just don’t understand it.”
I felt a warmth in my chest at his praise. Maybe he was right. Maybe my curse wasn’t just a curse after all. “Thanks, Alex,” I said softly.
He grinned and reached up to ruffle my hair—well, his hair on my head. “Ow—Jeez, you don’t have to mess it up,” I protested, half-heartedly pushing his hand away.
Alexander laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “It’s a bit weird scratching my own head, but I still can’t help myself” We both burst into laughter at that, the sound identical, echoing around the small room.
…
That was such a good memory. But it’s too late now… isn’t it?
I gasped as if breaking the surface of water after nearly drowning. Air flooded my lungs in a cool rush. My eyes snapped open, expecting to see the orphanage still—but instead I saw the dim overhead light of the prison hallway and felt the hard stone floor beneath me. I was back, back in reality. The pain that had consumed me moments ago was gone, like a bad dream.
“Robin…?!” Charlotte’s voice was quavering, disbelieving. She was leaning over me, tears streaking her soot-smudged face. Her hands hovered just above me, as if afraid that touching me would make me disappear. “What—? Robin, you’re—”
I sucked in another breath, then another. The metallic taste of blood was gone from my mouth. I blinked rapidly. To my amazement, I could see out of both eyes; the blurred haze and darkness that had overtaken my right eye had vanished. I raised a shaky hand to my face, touching the skin around my right eye gingerly. It felt intact. Whole.
With Charlotte’s help, I slowly sat up. There was a cooling wetness all down my front—I looked down to see my shirt and coat soaked with partially dried blood. But I felt no pain at all. It was eerie, the way moments ago I had been dying and now… now I felt completely fine. Better than fine, actually—I felt strong.
I turned toward the cracked mirror on the wall, hardly daring to believe. In my reflection I saw not Charlotte, the battered and bloodied girl with braided hair and rough skin, but a taller young man with black hair and a determined face. Alexander. I had unconsciously transformed into Alexander’s form at some point during that hazy boundary between life and death. And by doing so, I had healed every injury I had sustained. My curse—my power—had saved my life.
“Robin…?” Charlotte asked softly. She was staring at me as if I were a ghost.
I managed a smile and gently wiped a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I’m alright,” I assured her. My voice came out sounding like Alexander’s—steady and calm. “I think… I think I’m alright now.”
Charlotte’s lip trembled, and with a broken cry she threw her arms around me. I held her tightly as she sobbed into my chest. “I-I was s-so worried,” she hiccupped. “I thought… I thought I lost you. And then you—” She pulled back just enough to look up at me, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I don’t understand how you just turned into Alexander, but… I’m so happy you’re okay.” A fresh stream of tears rolled down her face, but this time they were tears of relief.
I opened my mouth to respond, to explain somehow, but before I could, a wet, gurgling chuckle interrupted me.
“Ha… hahaha… So you took that bastard’s face, huh?” came a raspy voice from the floor. Charlotte and I both jolted in surprise, and I instinctively pushed her behind me. The voice belonged to Luke. In all the chaos, I hadn’t even looked to see what had become of him after Charlotte shot him. Now I saw him a short distance away, lying in a pool of blood. He was somehow still alive, clutching his stomach where a dark red stain spread across his uniform.
Luke’s face was deathly pale, and every few seconds he coughed up more blood, but the look in his eyes was one of pure malice. He fixed those eyes—already glazing over—on me, taking in Alexander’s form. “Let me… see him,” Luke croaked. “Come closer… Let me see my brother’s killer in the flesh.”
My heart lurched. I held the appearance of Alexander, standing over him. In a sense. And from Luke’s perspective, Alexander was the one who orchestrated whatever happened to his brother.
Charlotte’s fingers gripped my sleeve, worried that Luke might yet lash out. But I gently pried her hand off. There was something I had to do.
“It’s alright,” I murmured to her. I rose to my feet—still in Alexander’s tall, uninjured body—and picked up the pistol Charlotte had discarded. Its weight in my hand was heavy, but oddly comforting. Charlotte looked up at me, eyes wide, but she didn’t try to stop me as I stepped carefully toward Luke.
He was in bad shape. A dark pool of blood spread out from under him, and the acrid smell of it filled the hallway. Charlotte’s shot had hit him in the gut, a slow and painful death. His pistol lay a few feet from his outstretched right hand; it must have fallen when he collapsed. With his left, he was feebly pressing on his wound, but it wasn’t doing much good. He wouldn’t last much longer without medical attention—which he definitely wasn’t getting.
I stood over Luke, and he rolled his head to sneer up at me. “So this is the bastard’s face” He scoffed, managing a bloody grin “You think… this’ll save you?”. His smile widened “Healing up, stealing faces… It doesn’t matter. You’re already dead, kid. You and that little witch behind you… you’re walking corpses.”
I said nothing, watching him carefully. The hatred radiating off him was a palpable force.
Luke coughed wetly and continued, voice growing louder in a spiteful burst of energy. “You’re enemies of the Kingdom—the worst kind. Once they find out what you did to me, what you did here, they’ll hunt you down. You, the girl behind you, that whole orphanage full of monsters… all of you. The King will see to it personally that every last one of you suffers.” He chuckled, a horrific gargling sound. “You’ve doomed them, you know. Whatever sick satisfaction you got from killing me—” he spat blood, “—it’ll be short-lived.”
I knelt down beside him, just out of reach of his twitching hands. His words could have made my blood run cold… but they didn’t. Instead, I felt an eerie calm settle over me. Luke was right—if word got out about what happened here, the King’s forces would come for us. They’d label us traitors, murderers… Charlotte and I would be executed or worse, and the other orphans might face repercussions too. We couldn’t let that happen.
“You’re right,” I said softly.
Luke’s eyes narrowed, not expecting agreement. I reached to my right hand and tugged off the bloodied glove that still covered it. Then I met his gaze. “That’s why I won’t let the Kingdom find out,” I finished quietly.
Luke’s face twisted in confusion, which quickly morphed back into rage. “Wh-what’re you—?” he wheezed. “This was… probably part of your plan, wasn’t it?” He forced the words out between labored breaths. “You must be working with Alexander… or… or the communists… or whoever… to bring us down from the inside…” He coughed again, the sound wet and weak.
I ignored his ranting. There was only one way to ensure no one would know what truly happened here. I had to become Luke—permanently, if need be—and make it out alive in his place. And that meant I couldn’t leave him alive to contradict whatever story I crafted.
My stomach turned at the thought of what I was about to do, but I steeled myself. I reached out and pressed my palm against Luke’s blood-smeared cheek. He tried to jerk away, but he was too feeble.
“No—!” Charlotte cried out behind me, realizing what I intended. I heard her scramble to her feet.
“Stay back!” I barked at her, more harshly than I meant to. I glanced over my shoulder, softening my tone. “Please, Charlotte… trust me.”
She froze a few paces away, hands clasped over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with fear, but she nodded and didn’t interfere.
I turned back to Luke. He was looking up at me with a mix of fury and dread, finally comprehending that I posed a new kind of threat. Before he could utter another word, I activated my curse. White light flared where my skin touched his. Luke’s features twisted in astonishment as he watched his own face begin to ripple and change—on me.
The familiar sensation washed over me, far smoother than usual thanks to the adrenaline and clarity of purpose. In one swift moment, I copied Luke’s form. His injuries did not transfer, of course—only his healthy image. My body shifted and stretched. I could feel my bones rearrange to match his larger frame, my hair lighten to his sandy blonde, my facial features morphing to mirror the man dying beneath my hand. The man whom I hated more than anyone else.
The light faded. I removed my hand from Luke’s cheek and flexed my fingers—unblemished, strong fingers. I was now the spitting image of Luke, down to the last freckle. I stood, towering over him, and looked to the mirror to double-check. A man in a bloodstained guard uniform stared back, appearing completely unhurt. My previous transformation into Alexander had already healed my wounds; now, as Luke, I was both uninjured and disguised.
Luke gaped at me, horror dawning on his face. “Y-you… monster,” he rasped. I could see the fight or flight instinct in his eyes, but with his body wrecked, there was no fight left—only pure spite.
I gazed down at him, and for the first time I felt truly separate from the person I had been. I looked like Luke. I even felt a measure of Luke’s strength and presence. I could almost pretend I was someone else entirely—someone who could do what needed to be done now, without remorse. I found myself speaking in a flat, emotionless voice. “No,” I answered him at last. “This wasn’t Alexander’s plan, or anyone else’s. It was my decision.”
Luke’s face contorted with rage and a flicker of fear. He opened his mouth, perhaps to call for help or to curse me one final time.
I didn’t give him the chance. In one smooth motion, I raised the pistol and aimed it at his head.
Luke’s eyes widened. “No, wait—!” he screamed.
A single gunshot thundered in the enclosed space. Luke’s body jolted on the stone floor, a dark red hole rested between his eyes. His protest died with him, his expression frozen in shock and pain.
Silence reclaimed the hallway, broken only by the ringing in my ears from the gunshot’s echo. I stood over Luke’s corpse, the smoking pistol still clenched in my hand. It felt like time had stopped. I stared at his face—my face now, in a way—slack and lifeless, and a strange sensation crawled up from my gut.
“I hate you,” I whispered to the corpse, barely aware I’d spoken out loud. My hand was trembling. “I hate you… I hate you…” Each repetition grew quieter. A hot, sour taste rose in the back of my throat. My vision blurred with tears I hadn’t realized were forming.
Why… why did I feel like this? Luke was a murderer. He had tortured me—nearly killed me and Charlotte both. He deserved this. He did. I told myself that over and over, but my body betrayed me. A wave of nausea overtook me and I doubled over, vomiting onto the cold stone beside his body. The acidic bile burned my throat and nose, and tears streamed down my cheeks as I coughed and retched.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and stumbled away from the gruesome scene. The pistol slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor. I felt lightheaded and sick, the rush of adrenaline ebbing and leaving me trembling in its wake.
Behind me, Charlotte was silent. I finally turned to look at her. She stood a few steps away, her eyes wide and fixed on Luke’s body. Her hands were clasped tightly over her heart, and I could see them rising and falling rapidly—she was breathing hard, like she might panic at any second.
“Charlotte,” I said gently. My voice came out as Luke’s gruff tone, and she flinched. Right—I still looked like him. Immediately, I willed myself to revert. A shimmer of light rippled over me, and within a blink I was back in Alexander’s form. Charlotte relaxed a fraction seeing that familiar face instead of her torturer’s.
I took a cautious step toward her. She didn’t move away, but her eyes flickered from me to the bodies on the floor. “I-I…” she stuttered, then stopped, seemingly unsure what to say.
I understood. There were no words that could fix this nightmare or make it easier to bear. So I didn’t try to find any. Instead, I closed the distance between us and gently took her hand in mine. She looked down at our joined hands, then up at my—Alexander’s—face.
I managed a small, weary smile. “Let’s go,” I said softly. My voice wavered, but the resolve was there. “We need to leave… now.”
Charlotte hesitated only a second. Then she squeezed my hand and nodded. I could see the pain and exhaustion in her eyes, but also the spark of determination that had carried us this far.
Without another glance at Luke’s corpse or the blood-stained room, we turned and walked toward the exit. I paused only to grab my glove from the floor and slip it back over my hand. Charlotte stayed close by my side, her warmth reassuring against the lingering chill of dread in my bones.
Together, we stepped out into the fading daylight of the port city.