𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 78: 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞 𝐀 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬?

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°

“Where is John Minnelli?” Breanna demanded, stopping the first cluster of villagers they encountered.

The response wasn’t an answer— just a low murmur rippling through them. Conversational.

“He went to the mountain. For the offering.” An elderly woman finally spoke.

Breanna’s gaze cut toward the jagged silhouette looming beyond the lanterns. “How long has he been gone?”

“For a while now” an undefined voice answered.

She turned sharply to Sophia “I think we should meet him up there”

The villagers that heard her statement quickly formed a human barricade —blocking their path.

“Move.” she barked, her jaw tightening.

“No,” they chorused sharply. “It is forbidden. During Sundance, women do not ascend the mountain. It invites misfortune.”

“Ma'am please it's urgent" Sophia cracked through, but the village head shook his head.

“You wait.”

With a defeated sigh they waited.

Seconds turned into minutes and soon stretched into thirty minutes.

The eve's ceremonial drums stopped, still no John.

Maya and Guadalupe emerged out of their hut and stretched their eyes at the mountain.

“Does it always take this long?” the new bride asked.

Maya shook her head worriedly, “Not at all”

At that point Breanna sprang up “You hear that?” she asked no one in particular.

Sophia strained her ear but got nothing, “Hear what?"

Breanna didn't wait any longer to explain, she pushed past everything before they could stop her, snatching a torch from its stand.

Sophia called after her—but she was already moving. “Something is wrong”

—

The path narrowed the more she ascended— attaining the peak of the fire pit, stones bit her underfoot.

“John?” she called, slowing down, gun drawn and torch held high.

No answer came, just a woman’s sob that has become clearer.

With a clocking heart she rounded the entrance to the fire pit clearing —and froze.

A figure knelt near the blazing bonfire, shoulders shaking.

She swept the torchlight over her back and realized it was an elderly woman.

“Ma’am— what happened ” she called carefully, weapon raised. “Turn around please.”

The sobbing didn't stop, but slowly the woman turned.

“Liza Minnelli!" Breanna tasted the name on her lips before putting away her gun.

Liza's face was ruined by grief. Eyes wild and red like she had been sobbing for a while.

“What happened here?” she demanded, moving to console Liza.

“He took my Willow,” she whispered as a coaxing hand tapped her.

Breanna felt the ground shift beneath her boots. “Who— what happened to John?”

The woman’s gaze slid past from the fire and down the mountain. “The man of blade— he slitted and burnt my Willow.”

Breanna’s breath thinned shallow, she keyed her comm with a sharp hand.

“Command,” she said, voice steel. I have confirmation. Blade Knuckles was here”

She looked back at the woman, eyes narrowing. “Will you be a witness if I take up this case?”

“I will speak.”

NEVENA'S GUESTHOUSE.

Dressed in cotton pajamas, trash bag in hand. Nevena stepped out to take it out, the door clicking shut behind her.

With that confirmatory click, she turned to trail down the balcony, toward the trash cart at the porch, but paused.

Her bulbs illuminated a silhouette of a man sitting at the entrance steps, back hunched and turned to her— head dipped seemingly low.

Her eyes flushed in surprise, “Mr Hunt!”

He didn't answer and she didn't expect him to— his cologne was already enough to buttress he's the one.

She dropped the bag and crossed to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

He still didn't react, and to some point Nevena squinted, prying her hands away.

She dropped beside him, studying his countenance and body language.

“Were you attacked?” she managed, running a hand up the biceps of signature dark shirt.

His torn sleeves were rolled to his elbow, the veins in his forearm pronounced from whatever he came from.

Immediately she traced up to the place of trauma, he whimpered softly— recoiling away.

"At least tell me what happened?” She snagged his knee. Her voice shaking.

He finally lifted his face, eyes gleaming with traces of tears.

“Cover up” He uttered bleakly. “It's cold”

Her tears immediately broke like a dam. “Why do you like keeping me an armaway?— despite all my effort”

“Is it making you fall out of love?”

“Yes” she clattered fast, and he glanced at her deeply.

“Do you want to call it qui—”

“I'm not giving up” she interjected before he could finish. “I will stick around until you open up”

“Nina!” he exhaled, pulling her close. “I did something so despicable—”

“It's normal to make mistakes, we are all humans”

Antonio pulled away, shaking his head.

“It's more than a mistake." He sniffled, looking in the opposite direction. “It's unforgivable.”

She reached for his jaw and pulled his face back to her. The pain she saw in his eyes undid her. “Come inside and rest"

He didn't argue, he straightened and followed her.

Inside she unbuttoned his shirt and right on his arm was a mix of light purple colouration with a few other scratches and bruises.

“This looks serious," she remarked, tracing a single finger on it. “Lets go to the hospital”

He pulled her back, “I don't wish to— just let it slide."

“I insist”

“Me too —it doesn’t hurt that much ”

Seeing the persistence in his eyes, she dropped the argument.

After cleaning the bruise with a wet towel, she applied ointment and brushed soft caresses on his hair.

“Come what may, promise me you will see a Doctor”

He gave a curt nod and lowered on the bed to rest.

She turned toward the dresser, setting the ointment down.

Her elbows clipped the mirror and before either of them could react, the medium sized mirror shifted—just enough—and shattered.

She gasped as one of the shard kissed her palm and a thin line opened instantly.

Antonio was on his feet before the breath left her lungs.

“Nevena.” His voice wasn’t loud—but it cracked.

He crossed the room in two strides, seized her wrist, and turned her hand upward.

The cut wasn’t deep, but blood slid freely, from her skin against his.

“No—no—” He shook his head once, like he was refusing a thought. “I won’t let anything happen to you,”

He carried her away from the mess to the living room, pressing a towel against her palm, like he was trying to push the wound back into her body.

“Mr Hunt,” she said softly, confused. “It’s just a cut.”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes were locked on the blood soaking into the white fabric.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered— to himself more than her. “It's a coincidence.”

She reached for his face with her uninjured hand. “Look at me.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he pulled her into him suddenly, pressing her head against his chest.

His heartbeat was brutal—fast, violent.

“You’re not allowed to bleed,” he whispered into her hair. “Not because of me. And if fate thinks it can take you from me… it picked the wrong man.”

Her arms came around him instinctively. “You’re scaring me.”