I moved quietly, my footsteps light as I slowly ascended the stairs.
Once I reached the upper floor, I slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.
There was no lock. There had never been one.
I set the things I had been carrying down on the desk — right next to the dull, red amulet that still lay there, untouched.
Without wasting a second, I grabbed the chair and gently wedged it in front of the door. Then I darted to the windows.
Peering outside, I kept myself partially hidden, just in case he looked up. I didn't want to be seen.
From the corner of the window, I spotted him — the same man from yesterday.
Ms. Crimson must've been standing in front of him. I couldn't see her from this angle, but I was sure she was there.
I couldn't make out what they were saying. Their voices didn't reach this high up — not unless they were shouting.
Then, without warning, the man stepped into the tavern.
"What?"
My brow furrowed, confused by what I was seeing.
I strained to hear what was happening below, but it was useless. Unless they screamed at each other, I wasn't catching a word.
A couple of minutes passed. I waited, watching the street through the window, tense and still.
The tavern door creaked open again. The man stepped out.
"Oh…" I let out a breath, my muscles relaxing slightly. I thought he was leaving.
But then — Ms. Crimson followed him. She closed the door behind her and started walking.
He followed.
"What—why is Ms. Crimson…"
Was she trying to lure him away from the tavern? That's what it looked like. And yeah, that actually made sense.
At least, I hoped that was the plan.
---
Clarkson met her with a wide, confident smile.
His eyes flicked past her, trying to see inside the tavern. Crimson immediately stepped forward, blocking his line of sight.
"Still so defensive," he said with a grin. "And it's only our second meeting."
Crimson let out a tired sigh and glared at him. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice sharp and serious.
She knew she needed to act. But the problem was — she still didn't understand what her brother or the people he worked with wanted from the girl.
She didn't have all the answers. Not yet.
But she had her orders from Exios.
Protect Liliana. At all costs.
So, she'd play along. Let Clarkson take the lead. Watch him. Learn what he wanted.
Clarkson chuckled softly. "Can't I visit my sweet sister?"
He smiled again, eyes drifting downward in a way that almost looked… wistful. "It's been such a long time since we last met…"
Crimson raised an eyebrow. She wasn't buying it, but still — it caught her slightly off guard.
"Well," she said bluntly, "you've seen me now. Is there anything else?"
He chuckled again. "Visiting doesn't mean just having a short encounter."
He leaned in slightly. "Can't I come in? I want to catch up. I want to know what you've been doing all this time… what happened to you."
His voice softened, and his gaze settled on her with what seemed like genuine warmth.
After all, the last time they met… wasn't pretty.
She remembered it clearly — the yelling, the bitterness, the hatred.
And now here he was. Smiling. Asking to talk. Like things were normal. Like they used to be close. Like they used to care about each other.
Or… was that all in the past too?
"Wow," she said, a smirk creeping onto her face. "You've really improved your acting."
Her tone dropped. "Don't fuck with me, Clark."
She knew he was full of it. Every word he said — a performance.
Clarkson looked at her, the false sincerity vanishing from his face. It was replaced with a smile that said everything.
'I knew it wouldn't work — but it was worth a try.'
"Yeah, well," he said, brushing past her, "just let me in, sis."
He shoved forward, entering the tavern with ease.
"Get your shit together," Crimson muttered, staggering slightly from the sudden push.
Clarkson began strolling through the tavern, his steps unhurried as he took in the surroundings. Crimson closed the door behind him — not that she had much of a choice now.
"Wow," he said, spinning slowly as he looked around. "Such a delightful place. Cozy. Feels… homey."
His eyes scanned everything — the furniture, the walls — until they landed on the small table with the picture frames.
He walked over, a hint of curiosity lighting his face.
"No way," he murmured.
He leaned down and picked up one of the frames.
It showed a woman and a young boy, holding hands and smiling.
Clarkson turned the photo toward Crimson. "Who are they? Are you… into women now?"
His grin widened, clearly enjoying himself.
Crimson didn't move, arms crossed as she glared at him.
"No," she said. "She owns this tavern. She's a friend."
"Mhm," he nodded, glancing back at the photo. "I see a ring on her finger. So she's married."
He placed the frame back carefully and continued scanning the rest.
Crimson slowly began moving.
Step by step. Quiet. Calculated.
He knows.
He was already suspicious — that much was obvious. He knew she was protecting someone.
She couldn't wait for him to make the first move. If she did, he'd find the girl.
She needed to strike first.
"Where's the little girl?" he asked casually, eyes still fixed on the photos. "The one I met yesterday. Is she not their daughter?"
Crimson didn't answer. She kept walking, inching closer behind him.
Then, with a quick flick of her wrist, a wooden staff appeared in her hand. Long and thick — the length of her arm.
Clarkson suddenly raised his hand.
"Don't move," he said, forming three fingers into the shape of a gun. "Unless you want me to hypnotize you."
Crimson froze.
"…What?"
He turned around slowly, still grinning, his hand still aimed at her.
"Oh, you were already hypnotized," he said brightly. "This is great! I wasn't sure it would work."
Her heart skipped a beat.
"You already looked into my eyes," he said, voice low and smug. "So even if you close them now, it's too late."
Crimson's body tensed. She tried to back away — to do anything — but her body wouldn't move.
"What the fuck are you yammering about—?"
But as she spoke, she realized.
No matter how much she willed herself to move—
She couldn't.
"Move closer… until your forehead touches my fingertip," Clarkson said.
No—ordered.
Crimson tried everything she could to resist. She pushed back, willed her legs to stay still, to run, anything. But her body betrayed her.
She had no control anymore.
Her steps moved on their own. Slow. Mechanical. Unstoppable.
And then — her forehead pressed gently against Clarkson's fingertip.
Now they stood face to face.
Crimson's brows furrowed in confusion, her eyes locked with his. Clarkson's hand, shaped like a mock gun, was pointed directly at her forehead.
And in that moment, something clicked.
Her thoughts raced, her mind piecing it all together. Then… she understood.
Her gaze snapped up to Clarkson, disbelief flashing in her eyes.
"My dear sister," he said, voice calm and almost affectionate, "when I press my hand into your head, you'll fall unconscious. And when I say the word 'go', you'll open your eyes, walk out of this tavern, and say nothing. Just wander for a while — until I'm far enough away."
He smiled, watching her closely, savoring her expression.
"Any last words?"
Crimson glared at him, her teeth clenched.
But then — in true Crimson fashion — a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Go fuck yourself—"
Before she could finish, Clarkson pushed his fingertip against her forehead.
That simple touch stole the light from her eyes.
He lowered his hand slowly, satisfied.
In a single blink, Crimson's eyes rolled shut. Her body staggered backward, her crimson hair lifting slightly before she collapsed onto the hard wooden floor.
Bam!
She lay there — still, like a puppet with its strings cut.
Her wavy red hair spilled over her face, covering her features, hiding the sharp intensity that had burned there just moments ago.
Clarkson stood above her, his smile fading into something quieter… colder.
He stepped closer and crouched down beside her.
Through the curtain of her hair, he caught a glimpse of her face — the same red waves that mirrored his own.
"For a moment," he whispered, "I really thought you were on my level."
He chuckled softly, almost wistfully.
"I hoped for it."
His voice dropped, almost speaking more to himself than to her.
"Are you seeing it now, sister? Can you finally understand how far I've come? How much I've grown?"
He exhaled slowly. "All those years… and you did nothing."
He paused, the weight of those two words sinking in.
Level.
Nothing.
A crooked smirk twisted across his lips.
"Actually, it's probably better this way. If you keep doing nothing… you won't get dragged into this mess."
He rose to his feet and adjusted his coat, brushing off his sleeves like none of it mattered.
Then he glanced down at her again.
"Go."
Crimson's golden eyes snapped open — but they held no awareness.
No hesitation.
She stood, quiet and mechanical.
Clarkson moved to the tavern door, pulling it open with a casual hand.
He stepped out, waiting.
Crimson followed.
She moved like a shadow, no resistance in her limbs, no fire in her eyes.
Once outside, she quietly closed the door behind her.
---
Ms. Crimson… and the man who looked just like her — they both left the tavern.
I kept staring through the window, heart heavy with questions I couldn't answer.
'Why did she leave?
Why didn't she fight back?'
But maybe… maybe she couldn't.
Maybe that really was her only option.
'Maybe she couldn't do anything…'
All I could do was wait.
Wait for her to come back.
Wait for Sir Exios to return.
'I hope they both come back soon…'
His voice echoed in my head, a warning now growing louder with every second:
"Do not come out, unless you know it's me."
It should've been easy to follow that rule.
Just stay in the room. Don't open the door. Don't make a sound.
Easy.
But then I remembered… it's also easy for someone else to open that door.
And that's when I heard them.
Footsteps.
Heavy, creaking footsteps climbing the stairs outside my bedroom.
I froze, head snapping toward the door.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
They were getting closer.
Panic surged through me — hide, hide, do something!
Then I saw it. The dull red amulet still lying on the desk.
I remembered what Sir Exios told me:
—
"As long as you have this amulet, everything will be all right."
—
I rushed forward and snatched it up, clutching it in both hands.
But the footsteps… they were almost here.
'Hide! Where?'
My eyes darted around the room in desperation.
There— the wardrobe.
I yanked it open and squeezed inside, quickly pulling the doors shut behind me.
It was cramped. Too many clothes. I couldn't see anything — not even the tiniest sliver of light.
Everything went dark.
And somehow… that made it worse.
The silence. The suffocating stillness. The fear.
I curled into myself, the amulet pressed tightly between my palms, hoping — begging — that whoever opened that door…
Would be Sir Exios.
Or Ms. Crimson.
Just… not the person I was hiding from.
As I held onto the amulet, its surface suddenly shimmered—glowing an intense, vivid red.
Just like it did back in Ms. Crimson's tent.
"What…" I whispered, barely audible.
But before I could make sense of it, the door creaked open.
Creeeeek.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Then—silence.
The footsteps had stopped. Whoever it was must be standing in the room now, staring.
Watching.
And then they started to move again.
I could hear them pacing… slow, deliberate steps.
My whole body trembled. Sweat dripped down my back, and I felt completely paralyzed by fear.
But the amulet in my hands, still glowing with that intense red light—it gave me something to hold onto.
A faint sense of comfort.
I clutched it tighter and closed my eyes.
And that feeling—this dread inside me—it felt… familiar.
Unsettlingly familiar.
A terrible, crawling sensation in my chest.
I hadn't felt this kind of fear since I woke up.
The fear of the unknown.
The footsteps stopped.
But then—
Creeeeek.
The wardrobe doors began to open.
They found me.
Still, I kept my eyes shut. Holding the amulet like it was my last lifeline.
"There you are, sweetheart," a man's voice said gently.
It was deep, calm… and strangely soft.
I cautiously opened my eyes.
A young man stood there in a sharp green tuxedo. His hair was silk-smooth and green, his eyes a light violet, and a single monocle rested over one of them.
I stared at him, frozen.
He crouched down to my level, peering at me like he'd just found a frightened kitten.
"There's no need to be scared," he said, his voice smooth, almost comforting. "You look like you're about to cry."
And I was.
My skin was damp with sweat, my arms and legs still trembling. I couldn't stop it.
"Did I scare you?" he asked, tilting his head. "Ah… I must have. But I promise I'm not a bad person."
He smiled.
"I suppose His Highness must have told you terrible things about me, huh?"
His Highness?
I blinked at him, confused. I didn't know what he was talking about.
"Oh? He didn't?" he continued, amused. "Well, that's good. First impressions matter, after all. And I'd prefer you not be scared of me."
He reached inside his coat. My muscles tensed again.
But slowly, carefully, he pulled his hand out and opened his palm.
Inside it… was a small flower.
"This is called a poppy," he said with a gentle smile. "I came here to give it to you."
I looked at it.
Large, papery petals—brilliant tangerine in color—surrounded a dark, velvety center.
Simple. Beautiful.
"Take it," he offered. "It's yours. A gift."
I hesitated.
He hadn't hurt me.
And his tone… his expression… it wasn't threatening.
I was still scared, but that fear was slowly fading.
'Maybe I should take it.'
I reached out, hand shaking slightly, and gently took the flower from his palm.
It was warm against my skin.
"There," he said softly. "See? Nothing to be afraid of."
I still didn't trust him. Not fully. But I did feel a little… safer.
"It has a wonderful scent too," he added. "That's why I thought it'd suit you. Poppies give off a truly exquisite fragrance."
I glanced at him, then back down at the flower.
I raised it closer to my nose and sniffed.
He was right—it did have a beautiful scent.
Sweet, delicate…
But then—my vision blurred.
Colors bled together.
The world spun.
And everything went black.
---
Liliana lay unconscious inside the wardrobe, her small body curled up among the hanging clothes.
Both of her hands were still clutching the orange poppy… and the red amulet, which continued to glow brightly.
Denver, the man in green, extended his hand toward her.
But the moment his finger neared her—
Zap!
A red arc of lightning sparked from the amulet.
He recoiled slightly, raising a brow.
"Figures," he muttered. "That amulet really was meant to protect her."
He studied it, intrigued.
"If I destroy this little trinket…"
Carefully, he placed his hand above the amulet, keeping just enough distance to avoid touching Liliana directly.
Tiny red sparks began to jump between his fingers and the surface of the amulet.
Little by little, the artifact started to fracture.
Crack by crack, it came apart.
Flashes of red lightning sparked out, dancing briefly across Liliana's skin without harming her.
Finally—the amulet broke.
Fragments glimmered and fell away like dying embers.
"It generated a shield… I assume it only activates when someone tries to hurt her."
He reached forward again.
And this time—nothing stopped him.
He gently picked Liliana up in his arms, careful not to disturb her any more than necessary.
"It's time to go," he said quietly. "Those two will be back any minute. That thing was more trouble than I thought…"
He turned, carrying her toward the door.
As he walked out of the room, the orange poppy slipped from Liliana's hand—
—and fluttered silently to the wooden floor.