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A slender figure in a white hooded cloak looked carefully over the rail and watched the man and the girl sail out the door. She slapped the banister in frustration and walked down the stairs and over to the abandoned table. She lifted Lauren’s backpack, slipping her arms through the straps and testing its weight against the strength of her legs and back.

“Go on. Just leave them here and go on.” Baxley kept one eye on the entrance as he spoke to the woman, urgency in his voice.

“No. She won’t be coming back anytime soon. But, thank you.” The cloaked figure rested Wren’s bound rifle and sheathed sword against her shoulder and rushed out of the Pig and Whistle.

Roswell wiped the stinging rain out of his eyes as he fled up the street and around the corner. He chanced a look back toward the tavern only to see the blonde quickly closing the distance between them. The man turned sharply into the stonework tunnel leading to the canals, speeding up as his feet hit dry ground.

Outrunning Lauren, however, was a feat only a rare few could claim. Fueled by her anger and the frustration of three days’ waiting and seething, her long strides brought her within feet of the stranger as she entered the tunnel. Wren lunged forward and tackled the man to the cobbles. She quickly stood and kicked the prone figure in the ribs, realizing too late that she was not wearing her plate boots. Roswell writhed in pain as Lauren hopped on her left foot, tears and water streaming down her face. “You tricked me!” she screamed. “You tricked me!” She sobbed hysterically as she steadied herself for another attack.

“Wait! I can explain!” The man struggled to raise himself up on all fours, blood streaming from his nose.

“You’re one of them! You tried to make me one!” An avalanche of pain came roaring out in Lauren’s voice. She ripped the Argent Dawn insignia from her cloak and threw it at the stranger’s downturned face, then punched him with all her might, her fist landing squarely in the small of his back.

Roswell fell again to the ground, the breath knocked completely from his body. “Mercy!” he wheezed.

“Mercy? Scarlets don’t show mercy!”

“Stop!” A shriek echoed down from the entrance of the tunnel. Its owner laboriously ran toward the fight.

Ignoring the voice behind her, Wren knelt and grabbed the man’s head by his hair and wrenched it violently backward. “This is for Khrys,” she spat. The girl’s heart pounded furiously, her ears rang and her arms began to shake and tremble from the adrenaline surging through her body.

“Lauren! Stop it!” The cloaked figure pushed back her hood and dropped her parcels on the street.

The warrior looked backward at the voice and promptly let loose her grip on Roswell. She fell onto her backside, blue eyes wide, long hair plastered to her forehead, cloth shirt clinging to her chest. Her bottom lip quivered. “Mom?”

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