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CHAPTER FIVE; family of crows
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ACE SPENT HER ENTIRE LIFE LOOKING OVER HER SHOULDER—worrying about her safety, calculating every step, rethinking every mistake, and not trusting anyone enough that she could get hurt. And usually, when she slept, it was the only moment where her mind and heart steadied and she fell into the graceful bliss—a sleep that wasn't plagued by either dreams or nightmares, void of anything, a blissful taste of death without the strings attached to actually dying. Usually, she could rest in her sleep, and recently, when she was with him she found peace too.
And yet, as she lay in bed, tossing and turning, the sounds of the chain, still holding her captive, ringing through the room haunted her and sleep wouldn't be welcomed. She'd escaped, but she still felt stuck within her mind, within the nightmares of failure, of falling.
Stuck in this limbo between sleep, Ace was startled awake when the sound of an enormous explosion echoed around her, when the floor shook beneath her bed.
She shot to stand up, nearly throwing up as the chains weighed her down and she was brought back to the warehouse, the feeling of helplessness—we flipped a coin for you—, a shudder ran through her spine as she hurried to her dresser, opening the first drawer and snatching the shotgun she had stashed inside.
Gritting her teeth together and willing the memories to go away, she pushed through the sickness and walked over to the window, opening it to slip her head outside and spot the chaos on the streets. Smoke wafted in the air, heavy a couple of streets ahead of her, and half of the Stave seemed to be in shambles—people running frantically on the streets, screaming as they looked for shelter or lost ones. Her eyes roamed to the spot she knew Goedmibridge to be in and she swallowed the fear that had settled within her, glaring daggers at the spot.
"He's fine," she chastised herself, stepping away from the window, ignoring the rattling of the chains. "Stop caring about the bastard."
Then again the bastard had held her trembling body to him the night prior, gripping onto her as if she was made of glass, stroking her hair despite the tremors that plagued him. She shook herself out of thoughts of him, the one who settled her mind and heart and yet couldn't utter a single word that proved he felt the same.
"Fucking bastard," she cursed him out loud, as she walked over to her vanity, catching her own eyes in the mirror with a grimace.
Her skin looked ashen like it'd lost its color; her cheeks were hollow and the shadows under her eyes were prominent. She needed a bath. Maybe some food. Definitely some sleep. And to get the damn chains off her body.
Just as she thought about blowing a hole in her floor to perhaps break apart the chain in her ankles, something moved out of the corner of her eye and Ace lifted her head from the chains that held her down, grabbed a dagger laying on the surface of the vanity and chucked it to where she'd seen the movement. Holding the shotgun in place she swiveled around, pointing it at the intruder.
