The two men drifted away from the bar, leaving Harrison alone. He slumped against the bartop, wishing he could exhale, instead of constantly feeling like he was stuck between breaths.


    Before he had a chance to appreciate his relief, another form slid onto the stool beside him. He kept his eyes trained on the bar, avoiding making the same mistake as before.


    The figure cleared their voice.


    Curse me, Harrison thought, dread seeping in like a cold draft in the night. They’re here for me.


    He turned around slowly, face peeking from beneath the hood of his stolen cloak.


    A woman sat beside him on a bar stool, anger woven across her brow. Tension caught in his chest, but nothing flared in her eyes when he met her gaze. The anger was more a fixture on a wall than an arrow aimed at him, for now.


    “You know about the deaths?”


    He stared at her silently before nodding his head. There was only one type of death anyone spoke about recently.


    “I do.”


    “Tell me everything you know.” It wasn’t a request. She made the demand, staring at him with barely contained fury behind her eyes, white knuckles wrapped around the hilt of a blade. No, not a blade, a kitchen knife.


    Mothers.


    He turned away from her. “No.”


    Motion, and then a knife inches from his throat, a hand balled in the fabric of his cloak. His hood fell back, revealing a balding head of hair.


    Molars ground against each other so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if they cracked. I should never have opened my mouth.


    His eyes remained trained on the knife, remaining unnaturally still under her grip. If she cut him, even accidentally, his ruse would be up. Dead men didn’t bleed.


    “Woah, woah.” The bartender scurried over, the murmur of conversation throughout the room dying out as all eyes turned to the disturbance at the bar. “No need for any of that.” This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The woman ignored him. Her eyes bore into Harrison, unwavering even as a slight tremor began in her hand. “Tell me what you know,” she said. “I heard you tell those men. Why not me?”


    “Go home,” he said, his voice low. The last thing he needed was a grieving mother on his tail. “Go back to your family.”


    Her lip curled back, something nasty coming to her tongue. “What family?” she spat. “I don’t have anything anymore.”


    Harrison kicked out, striking her in the stomach and sending her stumbling back, forcing her to catch herself against the bar. The stool behind her clattered to the floor. “Good thing you have the tools to make more.”


    He stood briskly, knocking his own stool back. He righted it and stomped out of the bar, leaving the woman behind.


    She, of course, followed him out. Once outside the bar, no one cared that she was coming after him with a knife, her face now red with anger.


    “You have the tools to make more too,” she spat, waving the knife at his crotch. Despite the fact that it no longer worked, he winced out of instinct. “Does that mean your child’s death doesn’t matter?”


    He stopped, turning in place to stare at the woman, leaving space between them in case she decided to stab him this time. “My wife is dead.”


    “That’s not what I asked.” She took a step closer, lowering the knife. “I need you to tell me what you know, because I’m going to kill the man who took my child.”


    The cold set in, a roaring winter storm in his brain. So cold, a storm that locked him into the corpse of a house as a blizzard roared outside. A body, shriveled and curled in on itself, alone as he dragged his dying body across the floor toward it. “Don’t worry,” he said, the chill creeping into his voice. “I’ll handle that.”


    As he watched her countenance harden, he knew she would not be so easily dissuaded. He would either have to kill her, evade her, or allow her to join. Thus far, she’d been difficult to avoid, and killing a grown woman would be far more trouble than he wanted. She could fight back, and hiding a body that large would be an issue, especially considering people had already seen them interacting.


    If her body turned up, the first person they would look toward was him. He couldn’t afford that.


    He turned on her, advancing with such speed she took half a step back as he towered over her. “Why should I let you join me?” he demanded, voice as terrible as a thunderclap.


    “Because my son is dead,” she said, pointing the knife at him like an accusing finger. “And I’m going to find the monster who did this, even if it means I have to go through you first. Or would could help each other and make sure the job gets done.”


    He stared at her, meeting the woman’s unwavering gaze. None of this was part of the plan. This town wasn’t his final stop, just a village he had to move through to reach the man who’d ruined his life. No one was supposed to notice him, much less remember. No one was ever supposed to know this story.


    “What’s his name?”


    “What?” she blinked.


    “What was his name?” Harrison repeated.


    “Elijah.”


    “And what’s yours?”


    “Rebekah.”


    “Harrison,” he said, nodding at her. “Keep up, or I will leave you behind.”