Nada's Escape: Fighters' lies

2.2 Whisper

The door hisses open and I step into a breath of air conditioning. There he is, standing up from one of the tables.

I follow a line of buttons up to the "V" of his collar. The white fabric compliments his tan and accentuates a jawline straight from a vintage movie poster. Hair frames his face, grown out a little, the colour reminding me of brown leather school shoes. I halt my gaze there, ignoring the scrawl of emotion across his features.

His shoes cross the lino but I stay by the door, hearing it shut behind me. Mildrith sidles along the wall to watch. We must be prime-time viewing for the wardens. The soap opera of the century.

I jolt as Finley's arms snap around me. I'd been distracted by Mildrith, slow from tiredness and surprise paralyses me further. I feel the warmth of his skin through our clothes, chest to chest, and his arms are around me. It's a hug, I realise belatedly, he's hugging me...

He whispers something in my ear, though I don't quite catch it, his breath unpleasantly close to my ear.

"Thank the mage, you made it. If only..."

Anger melts through my shock and I shrug him off. The hug is sticky though, the heat taking a while to dissipate, fuelling the anger starting to simmer under my breastbone. I stalk away, sensor triggering on the door beside me. It hisses open and then closed as I huff in more fuel for the fire.

Its just Finley. You know what to do.

Mildrith shuffles in my peripheral vision. But there's a table between her and us.

I switch back to face Finley. He stands where I left him, lips half open, eyes worried. Don't look at the eyes. It's easy to let the rage build now. I measure the four steps between us. Just a hair's breadth in the surprise of a fight.

I lessen the gap myself, just one simmering step, fingers tingling with anticipation. I see my name on his lips as he takes a step and I smile. Fool.

My fingers are already curling behind my back, hips unrolling as I step into the space between us, launching my fist into his face. My knuckles smack across his jaw. My hand feels like an explosion but he doesn't even flinch, just tilts his head away with a wince. Would have been the nose, if I hadn't missed. Did he move, or is he taller than before?

Disappointment taints my anger, ruining the moment. I clench my fists, poised for an attack that will never come. Because I hear the commotion of wardens reacting behind me, rushing to drag me away. That's all I really wanted.

It makes my part easier when he's a prick. I'm wrenched backwards by the arms, growling at the wardens holding me.

Finley opens his hands in a gesture of peace, "Come on... It's just a bruise. Fair's fair."

I grit my teeth in disgust. Freaking Huntsmen. They're not scared of a little force. In fact, it kinda eggs them on. But everyone has their snapping point, when they get sick of being punched in the face.

I glare at Finley as the wardens loosen their hold. Or at least that's the theory.

"You going to behave?" Mildrith asks but I barely hear the individual words. This is just the script. I never behave. And if I struggle just a little more they'll drag me back inside.

I can feel Finley looking at me. He's always doing that. It's really annoying.

But Finley's whispers are still ticking around in my head, being processed in different ways to try and find the right translation. Thank the mage, you made it. If only... If only you'd let me help.

I blink, a small seed of curiosity finding its way to the surface of my anger. Help? Had he really said that? What does that mean? Help us escape? Or help with recapture?

I find myself nodding, despite my better judgement. "Let me go." I mutter.