Rosalie Kasten is out of luck and out of time. For the last two years, she's been living on borrowed time. After her involvement with the death of Edwin Pierce - Alexander Pierce's son - it's only a matter of time before Hydra comes for her.
James...
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« 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒊𝒙: 𝑫𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 »
𝐈 𝛐𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝛐𝛐𝐤 𝐚𝐭 the world around me and wonder when it began changing. I don't think – no matter how hard you were to try – that it is possible to point at a certain year and say 'This. This is where it went wrong'. Things always happen in their own time. They happen slowly and come in small waves. You could start, perhaps, with the discovery of fire, or if you wanted something closer to now, it could be the steam engine.
Every step made the leap easier. Every step came closer to ruin, and when the humans finally realised what was happening, it was already too late. They are funny in that sense. It is amusing to watch.
Of course, I could see the beauty of it, as it never affected me. How the snow covered every piece of land on every Christmas Eve, no matter what part of the world you found yourself in. It was all the same when I picked up the souls from the frozen bodies.
I found the same enjoyment in the dry heat of the summer as the sun drained every living thing of water. Those kinds of souls always felt lighter to me. I like how the sun scorches everything, as if the colour is leaking into all else, how the lights reflect in the snow and coats things in white. That kind of distraction always made my job easier.
You see, I do try to enjoy every season and every version of the lights, but of course, I can't stop myself from having favourites. The ones I am the fondest of, are the people whose lights are red against the snow.
A true crimson contrasting the white of clouds, gracing the ground. You might think of it as macabre. The most common reds are those of blood, but I think it is a misconception. Blood is often much, much darker, closer to brown. Not to say that I dislike that colour, far from it. I do have to admit, when it comes to blood in snow, it is almost the perfect shade of red.
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They don't drive for long. They came from the highway and there are plenty of motels in this part of the city. It's a pretty small one that they end up at, but it means fewer people too, and then there's just one small issue.
"Why the hell would you think I have any money?" James scoffs with his palms raised, and Rosalie lets out another groan of annoyance.
"Because you're a freaking bounty hunter! My brother always had some kind of cash on him – more than ten dollars, at least," she snaps and runs a hand through her hair.
With enough time, she might be able to steal some, but that would mean going to a crowd of people, which he doesn't seem too fond of. There's no telling if that is going to be enough either. James frowns and his angry expression drops.
"Your brother?"
Shit. Maybe telling him that was a bad idea. Rosalie doesn't know what to do, so she bites the inside of her cheek and puts the force back into her gaze. She's never been sure what it is, but she can feel it. Whenever she gets a little too emotional or a little too scared, it's as if her eyes go wide, and they start trembling, quavering with whatever she's feeling.
