Euphi watched Kyros as he laid out on the couch. He held a rag and a disinfectant, wincing as he cleaned his wounds. His shirt was unbuttoned and blood seeped down his torso, pooling in the grooves of his abs. Kyros gently dabbed ointment into cuts and bruises. He had refused to let anyone else do it, but it would have been much faster if anyone else had been permitted to help him. He had this weird hatred for human contact, but Euphi knew better than to ask about it. They all did.
Euphoria knew better than to ask a lot of things, but one question that wouldn't stop plaguing her mind was this; What the hell happens now?
Of course they weren't giving up –Kyros would never let that happen– but how were they supposed to continue? Kyros had been beaten so badly that he had resorted to using the healing salve that was reserved for emergencies. Everyone's morale was practically lower than ever before, and if she was honest, Euphoria would say Kyros wasn't the most encouraging person in the world. How were they going to get past this?
Euphoria had watched Kyros give up what may have been his only chance at the person he hated, just to save the rest of them. Euphi knew that wasn't a weakness Kyros would have liked to have allowed himself. He couldn't slip up like that again. None of them could. So what were they going to do to fix it?
YOU ARE READING
The Assassin's Ghosts
Historical FictionKyros He has been surviving on the streets since he was young, accumulating a band of criminals perfectly suited to his needs. He makes a living by conning, killing, and robbing rich merchants, as well as doing the occasional dirty job for other peo...
