THE CROOKED SAINTS

11.

♫ track playing: THE TRADITION, halsey

BOLOGNA, ITALY. 

"You're insane." Via hisses from beside me, clad in her maroon trench coat and luscious curly hair tied in a bun. She grips my arm like it's her life support but in truth, it is me holding onto her, counting my last breaths. 

"It should be around the corner." I manage to grit out as my coat hides the spot of blood growing through my sweater. No matter how proficiently Hoseok bandaged me, the bleeding wouldn't stop and the healing wouldn't begin; so quite literally, I'm dangling on to the last thread of existence. 

"Lana, why are we risking everything to meet this guy?" Via asks as I try standing up straight to find the slim door on the busy street, it can be missed easily. 

"Because he's the only one that can help me." I absentmindedly answer, spotting the obnoxiously hidden door and tugging Via, "Let's go." 

☙

"She's not there." Hoseok rushes into the provision room, six set of eyes landing on him with confusion hovering in their gaze. 

"What?" Jimin is the one to speak up first, "Do you mean?" 

"Luna. She's not in her bed and Via's gone too." Hoseok stalks into the room and Jimin takes a step back because he's set right for him, "You...You and your cursed words. You know the woman is power-headed yet you called her a liability and challenged her. This happened because of you." 

Jimin looks away, his jaw ticking, "You can't place the blame of her madness on me." Wearing his nonchalance on his face, he turns to the table with the blueprint and plans scattered over them but he isn't focused on any of that―his attention fixes somewhere far away, in an obscure rank. Where did she go?  His bitter thoughts all come to that concluding question. 

"She's injured." Namjoon states, everyone calculating the situation but coming up with nothing more than the closing that they might have just pissed off their only expectation of triumph at this hiest. 

"You and Jungkook will get her back." Jin's voice thunders over the stillness, his demeanor electrifying over each of them as he sits on the black cushioned chair, dressed in black. Jimin doesn't say anything but nods―picking up his coat and walking out of the room without a word. Jungkook nonchalantly follows. 

☙

"Alana Dragnis." His voice is as unearthly and frozen as I remember, Cortis Einar, in his gilded glory sits before me within disguise of a liquor shop. "Wouldn't say it's a pleasure to see you." He follows with a wink, he's still sitting behind the counter, thousands of liquor bottles embellishing the mantelpiece behind him. Via stands close behind me, gripping my arm tight, probably alarmed by him. I wonder what her reaction would be to his true form if she's this afraid of his humanity. 

"Cortis." I sputter his name out because speaking is a privilege that I cannot enjoy with the hollow wound seeping the remaining life out of me. "I...I am here to seek help." That word, it tastes so novel and strange on my tongue yet the smell of flesh and blood, the fear of perishing has me speaking it. 

His eyes light up an absurd shade of golden―nostrils flaring, "You're hurt." He declares, sitting stiffly in his seat, not making a move on it but I know he's withering to ask what happened. He can smell the blood as promptly as me, yet it is the shock in his eyes that's different. It's not everyday Alana Dragnis shows up to an ignoble creature's doorstep seeking help.