The Old City

0.78: Not Alone Anymore

Angelica's Apartment, three and a half years ago.

Angelica wiped the sleep out of her eye as she rolled out of her hard bed. Winter had truly set in, and her apartment was heavy with cold. Sterile light trickled in from the cracks in the boards which covered her window, along with a piercing draft.

It was a hard day to pull herself up.

But she did. She stretched into the kitchen, where an apple remained from her last grocery trip. Damn. That was what...two weeks ago?

It was soft but edible, so she ate it then slipped into the chair.

How many days had it been since she'd had a real meal?

The war was being fought in the far reaches of the Continent. The Senate had sent all the men away to protect them. That's what they'd said. So why were the city's rations running low? Why were the Enforcers more active than ever? If all the fighters had been sent away, why were the gangs on every damn corner.

Those who were still in the city were terrified. Angelica was the only one who still went out at night, but if she didn't have to work at the Mermaid's Tail, she wouldn't have. She longed just to stay here, hidden away from the world.

She missed her friends.

What were Seneca and Marcus doing? She imagined them fighting Magnarians—on the vast plains of the Shiorah, on the rolling seas of Adair, atop snowy peaks. She imagined them meeting at camp after a long day, trading stories and showing each other their scars of war. She imagined them laughing together, crying together over lost friends, but always holding onto each other.

They pushed the Magnarians back. They took over their camps. They claimed prizes, were cheered, were promoted, were able to smile through the pain.

They returned home.

They sat at her bar, drank her drinks, laughed at her jokes, kicked out unruly customers. And when she was done, they walked the Jaws and caught the sunrise as a new day began.

Stop.

She'd promised herself to stop thinking about them. Just last week, the military had told Kendris that her fiancé had died four months ago. Her friend had collapsed on the news, and Angelica had missed her shift while she held her through the night.

For all Angelica knew, Marcus and Seneca were dead too. Perhaps Marcus was at the bottom of the Adair, crushed under the pressure of the sea or eaten by its beasts. Was Seneca still protecting the eastern front, or was he buried in some ditch?

Stop it. Don't think about them at all. Just...pray.

Angelica wasn't one for prayer. You didn't have the luxury of faith when you grew up in the First Ring. You had reality. You had disappointment.

But...with her oldest friends a world away, she hoped someone was listening when she whispered her hopes beneath her breath. Otherwise, she really would be alone.

***

Angelica woke, aching from a night's sleep on her side. She rolled out of that same hard bed and laid her head in her hands, squinting as the morning sun bled into the room, casting it in warm light.

She smiled, remembering.

I am not alone anymore. I will not lose them again.