Legacy of Herobrine ✓

Chapter 24

Silence followed afterwards. Faolan shifted around on his stone bench and he heard Amia moving around, even though she was still negative enough to be invisible. He presumed that she sat down. But how was he to know?

So he got to his feet--or, foot, since his ankle was still racked with pain--and slid over to the bed. The sheets felt surprisingly comfortable after passing out on the slabs, but he wasn't going to show that. He carefully got into a comfortable position, head on the pillow, staring up at the blank, cobblestone ceiling, and waited.

An hour passed. Then another. His clock told him that it was dusk. Sunset. One of his favorite times of the day, where the sky would show its brilliant, rich colors. Now all he got to look at with color were the flames of the torch--and himself--and the green moss on the walls. Not his idea of beautiful.

He sighed and rubbed his aching sword arm. Just then, there was a loud clang! and footsteps down the hall outside. Faolan's system went on high alert but he kept still. Hopefully Amia was ready to make a run for it, wherever she was. The footsteps got nearer until someone pressed a button from outside and the iron door swung open, and a Descendant leaned into the cell, careful not to get the door too far from her grasp.

White side braid, jean jacket, blue beanie. America. The one with super speed, Faolan remembered.

She scanned the room, wary for threats, until her crystal blue eyes settled on him. "Well, you're still here. That's dandy. How's that ankle healing?"

But she didn't say it with any type of concern or care. She said it like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Faolan took precaution with his words. America was studying him like a wolf watches a sheep. "Fine, thanks."

She rolled her eyes and grimaced. "You're completely welcome. I hope that melon will last you well enough." She smirked and glanced around again. "No scorch marks on the walls, nothing unsettled. You're getting quite used to this place, Faolan. Better than your restaurant?"

On normal circumstances, he would have jumped up and smacked her silly for speaking of his restaurant in such a disrespectful and baleful way. But he knew that she was just trying to provoke him into attacking her, so she could knock him out again and have satisfaction. Besides, he was too hurt, both physically and on the inside from her remark, to challenge her. The only thing he could do was stall her so Amia could make an escape.

"Well, no. It was actually a fine place until it got blown up," but he didn't mention Celeste. Never would he do that.

"That's too bad," she sneered.

Faolan sighed. Hopefully Amia had squeezed out by now. I don't know how much longer I can hold America's attention.

"It is."

America crossed her arms, expression deadpan. "Well, night approaches, fire-boy. You might as well get some sleep before tomorrow. It'll be boring for me, but I'm sure you'll have a grand time. Sweet dreams."

With a last triumphant look, she turned on her heels and stalked out the door, wasting no time to slam it. Her booted feet echoed down the hall until they disappeared.

Faolan raised his head carefully. "Amia," he whispered. "Amia, are you here?"

Silence.

He smiled. She must have slipped out while America's back was turned. That... or she had missed the opportunity. He hoped it was the first option.

"Amia, please be safe," he said under his breath.

Then, he settled into the bed and took her advice. He closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep. Let my dreams be peaceful tonight...