It was cold when the familiar paleness of the ceiling came into view as her eyes groggily opened. It was still dark. She guessed it was just passed midnight. Carefully, she untangled herself from Lix's arm, which was draped around her a little protectively.
As she stood, she noticed the disaligned picture frame on the bedside table. Her hand must have grazed at it while she slept. She fixed it and was about to walk towards the bathroom when she noticed another out-placed object. The floor-to-ceiling sliding window that led to the balcony. She eyed it suspiciously. The curtains danced with the wind.
She went to it and slid it shut. Then she felt something under her right foot. Something wet, like--as she looked onto it--mud. She immediately knew that something was wrong.
A burglar.
Her eyes followed the muddy footsteps on the floor. It led towards the bedside table that gave her a probable idea to the unarranged picture frame. Then the footsteps led her to the door that led to the living room.
As silent as she could, she opened the door, suddenly forgetting that she needed to go to the bathroom. The living room seemed in place. Nothing was missing. But the footsteps doubled. She realized there were two of them burglars. The mud prints of what appeared to be from pairs of boots formed broken lines towards the door to the hallways.
I should call security.
She grabbed the phone that hung on the wall and dialed. The receiver replied with a dotted tone. She grew bothered and nervous. Bothered that some people had put dirt in the unit and nervous that a couple of people had managed to get pass the building's security measures. And no one was answering in the Security Department. She tried again but the receiver gave her the same double tone.
She hated hearing those. She had heard enough of them when calling her father's office.
Barefooted, she stepped out into the hallway. And followed the footprints. If no one was going to help her, which she assumed instinctively considering phone gave her a busy tone, she'd try and catch them on her own.
She frowned when she saw the untidiness of the plush green carpet. The maintenance would have a difficult time cleaning these off. She stayed near the walls, sidestepping her way to the elevator.
In case I come across them.
But the hallway was too quiet.
The elevator dinged a few moments after she pressed the button with an arrow facing upwards. She stepped inside and pressed another button, the one with two arrows pointing onto one another. The close button.
For a moment, she stood there a few seconds.
Which floor?
She studied the buttons and immediately recognized the one pressed recently. It was a mechanism she noticed with these elevators. The most recently used button would be lit blue. And presently pressed buttons were red. She tapped 25, a little harder than it should take.
The elevator doors opened to a dark hallway. She felt her heart leap. Now this was something she did not expect. Whoever these people are, they managed to cut the power off this floor. As she stepped into blackness, she began thinking twice.
Can I do this?
Should I do this?
There was no other answer than yes.
Her heart hammered in her chest, like it wanted to pump too much blood and drown her being. She shook the feeling away. The doors to the elevator closed behind her, showering her in pure blackness. Quickly, she pressed her back against the nearest wall. And grabbed the nearest object she could. Which was a flowerless narrow vase. It was made of glass.
Her feet guided her to the right, following her instinct. She held the vase tight and kept it raised, in case someone came up from one of the hallways.
As she reached a corner, everything happened so fast.
She was being pulled.
Her back hitting the wall.
Hard!
A slender hand covering her mouth.
The vase sliding from her grip.
She heard a muffled cry escape her lips as the length of an arm pushed itself over her chest, pinning her to the wall.
She struggled to make herself free, pulling the hand away from her mouth. But the grip was too tight.
She stopped as she realized that a pair of mismatched eyes was staring into her own. Pale blue and bright green. Suddenly, she was too mesmerized and afraid to move. The look her captor gave her was too deadly.
She gulped. Not because of the fear that crept through her spine.
But because he is a boy.
A beautiful one.
For a moment, they stared. She knew he was studying her. So she studied him too. He had deep eyes that had so much darkness in them. His lips was set in a tight line. And his ears was covered under a bonnet, a few auburn strands curled at the hem above his eyebrows.
"Who are you?"
She made a muffled noise.
The boy realised that she couldn't answer him with his hand on her mouth. Slowly, he removed it.
"Hel--!" She cried for help. But the hand was instantly replaced on her lips.
"Hush," the boy hissed. "They'll hear you."
Her eyebrows burrowed in question. Who is 'they'?
The boy took a breath. "I shall remove my hand. But if you scream again, I swear to the Ancients your lips will never be apart from my palm ever again."
She tried to nod, but the gesture came out only a slight shaky nod.
Slowly, as if having second guesses, the boy pulled his hand away. But his other arm remained on the span of her collarbone, as if he was testing if she could be trusted.
She felt like the inside of her lips stuck to her teeth. The hand had clasped her too firmly. But she wasn't about to run her tongue on her teeth to unstick them. "Who are you?" She spoke as low as she could. "And what business do you have in the Neville Twins?"
The boy eyed her cooly, as if uncertain about answering her question. But after a moment, he said, "The name is Adam Vinewood." He paused. "My business in this infrastructure does not concern you."
"Actually, it does," she said with pride. Her voice was clear when she said, "You are speaking to the daughter of the owner of the Neville Twins, Moira Neville."
A smile crept across Adam's lips. "Oh, pardon my rudeness, princess." The sarcasm was clear in his voice. But he lifted his arm away from Moira's chest.
She was glad to have to be able to breath perfectly again. She took deep breaths. "So?"
"So, what?"
"Do you plan to answer my inquiry or do you not?"
"You would not believe me if I were to tell you."
"Try me," she dared him, crossing her arms over her chest.
"It is more complicated than you assume." He grabbed her arm. "Come." He began walking, pulling her with him.
"Where are you taking me?" She asked firmly, trying not to be pulled. She didn't like being dragged like a damsel. "Do you plan on murdering me and chop my body into pieces so you could send them back to my father because I caught you breaking into our property or do you plan on plainly kidnapping me and ask my father for ransom because if you desire money, I will gladly share you little of my riches. How much do you want? A million? Ten million? Twen--"
A hand wove its way through the air and landed on her mouth.
"You seem to have put so much interest in my plans," he said, suddenly facing her. "But no, I have no other plan but to take you to the elevator so you may go back to your chambers."
Moira waved his hand away, which surprisingly came off without so much effort. "No." Stubborn she may be, but she wasn't letting him usher her away without first knowing what he's up to. "Unless you tell me what I want to know."
"You have to leave. This is not a game."
"Oh, good. At least we're clear on that matter. Now, do tell. And where is everyone? It seems that this floor is a ghost town."
In this case, ghost floor.
"I will tell you no--"
He stopped abruptly. His head darted from left to right, as if he heard something.
Moira felt her heart race. Blinded with the real situation she might be, but she knew when something was wrong. "What is it?" She urged.
But the boy, Adam, placed a finger on her lips. "Someone's coming." Without notice, he pulled her towards the nearest unit. He closed the door behind in a silent click.
Moira was about to speak but Adam made a gesture as he peeked through the sliver between the door and the threshold. She knew she should stay quiet. She slid the cover of the peephole and put one eye in front of it. At first she saw no one, just the dark empty hallway. The quiet rang in her ears.
After a few minutes, a figure materialised from the darkness to the right. The short dark hair told her that it was a man. She saw him only briefly as he passed her tiny span of view, but she saw that the man held, what seemed to be, a sword that gleamed red. He was unconsciously swinging it as he walked cautiously.
Blood.
Moira pulled herself away from the peephole and leaned her back on the door for support. Suddenly, her legs felt weak. She covered her mouth to supress a gasp from her lips. Her breathing and heart rate began to speed up. This was the least she expected to see.
But what did you expect?
A robbery, not murder.
I have to--
"Is that blood I saw?" She whispered, her hand never leaving her mouth.
"Yes. A sword made of blood."
"What?"
"You saw it through that lens." Adam pointed at the peephole.
"Actually, what I saw was blood on the sword's blade."
Moira could swear she saw his eyes roll.
"No. It was the sword that was the blood," Adam tried to explain.
Her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't understand."
"I didn't expect you would." The boy raised an eyebrow and eyed her intently. He looked as if he wanted to say something. But it took a few minutes before he said, "Will you fix your hair?" He averted his eyes. "It's tangled all over."
Moira rushed towards the mirror to her left. Her heart shrank when she saw how unorganized her hair had become. Most of it was out of its knot and strands curled in ununiformed mess on her back and shoulder. She blamed sleep and Lix playing with it just before they slept. Her face was a frown as she violently pulled away the garterised ornament she used on securing her hair. She placed it around her wrist like a bracelet. As neatly as she could, she brushed her hair with her fingers and twirled its thickness into a knot. She used the ornament to tighten it so her hair would not fall off.
She turned and faced Adam. "Satisfied?"
"You look better."
Moira wanted to laugh. The matter was out of the blue.
Who would talk about fixing my hair at a time such as this one?
"What do we do now?" She asked, referring to the man who walked passed outside.
"There is no we, princess," he declared. "As for the whereabouts of the people on this floor, I have no idea. So I suggest you stay here." He breathed. "Stay here until the sun rises. By that time, it will all be over. We'll be gone. Without a trace."
Before she could speak, the boy had disappeared, the door closing with a click behind him.
Within an instant, she heard a sharp clang of probably metal on metal. It was followed by a few grunts and groans and a scream.
Someone hitting the stone wall.
She released a frustrated breath.
Who listens when someone told them to stay put?
Moira had watched enough films to know that staying in a stranger's room was not a good idea. She turned the knob and stepped out into the hallway.
Several feet away, she saw Adam crouching over something.
Or someone.
It was the man with the blood-streaked sword. He was lying on his back. The blade of what seemed like a dagger laid on his throat. Adam held it. And his face was close to the man's. "Where is Graiger?"
The man made no answer.
Moira saw that the man's hair was dark but had a reddish touch. That was all she could see through the darkness. She felt an arm wrap around her and felt a sharp object at her throat. A squeak made it out of her lips.
"Let him go." The voice came from her captor.
Adam looked up. For a moment, Moira caught the startle in his eyes. But it was quickly gone the moment it had surfaced. Adam pulled the man on his feet, his dagger never leaving the man's throat, and faced them, mirroring Moira and her captor. She noticed the pair of red eyes that the man had.
"I told you to stay."
"I'm sorry. I--" She was cut off when the man behind her spoke.
"Let my mate go, and I'll let your girl go." By the tone of his voice, there was no negotiating.
The blade that ran along under her chin was red.
Like blood.
It was impossible to confirm the idea that it was streaked with blood. Because it was like crystallised blood, like dark ruby.
So Adam was telling me the truth when he said that the sword was made of blood.
"All I need to know is where to find Graiger." Towering over the man, Adam was weirdly calm. Like he didn't care whatever Moira's captor did to her.
"Just tell him," she spoke. Even if she couldn't see the face behind her. "Please. I don't want to die." Her voice cracked. But she found the will not to cry. If she dies...
If I die, I shan't cry.
"Let. Him. Go." There was finality in his voice. "3, 2..." He pushed the sword toward Moira's throat. She felt sliver of pain, like the inside of her skin was being exposed.
Because it is.
She fought the idea of gulping as she felt a warm line of liquid ran down her skin and pooling at the joining of her collarbones.
"1."
Then something tore through the air. It gave a silent whistle. Like the sound of a narrow object splitting the air in half.
She heard a quirky sound and a loud thud behind her.
And the sword was no longer at her throat. But was bouncing on the floor in a soudless heap.
Moira was too shocked to speak. Too shocked to even stand. Her knees felt weak. She didn't feel anything when she fell to the floor, unconsciously sitting. Her breaths were fast but deep. Her heart was hammering against her chest.
I nearly died.
A figure materialised from behind Adam, a shorter boy with blond hair. He had sharp eyes. Blue. Like Adam, he was clad in black, but a different kind of clothing. The boots were the same. Black. And the leather reached their calves.
Moira's hand instinctively brought itself over the wound on the side of her neck. Her eyes became blurry and her head spun. "What..." But she didn't have the time to finish a sentence.
Because the world spiralled and she knew she was falling.
Falling into darkness.
