A line of red traced down the assassin's neck, warm against the chilled night. She didn't flinched. The blonde woman, however, tried to step further away from Emma but failed. She lipped down to the floor, her trembling hand raised high to the sky until it touched the assassin's.
The red string had shortened to the point they could no longer pull apart.
Emma's blue eyes narrowed, annoyance flickering across her otherwise unreadable face. She raised her blade, angling it toward the thread that bound them together.
"Don't move," she ordered, her voice cutting through the silence like ice.
The blonde woman bit back a sob, forcing her shaking hands to remain still, though every breath betrayed her fear.
Emma nudged the string with the tip of her blade, testing its give. The faint glow shimmered in the steel's reflection. She pulled it taut, pressing down—
The dagger slipped from her grip, clattering against the ground.. Emma's chest seized. She staggered, then collapsed to her knees. She screamed. The blonde voice broke out.
It felt as though the string had burrowed into her chest, wrapping tight around her heart. To sever the thread meant destroying her life. The assassin's breath came ragged, her hand pressed desperately against her sternum. The realization struck harder than any blade. The string. Their bond to another –Nothing could be done from force to killing another. Their life was tethered together whether they like it or not.
The woman stared at Emma, wide eyed, her lips trembling before the words finally broke free. "Why does it hurt you too?" she whispered, her voice raw with fear and disbelief.
Emma's head jerked up, her eyes flashing. For the first time, her composure cracked– not from pain, but the question itself.
"Shut up," she hissed.
But the blonde did not retreat. Her hand, still trembling, inched toward her chest, resting over her own frantic heartbeat. "Because cutting the thread meant ending our lives as well."
Emma looked deep into the blonde woman's eyes. They were blue– so clear, almost crystalline. It was the first time Emma had ever stared so long into another's gaze as though drawn in despite herself. Then her attention dropped– the woman's body shuddered against the night air.
Wordlessly, Emma shrugged off her coat leaving her only in her tank top and draped it over the woman's shoulder, concealing her bare frame.
"So..." Emma's voice was low as her eyes fell to the woman's legs. Silver-blue scales caught the moonlight, glistening with an otherworldly sheen. They were almost mesmerizing. "What are you?"
The blonde' lips curled faintly. "Finally asking? After trying to kill me– twice?"
Emma scoffed, her expression flat. "Answer or don't. But with this..." she lifted her hand. The ted string coiled stubbornly around her ring finger, glowing faintly between them. "I'm afraid we're stuck with each other–for who knows how long."
The blonde laughed, a soft, almost fragile sound in the quiet night. Emma stared at her, brown furrowing. After two assassination attempts, she was far too calm.
"Aren't you afraid?" Emma asked, her voice edged with disbelief.
"Afraid?" the woman echoed. Her hand brushed over the coat, pulling it tighter around her. "Of course I'm afraid. I still am." Her gaze drifted into the darkness. "But... being afraid won't solve anything."
Emma studied her for a long moment. "So... you're just good at hiding it?"
The blonde shook her head. "No." Her fingers tightened around the coat. "I wouldn't say that." She fell silent for a moment before continuing. "After I lost my mother ten years ago... I was afraid all the time. Afraid of losing the people I loved. Afraid something terrible would happen again." A quiet sigh escaped her lips.. "It took me a long time to realize that fear couldn't protect what I cared about. All it did was keep me from living."
She smiled softly. "And... I think my mom would be pretty upset if she knew I'd spent all these years forgetting how to live."
Emma remained silent. She learned long ago that there was rarely a correct response to grief. So she said nothing at all. The silence continued to stretch on. Finally, the blonde woman tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You don't even know my name, do you?" she asked softly.
Emma's eyes narrowed. "Names don't matter."
"They do,' the woman countered, her voice gentle but firm. Her trembling hand lifted, brushing lightly against the strong that tethered them together. "Especially now."
Emma said nothing. She remained apathetic.
The blonde drew in a steadying breath. "Cecilia,' she whispered at last, her voice carrying in the still night. "Cecilia Lancaster."
Emma's eyes flickered at the name. Recognition? No. But something about the way it lingered in the air made her jaw tighten.
Cecilia held her gaze, her crystalline eyes unyielding. "If we're bound like this," she added, "you may as well know who I am."
And yet, for reasons she couldn't place, she didn't look away.
Emma exhaled slowly, her hand brushing the hilt of her fallen blade but not reaching for it. "Names change nothing," she muttered.
Cecilia tilted her head, the faintest trace of amusement glinting in her eyes. "Maybe not for you. But for me? I'd like to know the name of the woman who tried—twice—to take my life... and still ended up tied to me."
Emma's jaw tensed. Silence.
Cecilia learned forward ever so slightly, the coat slipping against her bare shoulders. "You know mine," she pressed. "It's only fair I know yours. Or do assassins not have names?"
Emma's eyes flashed, sharp as steel. " Don't push me."
But Cecilia didn't flinch. If anything, her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Push you? I don't have to. That string already does it for me." She lifted her hand, letting the thread glimmer faintly between them in the moonlight.
Emma's breath caught, though she hid it quickly behind her usual cold stare. The silence stretched again until–relunctantly–she spoke. "...Emma."
The name fell like a stone into still water, rippling between them. Cecilia's smile softened, genuine this time. "Emma," she repeated quietly, as if testing the weight of it. "Good. Now we're even."
"So," Emma muttered. Her tone was flat as she scanned the empty expanse around them, "where are we?"
Cecilia shifted, pulling the coat tighter around her bare shoulders. "I don't even know myself," she admitted. "One moment, I was in my bathroom... taking a bath. Then suddenly something dragged me down– deeper into the water. Like it was swallowing me whole."
Emma's gaze hardened, though her mind turned sharply behind her calm expression. Dragged through water? Strings? None of it made sense. She clenched her jaw.
"Convenient," she said coldly. " A stranger appears out of nowhere, bound to me. Almost sounds like a setup."
Cecilia let out a quiet, incredulous laugh.
"If it were," she said, gesturing to herself, "do you really think I'd choose to arrive like this?" She glanced down at the oversized coat barely covering her. "Half-naked, freezing, and tied to a woman who tried to kill me twice?"
Emma didn't so much as blink. "Or maybe." she said, her voice low and measured, "that's exactly how you were told to approach me."
Cecilia stared at her, utterly dumbfounded. "You think I know what's going on?" she asked, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm just as lost as you are."
Emma didn't answer. Instead, she drew her blade. The soft hiss of steel cut through the silence. Cecilia froze.
"You said you don't know."
"I don't."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care whether you believe me or not."
Emma stepped closer. The crimson thread stretched between them. "We may be tethered," Emma said quietly. "We may even share the same fate." She stopped only inches away. "But I have spent my entire life enduring pain." The tip of her blade rested lightly against Cecilia's abdomen–not enough to pierce, only enough for Cecilia to feel the cold steel through the thin fabric of the oversized coat. "Can you?"
For the first time since they had met...
Cecilia's composure cracked. Her breathing hitched. The confidence disappeared from her eyes, replaced by unmistakable fear. She tried to hide it. She failed. Emma watched in silence. There it is. Not bravery. Not deception. Just fear. Exactly as it should be.
Without another word, Emma lowered the blade.
As she withdrew it, the razor-sharp edge grazed Cecilia's torso, leaving behind a shallow cut.
Cecilia gasped, instinctively pressing a trembling hand against the wound as a thin line of crimson welled beneath her fingertips.
Emma's gaze lingered on the blood for only a moment.
"So..." she murmured. "You do bleed."
The words had barely left her lips when a sharp sting spread across her own abdomen.
Her eyes narrowed.
Slowly, she looked down.
Beneath the fabric of her shirt, an identical cut emerged across her skin. A single bead of blood slipped down her torso, mirroring Cecilia's wound with unsettling precision.
Neither of them spoke.
The only sound was the distant hum of a flickering streetlamp somewhere beyond the alley.
Emma brushed her fingertips over the fresh cut before looking at the blood staining them.
"I believe you."
Cecilia blinked. "...You do?"
"I believe," Emma corrected, turning away, "that you're just as lost as I am." It wasn't trust. Not even close. But it was enough that Emma no longer saw Cecilia as an immediate threat. For now. "Let's get out of here."
Cecilia stared at her. "But where, exactly, are we?"
Emma glanced down the empty alley, her eyes scanning every shadow and every possible exit, but there was only a path ahead, a tunnel. "We walk." A pause. "And we find out for ourselves."
Their hands brushed again as the threat pulled taut, a reminder of the invisible weight tying them together Emma's jaw tightened, but she didn't answer. She only turned, taking the lead into the darkness.
Cecilia hesitated before stepping after her, bare feet cold against the stone. The silence pressed down on them, broken only by the steady rhythm of Emma's footsteps. When Cecilia finally caught up, she found herself walking beside the assassin. And that was when she noticed something she hadn't before.
Emma was tall.
Not just slightly taller than her significantly so.
Cecilia had always considered herself average in height, but standing beside Emma made the difference impossible to ignore. The woman had a presence that made her seem even taller than she actually was, every movement controlled and deliberate.
Like a predator that never needed to rush.
Cecilia hated that she noticed.
Especially now. Especially after Emma had held a blade against her moments ago. Yet, somehow in the dim glow of the streetlights, she found herself noticing other things too. The sharpness of Emma's features. The calmness in her expression. The strange beauty of someone who looked as though she had never allowed herself to be anything except dangerous. Cecilia quickly looked away.
This was not the time. Definitely not the time.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she finally muttered.
Emma didn't look at her. "No need to."
Cecilia blinked. "That's your answer?"
"Yes." A small silence followed. Cecilia stared at her.
"You know, most people would at least try to make conversation after being mysteriously dragged into an unknown place with someone they were attached to by a magical thread." Emma continued walking.
"Most people talk too much."
Cecilia pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. "You're difficult."
"I've been told."
"Frequently?"
"No."
Cecilia glanced at her. "Never?" Emma didn't answer. And somehow, that answer told Cecilia more than words could.
The string pulsed once, faint but steady, as if mocking them both.
The tunnel continued to stretch on, narrow and damp, lit only by the pale shimmer of the thread between them. Emma moved without hesitation, every step calculated, while Cecilia stumbled to keep up, clutching at the oversized coat.
It was the sound that broke the silence first–harsh laughter, cruel and echoing. Then a muffled cry.
Cecilia froze. "Did you hear that?"
Emma didn't slow. "Not our concern."
But as they rounded the bend, the scene came into view: a man on the ground, clutching his head while three small, twisted creatures–like shadows given form–kicked and clawed at him. His voice cracked as he begged them to stop.
The creatures were wrong. That was the only word Cecilia's mind could form as her eyes widened in horror.
But as they wanted to cross the bend, the scene snapped into focus: a man sprawled on the ground, clutching his bleeding head, while a monstrous beast loomed over him.
Cecilia froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. It wasn't just an animal. It was a nightmare given flesh.
The lion's body was massive, its golden hide marred with scars and matted with filth, one enormous paw pinning the man helplessly into the dirt. From its muscled back jutted a goat's snarling head, foam dripping from its twisted jaw, eyes rolling with madness. Its serpent's tail writhed independently, hissing and coiling, venom dripping in heavy beads that seared into the stones with each strike.
Cecilia's voice broke. "What the... what is that?!"
Emma's tone was ice. "No idea. And none of our concern."
The man screamed again, raw and terrified. The sound carved through Cecilia, lodging deep in her chest.
"We have to help him," she begged, clutching Emma's arm.
Emma's eyes cut to her, sharp as a blade. "How do you expect me to fight when you're bound to me? One misstep and I drag you into the kill with me."
"But—he'll die!" Cecilia's grip shifted to Emma's hand, clinging tighter, desperate. "Please, Emma. We can't just walk away!"
Emma's expression didn't flicker. "It's not our problem. That's his fate."
"Emma!" Cecilia screamed, her voice cracking, her whole body trembling. Not from the chains that tied her to an assassin—but from the horror of watching someone die and doing nothing.
Her cry split the night, piercing and sharp. The beast's three heads turned in unison, snapping toward the sound. The serpent's tail lashed, hissing. The lion's ears pricked, nostrils flaring, and in a heartbeat, its burning eyes fixed on them.
The Chimaera roared.
And it lunged.