The window creaked as she slid herself back inside, her breath shallow as though the night itself was chasing her. The moonlight spilled across her small, bare room, glinting off the corner of the cracked mirror. She pressed her back against the wall and let out a shaky sigh. Failure burned in her chest like a coal she could not spit out.
Her plan had crumbled again. No matter how desperately she fought against fate, she was still here—trapped.
She quickly stripped off the torn clothes she had worn for her escape attempt and pulled on her simple nightwear. The thin cotton stuck slightly to her skin, damp with sweat and dust, but she didn't care. She sank onto the bed, but the comfort she longed for was not there.
Her hand brushed across the mattress and she froze.
The bead.
Her fingers searched frantically, scattering her pillow and tugging at the sheets. But it was gone.
Her chest tightened. That bead wasn't just jewelry—it was her only charm, her only fragment of hope. The very thing her grandmother told her to keep close, the one thing she couldn't afford to lose.
She gritted her teeth. Maybe it fell where I fought him. Maybe it's lying there, waiting for me.
The thought of Pedro's cruel grin, of his grip tightening around her, flashed again in her mind. She shuddered, pressing her palms to her eyes until colors sparked.
"I'll get it tomorrow," she whispered fiercely to herself. "I'll find it and then I'll escape. Before Pedro ever comes again."
The words felt like a promise carved in her bones. She pulled the thin blanket over her body and stared into the shadows until her eyelids finally grew heavy.
Morning arrived like it always did—loud, sharp, and merciless. The rooster crowed before dawn, and the sound of her mother's voice followed quickly after.
"Up! Don't make me come in there!"
She groaned, dragging herself out of bed. Every joint in her body ached, but there was no room for weakness. She splashed water on her face, tied her hair back, and began the day's chores.
Her elder sister, Liora, was already awake, perched prettily by the table, braiding her own glossy hair as though she had no care in the world. At only nineteen, Liora already carried herself with the air of someone who expected to be admired. She glanced at her younger sister with a smirk that said she had been awake long enough to see her stumble in last night, though she said nothing.
Her father sat in his chair, silent as always, reading the same worn newspaper he had read a hundred times before. His presence filled the small kitchen, though he rarely spoke more than a handful of words a day. His silence was both a shield and a sword—protective, but cutting when one longed for warmth.
And then there was her mother.
Tall, sharp-eyed, and quick with her words, her mother's authority ruled the house like an iron crown. Even the scrape of her footsteps across the floor could draw tension into the air.
Breakfast was hurriedly prepared—bread, eggs, a pot of porridge simmering. She moved quickly, setting plates and pouring water, while her mother inspected everything with hawk-like precision.
"Go get groceries after this," her mother ordered flatly, not bothering to look up from chopping herbs. "The market's open already. Don't waste time."
She nodded silently, swallowing down a lump of unease.
The market was bustling as always—vendors shouting over each other, baskets of fruits spilling over, the smell of roasted fish blending with the sharp tang of spices. Children darted through the crowd, laughter mingling with the clang of coins.
But today, something was different.
Everywhere she turned, whispers curled through the air. Faces leaned closer, eyes widened, hands covered mouths in shock. She frowned, straining to hear. And then she heard it.
"Pedro is dead."
Her feet froze.
Another woman passed, whispering loudly to her companion. "They say his body was found before sunrise."
Her stomach lurched violently.
Dead?
No. He couldn't be. He had been alive last night. He was broken, yes—she had made sure of that when she fought him off—but alive. She staggered against a wall, her mind spinning.
He should be able to walk. He should have been able to crawl, at least… I didn't kill him.
Her heart hammered in her chest. But then a sharper, colder thought slashed through her panic.
The bead. My bead. If anyone finds it there…
It could be seen as evidence. Evidence that would drag her down with his death.
She clenched her fists. I have to get it back.
But the place was unusually busy. Soldiers lingered near the square, people crowding around as if waiting for more news. She bit her lip. Going there now would only draw suspicion. She'd have to wait until night.
Gathering her scattered thoughts, she turned back toward the market stalls, determined to finish her errand quickly. But in her haste, her mind too clouded with dread, she forgot the one thing she had been sent for: the groceries.
It wasn't until she stood at the gate of her home, empty-handed, that she realized.
Her heart stopped.
"No, no, no…" she muttered, spinning on her heel and running back toward the market. She shoved through the crowd, grabbed what she could with trembling hands, and raced back home, breathless.
Her mother was waiting.
The fury in her eyes was enough to silence the room. "Where have you been? Do you think I don't notice when you sneak around?!"
"I.....I...." she stammered, clutching the bag of groceries. "I forgot. I went back, I—"
A sharp slap cracked across her cheek before she could finish. The sting made her eyes water, though she refused to let a tear fall.
"You lie to me, girl. You lie, and I will not have it!" Her mother's voice cut like a whip.
Her sister, Liora, sat silently at the table, watching the scene unfold with a strange light in her eyes. Not pity. Not concern. Something closer to satisfaction.
Her father didn't look up from his chair.
The punishment was swift and humiliating—kneeling on raw grains in the corner until her knees ached and her back burned. All the while, her mother muttered under her breath about wayward daughters and shame.
By the time she was finally dismissed to her room, her body was trembling with exhaustion and rage. She closed the door, pressed her back against it, and let her breath out in a ragged sigh.
She knew one thing for certain now: she couldn't go tonight. Not with her mother watching so closely. Not with her body this sore and her spirit this broken.
All she could do was pray—pray that no one found her bead before she could retrieve it. Pray that Pedro's death wouldn't come back to haunt her. Pray that the shadows of the night would keep her secret safe just a little longer.
She curled into her bed, clutching the pillow tightly, and closed her eyes.