1-9

"You... killed him?" Hilsbeth said.

"No," Panthonia replied.

Panthonia reached out and grabbed her wrist; she instinctively recoiled. Her legs crossed over the boss's head as they made their way to the back door.

Luckily, Salvaney hadn't stationed guards outside the back door, allowing them to leave without obstruction. But this was only temporary safety; the boss would soon be discovered unconscious. At the very least, Salvaney would know someone was opposing him with Hilsbeth's help.

Panthonia led her through dark alleys, occasionally encountering a few seemingly intoxicated beggars. They could be witnesses; with little coercion from Salvaney, they'd easily spill everything. In this series of actions, he left traces. He had exposed himself to the enemy.

Things had gone awry. When Salvaney loudly declared his intention to see the female singer, Panthonia had made an impulsive decision, but rescuing her temporarily didn't solve the problem. From the start, it was his mistake. He shouldn't have had any contact with the woman stumbling beside him; it was a grave error—attempting to threaten and control someone he couldn't completely isolate. The crucial point was her troublesome admirer: Phipin. His presence prevented him from easily disposing of her. Out of caution, he chose confinement instead of a dagger to eliminate her threat, but this caution was actually overconfidence masquerading as prudence.

He couldn't afford the risk of leaving Hilsbeth to Salvaney because she could identify him. Not to mention, he didn't know Salvaney's intentions in wanting to see her; it might have been related to him from the beginning. Imagine you're friends with Aretta, you both know a security bureau lackey named Panthonia, conversations like this. He should have kept away from her from the start; but now, he not only missed the opportunity, but he also got deeper into trouble. For the first time in years, he felt he had done something foolish: entangling himself with a woman who could bring danger.

Panthonia stopped and looked back at Hilsbeth. Facing his gaze, she suppressed a heavy gasp.

It was too late to kill her now.

"Now... what?" she said. "Those people will come back later."

"Don't remain silent," she added when Panthonia kept quiet. "I know you have troubles too."

"Have Salvaney's people ever contacted you before? Honestly."

"Of course not. Unless you count Aretta."

"So you don't know why he wants to see you."

"How would I know? Now I can't even go home."

"Don't complain to me."

"Complain? Yes, I will complain." She shook off his hand and took a step back. "I don't know what I did wrong to deserve all this. Thanks for getting me out, but I know you won't do more than this. Think of Aretta, and you'll understand, I won't expect anything from now on. You're from the security bureau, Salvaney's adversary, afraid I might say something about you to him, right? Don't worry, I won't say a word because it won't improve my situation. This is his territory, no one can guarantee anything in front of him. Now let me go back alone, so I don't delude myself that you saved me sincerely. Thanks again, okay? Goodbye."

She turned around and walked in the direction she came from. Although she was determined to leave his side, she had barely taken a few steps when the fear she had felt in the dressing room overwhelmed her again. She could hear footsteps in the distance, the sound of a stray cat leaping off a wall, and the wind blowing from the heights of buildings, but they all turned into a special noise for her: the pulsating veins of the entire Queen's District, pores contracting, muscles gradually converging towards her, announcing with silent and filthy dignity that she would be crushed sooner or later.

"Stop."

Hearing his voice, she couldn't help but stop immediately, turn around, at a pace she was afraid to appear too eager.

"I have a way to handle this."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't need to know. Tonight, you'll stay at my place."

"What?"

"You heard me loud and clear. You can't go home now. I don't have time for chitchat."

There was no time to argue. Besides, Hilsbeth understood that underestimating the intentions of the man in front of her would be a mistake.

So he took her out of the Queen's District and into the Inner City. As they walked along the spacious avenue, temporarily shaking off the oppressive feeling of fear, Hilsbeth suddenly wanted to say something else.

"You're from Lordaeron too, right?"

"Yes," Panthonia, walking ahead, replied.

"I left when I was only four years old. I don't remember much."

He didn't say anything. She felt a bit embarrassed by her words, as it seemed to imply she wanted to know Panthonia's age.

"You're lucky. It's hard for kids your age to survive."

"Yeah. My grandfather took care of me, along with some other good people. But now they're all gone. What kind of people did you come south with?"

No answer.

"Unfortunately, my luck seems to have run out..."

"We're here."

The house in front of them was one of the residences along the canal. Hilsbeth, who had never been in this area before, began to look around. At the end of the riverwalk, a guard carrying a lantern slowly approached. The faint yellow light illuminated the river water slowly brushing against nearby stone steps. Beyond the range of the light was a deep blue. It was quiet here.

"You're only staying here for one night," he said before opening the door. "After tomorrow, don't come near this area again."

"Of course," she said, nodding, but thinking about something else. Actually, this place isn't mysterious or hidden at all... why bother.

Hilsbeth followed Panthonia into the house, and when she heard him close the door behind her, she had a moment of feeling like she had made a mistake. Escaping from Salvaney was a good thing, but she couldn't forget how much she hated this man just two days ago, how eager she was to blame him for Aretta's death. Maybe now all she could do was not make any further mistakes.

Usually, a house where someone has lived for a long time would have a distinctive smell belonging to the occupants, but Hilsbeth couldn't smell anything. She even felt like she had entered an empty house. Panthonia didn't turn on any lights, and she didn't ask, just followed behind him. The faint moonlight allowed her to see her surroundings, and she found that the house actually had high-quality furniture and was carefully coordinated in style. But still, it felt more like a showroom for furniture rather than a place for someone to eat, sleep, relax, dream, think, and idle.

"This is my bedroom," he said to her in front of a door. "You'll sleep in there."

"What about you?"

"I'll sleep in the living room."

"Wait a minute," she said before he locked the door. "What about tomorrow... I mean in the morning, after I wake up..."

"Stay inside. I'll tell you when you can come out."

The door was locked. Well, she was locked up again. Hilsbeth leaned back and sat on the bed. It was much more comfortable than her own bed at home.

She looked around. Crowded bookshelves, locked bedside cabinets, candlesticks, and a Stormwind map covered in marks on the wall. She couldn't muster any curiosity about what else might be in the room, and she was sure he knew she wouldn't find anything, hence not instructing her on anything — or not threatening her before throwing her in here.

Hilsbeth spent five minutes sitting still, listening to the sounds outside. She heard him lie down on the sofa — or sit down, but there was no other sound.

She took off her shoes, lay down on the bed, and curled up facing the window. The moon wasn't visible from this direction.

Although there was no sign of long-term habitation in the living room earlier, there couldn't be no smell of a person on the bed. Hilsbeth first realized this, then thought that maybe Panthonia and Aretta had once lain in the same place she was sleeping now, and felt a bit uncomfortable. But that feeling didn't last long because she was too tired. Not just physically.

She certainly understood that Panthonia bringing her here wasn't primarily for her safety. She also understood that his choice to sleep in the living room wasn't out of gentlemanly behavior, but rather to keep an eye on her. However, she couldn't stop herself from considering some other possibilities.

Did he have a moment tonight where he simply considered her safety? It was possible, she thought.

Hilsbeth knew what she was thinking and understood that pinning any inexplicable hope on this man was dangerous. The fact that he had proved he wouldn't prioritize anyone else's thoughts, especially a woman's, had been proven. The argument about Aretta not committing suicide hadn't been confirmed — perhaps it was a complete lie, just his way of trying to win her over. Anything was possible.

However, Hilsbeth was still willing to focus on the uplifting aspects. She remembered the years she spent moving south, from a child to a thoughtful young girl, beginning to understand what she was going through and what kind of future she faced. Will we find food? Maybe. Can we survive the winter? Maybe. Can we avoid the enemy? Maybe. Will Stormwind accept us? Maybe. Can I live peacefully in the Queen's District...?

But nothing was certain. Nothing. Life wasn't, death wasn't. She told herself that she had thought she would fall into Salvaney's hands tonight, but now she had the chance to lie in the best bed she had ever slept in, and there was an incredible man outside the door protecting her — whatever he thought, that was the truth. Perhaps the only absolute was suicide, but I'll never do that. There's no reason.

So Hilsbeth fell asleep, without dreaming. The next morning she woke up, the window was already bright; she looked down and hurriedly wiped the drool off the pillow.