Drug him

As we walked, the corridor began to widen, revealing a series of makeshift rooms. Some were used for storage, filled with crates of supplies, weapons, and medical kits. Others appeared to be living quarters.

Further along, we passed through a larger space that served as a communal area. Here, the walls were adorned with maps, charts, and scribbled notes detailing plans and operations. A few rebels huddled around a table, their faces etched with determination and fatigue. They glanced up briefly as we passed.

Finally, Joel led me to a heavy wooden door at the end of a particularly long and winding hallway. He knocked twice, a specific pattern, before pushing it open. Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single overhead lamp. The air was thick with the scent of old books and fresh ink, a stark contrast to the rest of the underground maze.

Seated around a large, battered table were the key leaders of the rebel group. Joel motioned for me to enter, and as I stepped inside, the faces turned towards me.

Anita was the first to catch my eye. She was a tall woman with a commanding presence, her hair tied back in a tight braid. Beside her sat Too, his build was solid, and his hands bore the calluses of hard labor. He nodded slightly as I entered, a silent acknowledgment of my presence.

Mr. Okey and Mr. Daniel sat next to each other, their expressions a study in contrast. Okey was quiet, his demeanor calm and observant. His eyes, though silent, spoke volumes, watching every move, assessing every word.

Mr. Daniel, on the other hand, exuded an aura of restrained energy. Finally, there was Florence. She sat at the far end of the table, her posture regal despite the worn, utilitarian clothes she wore. Her eyes were a deep, piercing blue, and her expression was one of welcoming warmth mixed with steely resolve. As I stood before them, it was Florence who broke the silence.

"Welcome," she said, her voice steady and firm. There was no hint of doubt or hesitation, only a quiet confidence that seemed to radiate through the room.

Daniel and Okey remained silent, their gazes fixed on me, expressions unreadable. The rest of the leaders offered a mix of nods and indifferent glances.

Joel gestured for me to sit, and as I did, the atmosphere shifted slightly. The briefing was about to begin.

The room around us seemed to shrink as the leaders leaned in, their focus sharpening. Maps were unfurled on the table, and the dull light of the overhead lamp cast shadows that danced across the paper. Detailed plans, strategic points, and coded notes filled the space between us, each one a piece of a larger puzzle.

Florence took the lead, her voice clear and commanding. She outlined the plan with precision, every word carefully chosen to convey the gravity of the situation. The others listened intently, their expressions a mix of concentration and determination. As she spoke, the magnitude of their mission became apparent.

Too interjected occasionally, his comments brief but insightful. His knowledge of the terrain and every detail he provided added another layer to the intricate plan. Throughout the briefing, Florence's leadership was evident. She had a way of bringing the group together, ensuring that every voice was heard and every concern addressed. Her ability to balance empathy with authority was remarkable.

As the briefing continued, I found myself swept up in their determination.

After the meeting wrapped up, I learned that the succession wouldn't happen for another year. That gave me plenty of time to hone my skills. I approached Joel with a burning desire to learn the art of poisoning, aiming to avenge my sister's death by using the same method she was killed with. He directed me to Anita, renowned as the master of poisons. Meeting Anita was eye-opening. She exuded an air of mystery and authority, her eyes reflecting a depth of knowledge gained from years immersed in the delicate dance between life and death.

Our training sessions were thorough and immersive, conducted in the concealed corners of our rebel hideout. Anita's mentorship was steadfast, her instructions clear and precise as we delved into the intricate nuances of poisoncraft. From meticulously selecting ingredients to precisely calibrating dosages, every aspect of this deadly art was explored with meticulous care.

As the months passed, my proficiency in the art of poisoning continued to grow. During one of our training sessions, a sudden commotion erupted outside, with voices proclaiming, "He's returned, he's back!" Sensing the excitement in the air, Anita hastily left the training area, and I followed, my curiosity piqued. As we joined the crowd to catch a glimpse of this mysterious individual, a striking figure descended gracefully from his horse, exuding an air of confidence and allure with each step.

He spotted Anita and greeted her warmly, "It's been a while, Anita." Then, turning his attention to me, he inquired, "And who's this? A new recruit?"

Anita confirmed, "Yes, she is."

His gaze lingered on me for a moment before we returned to the training room.

Once back, I couldn't resist teasing Anita about her mesmerized expression. She stuttered, trying to deny it, but her deep blush betrayed her true feelings.

Laughing at her reaction, I playfully prodded further, "So, what do you like about him?" Anita's response was a flurry of stammers and blushing cheeks before she hastily ended the class and made a swift exit.

Left alone, I couldn't help but chuckle at the amusing turn of events. Gathering my belongings, I made my way to my room, only to encounter Myra along the way. "Should I say hi or just keep walking?" I muttered to myself. He greeted me with a simple "hi," and I responded before continuing on my path.

Once in the sanctuary of my room, I collapsed onto the bed, relieved that Myra didn't press for further conversation. Thoughts of Jesse briefly crossed my mind, causing a pang of pain to tighten my chest.

Chapter Eighteen

Interrupted by a knock at the door, I hurried to answer it, finding Anita on the other side. Inviting her in, she took a seat on the bed and confessed, "Nia, you were right. I really do like Myra a lot." I couldn't help but chuckle at her admission, teasing her with, "Have you confessed to him yet?"

She shook her head, admitting, "No, I haven't found the courage to." Intrigued, I proposed, "Have you considered drugging him?"