A desperate escape

A Desperate Escape

The air inside the small shop felt heavy with tension, an unspoken warning hanging between Amelia and Mayle. Amelia glanced at her companion, noticing the unease in her eyes.

"Running?" she repeated, slightly confused by the sudden question.

Mayle swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the counter. "Yeah, are you good at it?"

Amelia tilted her head, sensing the urgency in Mayle's voice. "I'm not bad, I guess."

Mayle exhaled sharply. "Then we need to get out of here before they—"

Before she could finish, the door burst open with a violent crash. The force sent a gust of wind through the shop, knocking over a few trinkets on the shelves. Five men strode in, their expressions twisted with amusement and menace.

The leader, a tall man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, smirked as he surveyed them. "Well, well… look what we have here."

Amelia instinctively stepped in front of Mayle, shielding her from their leering gazes.

One of the thugs, a burly man with a cruel glint in his eye, stalked toward Mayle. "I heard you haven't paid the boss yet," he sneered. "Are you asking for a beating, sweetheart?"

Mayle's face paled. Her fingers trembled as she took a step back, pressing against the wooden counter. "I—I will give it soon," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The thug chuckled darkly before suddenly grabbing a fistful of her hair, yanking her forward. "Do you think we'll believe a worthless excuse like that?"

Mayle cried out in pain, her hands flying to his wrist in a futile attempt to loosen his grip.

A flash of rage ignited in Amelia's chest. Without thinking, she stepped forward and slapped the man's hand away. "Hey! Leave her alone!"

The room fell silent for a moment before the thug turned his gaze toward her, his eyes dark with something predatory. Slowly, he ran his tongue over his lips. "And what do we have here?"

Another thug, his beady eyes scanning Amelia from head to toe, let out a low whistle. "What's a noble like you doing in a place like this?" He reached out, his rough fingers attempting to brush against her cheek.

Disgust surged through Amelia. Without hesitation, she slapped his hand away, her emerald eyes burning with defiance. "Don't touch me with your filthy hands," she spat.

The men laughed, entertained rather than deterred. "Oh, the little kitten has claws," one of them taunted. "How amusing."

Another thug's gaze flicked to the intricate embroidery of Amelia's dress, realization dawning on his face. "Hey… check out her clothes. She's a noble."

The leader's grin widened. "Oh, what a lucky night. We get such worthy prey. A noble girl? We get to have some fun, and we get all the fine jewelry she's wearing too."

A shudder of revulsion ran down Amelia's spine. She clenched her fists, her breath shallow but steady.

The leader stepped closer, his voice lowering to a sickly sweet murmur. "Listen here, sweetheart. If you wanna get out of here alive, you better listen to us. Hand everything over… and maybe we'll be gentle."

Amelia met his gaze, her own filled with unwavering resolve. "I'd rather die than let you lay a single finger on me."

The leader's expression twisted in irritation, and he raised his hand to strike her.

But Amelia was faster. With precise movements, she caught his wrist, twisted it back, and drove her knee up into his stomach before delivering a swift kick between his legs.

The thug let out a strangled groan, collapsing onto the floor, clutching himself in agony.

"Argh! You little—!"

Amelia wasted no time. She grabbed Mayle's wrist. "Run!"

Mayle didn't hesitate. They bolted out of the shop, their feet pounding against the cobbled streets. Behind them, the thugs cursed and shouted.

"Catch them, you idiots!"

The night air was sharp against their skin as they ran, their lungs burning with effort. Mayle's breath came in frantic gasps, but Amelia didn't dare slow down.

They twisted through alleyways, darting past startled passersby. The sounds of pursuit echoed behind them, but Amelia forced herself to focus on moving forward.

She wasn't watching where she was going when she suddenly collided into something—no, someone.

A strong, steady figure caught her just before she could stumble back.

"What the—" a deep voice muttered.

Amelia looked up, her vision slightly blurred by unshed tears. Her heart clenched as she recognized the man before her.

"Caeser?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His crystal blue eyes widened in surprise. "Amelia?"

She barely had time to react before he grabbed her shoulders, his grip firm but not harsh. "Do you have any idea how long we've been looking for you?" he demanded, frustration evident in his voice. "Do you think I have nothing better to do? Where the hell did you run off to—"

Before he could finish, Amelia threw herself into his arms, burying her face into his chest. Her entire body trembled uncontrollably.

Caeser stiffened in shock. "What the—hey! What happened?"

She didn't answer. She just held onto him, as if letting go would send her crashing into darkness.

Caeser's sharp eyes flicked to the alley behind them. His expression darkened as he caught sight of the approaching thugs.

But the moment they met his gaze, their bravado shattered. One look from Caeser, and their faces drained of color.

The men, who had moments ago been so confident, now trembled in terror. Without a second thought, they turned and fled into the night.

Caeser held Amelia tighter, his voice low and dangerous. "Something's not right."

He didn't know what had happened yet, but he knew one thing for certain—whoever had dared to frighten Amelia would live to regret it.