Chapter 4

Cold. Dark. The stench of rot.

Angeline blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness. The cage was cramped, its floor covered in filth and dried blood.

From afar, the grotesque laughter of goblins and the muffled sobs of other girls echoed.

"How did I, Angeline Vesper, end up like this?"

She closed her eyes, and memories flooded her mind like a tidal wave...

×××

The warm summer sun bathed the wheat fields. Angeline, in her short dress and wild golden hair, chased after her mother through the crops.

Her mother called out, her voice loud but not angry:

"Anji! Slow down—you're tossing the herbs everywhere!"

Angeline laughed, turning to her. "Mom, we gotta get these to Old Lady Margaret fast! She said her leg's killin' her!"

Her mother smiled, smoothing her hair. "Always in a rush... just like your father."

Father...

She remembered his warm, gentle smile as he'd say:

"The world's a good place, Anji. Help others when you can."

A good place? Really?

×××

A cold wind howled. Angeline peered through the cracks of a hidden crate, watching the horror unfold. Bandits had tied her mother to the village's central post.

One of the black-clad men—a hulking figure, likely their leader—yanked her mother's hair, leaning inches from her face.

"Where's the treasure, witch?!"

Her mother swallowed blood, stammering:

"I-I'm no witch... just a healer..."

A villager—Mr. Harold, the same man whose son her mother had saved from illness a month prior—stepped forward. "She's lying! She's a witch! She's hidden the treasure!"

"Why...? Why would they—?!"

Back then, Angeline didn't know the bitter truth: that humans were wretched creatures who'd sacrifice even their saviors to save themselves.

Her mother's final gaze locked onto the hidden crate. Her lips moved: "Run... survive..."

Then—the sound of a sword slicing through air.

—Whooosh

×××

Now, Angeline wandered the city's dark alleys, her eyes cold, hair matted. A greasy, stained purse dangled from her hand.

Wealthy Man: "Thief! Stop her!"

She reinforced her legs with magic, then bolted like the wind, ducking behind a barrel. The purse held only a few copper coins.

Angeline scoffed, voice dripping with bitterness. "So much for justice... Rich folks even make their money miserable!"

Suddenly, a tall shadow loomed behind her.

"Wasting your magical talent, girl." The white-bearded man had seen her cast.

Angeline rolled her eyes. "Listen, old man, if you're here to turn me in, piss off!"

The mage chuckled. "I could teach you how to monetize that talent... without blood on your hands."

"No blood? ...Funny."

×××

Now, she was a skilled mage. She *liked* her team—or pretended to. Until the night she saw the loot: a necklace identical to her mother's.

Guild Leader: "We'll sell this and split the earnings!"

Split? Like how the villagers "split" my mother's life?

...

That night, Angeline poisoned their meals and fled with the necklace.

×××

"Well, well. Seems you've had a rough few days..." The man's voice—smooth, with a smirk—snapped her from her thoughts. Black hair, blue eyes.

Angeline muttered: "Bastard..."

×××

[Noir's POV]

I studied her. Her golden hair was filthy, her emerald eyes dull.

"Got a proposition... How 'bout you work for me?"

Angeline narrowed her eyes. His black hair and bright blues reminded her of the dumb heroes from childhood tales—except this one looked more like a con artist than a savior.

"Wooooork for youuuu," she mocked. "Doing what? Being your maid? Cook? Thief? Or maybe—* Her eyes flashed."—a killer?"

Noir raised his hands. "Whoa, judge much? I don't hire killers. Unless absolutely necessary." His grin turned sly. "Which... it often is."

Angeline frowned. "What's the job?"

Noir jingled a small pouch. "Delivering special packages, solving special problems... and earning special pay."

"Smuggling."*

"I prefer 'international commerce.'"

Angeline glanced at the ceiling. Goblins still cackled; the stench clung. She thought of her father's words: The world's a good place...

"World's a shithole,"she muttered. Then, to Noir: "What's the pay?"

Noir counted on his fingers. "Monthly salary, profit cuts, health insurance—" Angeline raised a brow. "—Kidding. No insurance. But I'll bury you in a nice grave if you die."

She snorted. "Charming."

Noir shrugged. "Take it or leave it. Name?"

"Angeline."

"Anji, then." He unlocked the cage. "Let's go. Unless you'd rather stay with your goblin pals."

A goblin stuck out its tongue. Angeline glared. "I'd rather get trampled by a pig than spend another second here."

Noir swung the door open. "First stop: a bath. You reek of goblin from three miles away."

"Oh, sorry the dungeon smells like a rotting outhouse!"

"Not your fault it stinks. But it *is* your fault you got locked in here."

Angeline stormed out, silent. She still doubted him—but at least he wasn't a goblin.

×××

The moon hung silver in the dark sky. Noir led her to a grimy but safe inn. The portly, unkempt owner eyed Angeline. "Extra fee if she makes a mess."

Noir tossed more coins. "Here's your 'mess fee.' Now fetch us hot water."

Angeline collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion weighing her down. Noir stood by the window, watching the streets.

"So... what exactly do you want me to do?"she asked.

He turned, smirking. "You'll find out tomorrow. Rest up." As he opened the door to leave:

"Oh, and if you run? I'll find you faster than you think."

The door clicked shut. Alone, Angeline stared at the ceiling. Maybe this is another mistake...

But which was worse? Staying in a goblin cage... or trusting a stranger?

Only time would tell.