hapitre 6 — The Past Leaves Marks

Chapitre 6 — The Past Leaves Marks

The sheets had changed.

Vaën noticed it the moment his skin made contact. Rougher, thicker, but still carefully washed. Someone had been here before him, maybe one of the older women who still took care of the logistics of the brothel. The older ones, those who no longer worked in the rooms but managed the small details of the place. The kind of women who kept an eye on everything without ever speaking a word aloud. Benevolent shadows in a dirty world.

He sat on the bed. A breath escaped him, raspy, tired. His body still carried the marks of the day's work — the cleaning, the errands, the perverted glances from some regular clients. But above all... there had been Lucia.

Vaën hadn't slept. He had spent half the night staring at the ceiling, reliving every moment of that strange conversation, every heartbeat, every breath. And now, he looked at the status screen projected before him as though he could find answers there.

Lucia

Main Class: Beginner Prostitute — Lv. 2

Secondary Class: Fugitive Slave — Lv. 1

Age: 18

Statistics:

Strength: 3

Intelligence: 4

Charisma: 6

Endurance: 4

Speed: 5

Skills:

Innocent Charm (active)

Docile Submission (passive)

Desire for Freedom (passive)

Vaën squinted.

There was something new. He was sure of it. It hadn't been there yesterday. The system was simple: classes didn't change without a reason, let alone without a visible trigger. And yet, a secondary class had appeared. Not just any class. He didn't know exactly what it meant, but he had seen enough statuses to guess it hadn't awakened from playing with a ribbon.

It had changed. Something had changed.

But he wouldn't ask her. Not yet. Not until she decided to say it herself. Here, silence was often safer than truth.

Lucia had spoken little, but her eyes screamed. Vaën knew that look. The same one he saw in his own reflection. Contained rage. Camouflaged fear. And behind it all, a fire. The fire of someone who refused to fall. Not yet. Not without a fight.

He couldn't leave her alone.

Not in this place. Not with that look.

The sound of Nira's footsteps echoed in the hall.

"Didn't sleep?" she asked as she entered, holding a still-warm loaf of bread.

Vaën straightened. He grabbed the loaf without a word and tore off a piece.

"I think so," he replied after a long chew.

"You think too much."

"That's why you're here. To think less for two."

She smiled, softly. Teasing, but tender. That kind of rare complicity. Sincere. And fragile.

It had only been four days since they had allied. Four days since that whispered conversation behind the kitchens, between two buckets of warm water and a chat interrupted by the hurried steps of a girl from the rooms.

Vaën had spoken first.

"You don't want to end up like them, do you?"

Nira hadn't responded. She just crossed her arms, her back against the dirty wall, eyes lowered. Then, after a long silence:

"I know how to put a man to sleep. Even the tough ones. With the right mix. We could pretend. And take the money."

He nodded.

"I've got supplies. A few vials. It could work."

And that's how it started. A pact of survivors. A silent agreement.

Today, they had executed their plan for the first time. An old noble from the province. Too fat to notice. Too in a hurry to taste the bitter flavor in the wine they had brought him.

Vaën had cleaned up afterward. Burned linens, masked odors, erased traces.

Nira, she had vomited into a bucket, then straightened, dignified. She didn't even cry.

Nira

Main Class: Beginner Prostitute — Lv. 1

Secondary Class: Awakened Scoundrel — Lv. 1

Age: 16

Statistics:

Strength: 2

Intelligence: 6

Charisma: 5

Endurance: 3

Speed: 4

Skills:

Discrete Awakening (passive)

Instinctive Dosage (active)

Evanescent Charm (active)

"Do you plan to trust her?" Nira asked, pointing in the direction where Lucia was sleeping.

Vaën took a moment before answering.

"I think she has nowhere else to go. Like us."

Nira sighed.

"Yeah… but she could get us into trouble. Her kind attracts attention. Too pretty. Too... broken."

Vaën didn't respond. But in his mind, he remembered Lucia's look. He knew that look no longer knelt to beg. Not without a weapon in her back.

The hunter had stopped by last night. A man in dark leather, fresh scars, piercing gaze. He didn't have the look of the usual clients. Too cold. Too calm. And yet, he had simply asked for a room for the night.

Lucia, she had frozen upon seeing him.

Vaën had seen her turn pale. Her breath short. Her trembling hand. And moments later, in her status, that class appeared: Fugitive Slave.

He said nothing.

But he understood.

She was running.

And someone wanted to take her back.

Lucia had taken refuge in a corner of the common room, curled up, eyes lost in the darkness. Nira had thrown her a sideways glance, but Vaën simply draped a blanket over her shoulders.

"Want to sleep here?" he asked.

She nodded.

That was all.

The bounty hunter hadn't recognized her. Not yet. He seemed tired, frustrated. And when he left that morning, his face bore the weariness of those who feel a contract slipping through their fingers. He might return. But for now, he had given up.

Vaën knew it was only a matter of time before others came.

They had to act fast.

Tonight, they would talk. He would ask the questions. And if she agreed… they would be three.