Chapter 70 The doors stayed open
Chapter 70 The doors stayed open
The shouting started before I reached the square.
Voices stacked over each other, sharp, urgent, pulling people out of their houses. Lanterns swung on hooks. Someone dropped a bowl. A child cried and was hushed quickly. I pushed through the crowd without slowing, shoulders brushing fabric, hands batting mine away.
My mother followed, calling my name. I didn’t answer.
A man stepped into my path. I sidestepped him. Another reached for my arm. I shook him off and kept moving.
Alexander stood near the well.
Not at the center. Not hiding either. Just there, like he had been for a while, dust on his boots, sleeves rolled, eyes fixed on the house behind me. Two elders flanked him, one speaking in low, clipped words. Alexander didn’t respond. His jaw was set. His hands stayed loose at his sides.
I stopped three steps away.
Every sound thinned.
My mother reached me then and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t.”
I pulled free.
Alexander’s gaze shifted. Locked on me. No surprise. No relief. Just recognition.
An elder turned. “Seraphina, go inside.”
I didn’t move.
Alexander stepped forward. “I asked for her. Not an audience.”
“You don’t make demands here,” the elder snapped.
Alexander’s eyes didn’t leave me. “I’m not.”
I walked past him and up to the door of the house. Pushed it open. Stepped inside. The room smelled of oil and old wood. Familiar. Too familiar.
“Close it,” I said.
Alexander followed. Shut the door. The noise outside dulled but didn’t disappear.
My mother stood frozen near the wall.
Alexander faced me. “You left.”
“I walked,” I said.
“They said you collapsed.”
“They lie easily.”
He nodded once. No defense. No excuse.
I lifted the pendant from beneath my collar and let it fall back against my chest. His eyes flicked to it. Just once.
“So you see it,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The door rattled. Someone knocked. Hard.
Alexander didn’t turn. “You don’t have long.”
“I know.”
He took a breath. “I was told to stay away from you.”
“I know.”
“I did.”
“I know.”
His fingers curled briefly, then relaxed. “I came because it stopped working.”
The knocking grew louder.
My mother stepped forward. “This isn’t how it was meant to happen.”
I looked at her. “You don’t get to decide timing anymore.”
Alexander shifted closer to me. Not touching. Not blocking. Just there.
“They’re going to force this,” he said. “One way or another.”
“I’m not going with you,” I said.
His head tilted slightly. “I didn’t ask you to.”
The door shook under another blow.
An elder shouted from outside. “Open this door now.”
Alexander reached back and slid the bolt into place.
My mother gasped. “Are you mad.”
“Probably,” he said. “But not confused.”
The room tightened with tension, bodies close, air thick with heat and anger. Someone outside cursed. Wood creaked.
I stepped toward the small table by the wall and grabbed the clay bowl sitting there. Smashed it against the floor. The crack cut through the noise.
Everyone froze.
I kicked the shards aside. “They want me quiet. They want me managed. They want me standing still.”
Another hit to the door. A crack formed near the hinge.
“I won’t.”
Alexander moved then, quick, efficient. He grabbed the heavy chest near the wall and shoved it against the door. Wood groaned.
My mother stared at him. “You’re making this worse.”
“No,” he said. “I’m ending it.”
A hand burst through the crack. Fingers clawed. Someone shouted orders.
Alexander grabbed a knife from his belt and slammed the handle down on the fingers. A yell followed. The hand vanished.
I didn’t flinch.
He turned to me. “Window. Now.”
I ran. Threw it open. Cool air rushed in. Shouts followed. Footsteps.
Alexander climbed out first, then reached back. I took his forearm and jumped. We hit the ground running.
The village exploded behind us. Cries. Orders. Dogs barking.
We cut through narrow paths, overturned baskets, leapt fences. Someone grabbed my skirt. Alexander turned and shoved them hard enough to send them sprawling.
We didn’t slow.
The forest swallowed us fast. Branches snapped. Leaves tore at my arms. I kept pace, breath sharp, legs burning.
Alexander glanced back once. Adjusted our direction. Took us downhill.
We reached the river and didn’t stop. Cold water soaked us to the knees. Slippery stones sent me stumbling. Alexander caught my elbow, steady, brief.
We crossed and climbed the opposite bank. Mud smeared my hands. My foot slipped. He pulled me up without a word.
We didn’t speak until the shouting faded.
We stopped in a shallow ravine. He listened. Waited. Then nodded once.
“You didn’t hesitate,” he said.
“I’m done hesitating.”
He studied my face like he was memorizing it under poor light.
“They’ll come after you.”
“They already were.”
He nodded again. “You don’t belong to them.”
“No.”
We stood there, soaked, dirty, breathing hard. No speeches. No promises.
He turned and started walking.
I followed.
The path narrowed. Night deepened. Somewhere behind us, the village burned with anger.
Ahead, the dark opened wide.