How to Make a Sinner Sleep

99 | letters; existing within words

A knock came from the closed door in the Tavern. It belonged to a room that had been occupied for several years, on a door often closed.

The man sighed, rubbing the back of his messy brown hair as no response came from the inside. He rummaged through his pockets, littered with pieces of stray paper and wrappers, successfully finding a key.

He waited a beat before inserting it, twisting the door open with a click.

As soon as the door pushed open with a low creak, papers scattered across the floor, blown by the light wind created by the opening door. Papers, shredded by hand, left in chunks of what they once were.

Wrinkled papers that hung on the wall, half torn off. Books piled on every edge of the room, covering the bed—really, where did that person sleep?

There, in the center of the room, a man with dark eyes glanced up from the book in his hand, standing numbly.

Niklas sighed again, smiled. "What're you doing, Noah?"

He slipped off his long brown coat, hanging over his arm.

The destruction of the room reminded him of the event all those years ago. Noah's destruction, even in a storm of emotions, had always remained uncannily controlled. The dragon lived his whole life resisting himself.

The courtyard had been left in ruins after a vast shadow emerged above the Academy, large wings smashing stone statues and upturning hedges. Only after everything had been turned to ruin did the cracking of bones loudly echo through the air.

In the dust of destruction, Noah curled in the center as Niklas watched in horror, running from the dormitories. He watched Noah's bones snap into his body, a bloodied mess, clothes ruined.

He wondered in his distant and tangled thoughts if the dragon were in pain with his contorting body; if he had any capacity to consider his own pain in the midst of his sorrows.

He watched as the dragon slowly turned his pleading black gaze, the knowing despair written over the stern expression.

"Niklas." The dragon's voice had trembled. "Where's Kaden?"

And Niklas had never felt more despair, never felt more helpless knowing the only answer he could give was not one anybody wanted to hear.

He'd stared at the execution sight for hours, blankly staring at the blood steeping into the ground. The body had been cleaned, the crowd cleared, and for all he knew, he could do nothing.

He could do nothing, even when Nicola rushed up to the stage, furiously grabbing the Crown Prince by his collar.

"What have you done?" She hissed, her voice cracking. "Reed, what have you done?"

Reed's gaze seemed to flicker, the tip of an honest truth on his tongue. Instead, he replied coldly. "Miss Akasha. This was the execution of a murderer. It is unfortunate, I am grieved over the betrayal—"

"You are a liar, Reed, and all the elegant confidence you bask yourself in cannot hide that fact." She stepped back, her silky hair falling around her shoulder, hanging over her face in wild anguish. "And there is nothing more I wish for now than your ruination."

The professors had rushed up to stop the woman's outburst, but Reed held up a hand and silenced them. He carefully pried off her fingers, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, so quietly only she could hear.

Her teeth gritted together in a mixture of despair and despise before she shook her head, storming away from the crowd.