Nobody is stupid enough to venture into unknown territories, except for Ilya. Don't get him wrong! He never meant to enter that mysterious village.
Fate led him there to save, or be saved.
"Peekaboo!"
Beast is a cruel creature that used to be human...
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"I'll take you home."
Ilya stopped crying all of a sudden, and Billy gently let him free of his embrace.
Glossy eyes gazed back at Billy; those majestic colorful eyes always made him feel things he never knew he could ever feel again.
Ilya sniffled and brushed the tears from his eyes.
"Really?"
Billy was staring. He knew he was staring but couldn't look away. The resemblance was sticking. The same central heterochromia. The same cute chin. The same damn everything, except for the hair.
He was staring at Ned... And he couldn't bear to let him go.
A nervous twitch pulled at the side of his mouth, forcing a smile out of him. Hesitant, scared even, to lose him.
Not this time. Not again.
"Of course," Billy said; however, his body language suggested otherwise. "But you know." He let out a nervous chuckle. "There's a blizzard outside. I can't do much until it stops. OK?"
The sparkle of hope in Ilya's eyes was short-lived. It disappeared as soon as Billy postponed his promise, as if the boy knew that Billy had no intention of letting him go.
Excuses, excuses.
Ilya lowered his head and nodded.
Greg had just finished a smoke and joined them. His heavy steps shook the ground until he stopped a few feet away.
"Let the boy eat, will you?"
Billy got up, scratching his head once he saw how small and depressed the boy seemed. He couldn't understand why he wasn't thrilled about what he said to him. Wasn't it exactly what he wanted? To go home?
Humans are weird.
Once Greg practically dragged Billy away, Ilya was left to finish his meal in peace.
But Ilya was far from peace. His mind weaved different scenarios of his death. If not by the hands of Beast, who could appear at any moment, then by Billy's strange attachment to him.
Ilya looked around him. This apartment had different tools he could use as weapons—engineering tools. But if, by any miracle, he managed to fight his way out, then what? Judging by the types of tools neatly placed in a corner, some of which Ilya had never seen before, Pig must really be a master at his craft, filling every path in this building with lethal traps.
What about the windows?
Ilya snapped his head towards the nearest window to his left, but that sudden movement made him hiss and wince. His hand moved to the source of the discomfort—the wound on his shoulder. It was well bandaged but still sore and tender to the touch.
