Cardinal Tower (Trinity Central Book #1)

Chapter 4

My head is pounding as the light forces its way through my eyelids. My face holds an immediate expression of regret when I welcome the shine above me. We don't have a roof, but at times like this, it makes me want one. The white walls magnify the brightness, allowing the beams of light to bounce off of each other and blind me even more.

The sky is typically clouded with smog from the factory district, but this time there's something overhead I haven't seen in five years. There's a patch of blue revealing bright white rays from the sun. I quietly mutter something profane through the grogginess cracking my voice.

The clock blinks 0800 and I turn to face my brother beside me, but Devon's already left, I'm guessing to pick up another shift at the factory. The cable set is left on, letting Monica's annoying voice ring through the room along with layers of equally bothersome static. I make an effort to stand up and switch off the screen as her nasally tone just seems to be worsening my headache.

She was reading off another report about that little girl from yesterday containing no real conclusive information. No new findings and still searching, the same thing told for the last twelve hours, and I don't need to listen to it again - especially not from her. I stare at the coffee filters and think about how badly I need caffeine right now in order to focus on something other than that little girl, wipe away the lingering image of Kai from my mind, and hopefully cure this stubborn headache. But I just close my eyes and will away, thinking about leaving a little earlier today and actually fulfilling the promise I made to Castro the day before.

After drinking my cup of coffee, I grab my jacket from the hook, slip my dagger into its place in my boot, and open the door, turning my attention to the right. The southern bell's body is no longer splayed on the ground, a pool of dried blood and hasty footprints taking its place. There's no way she could've just gotten up and walked away, but the bodies keep disappearing and I have no idea where to. Imagine catching a fish at your state fair and waking up to its tank being empty. I don't ponder on the matter more than is necessary, thinking it might've just been picked up by a passing guard, though I know quite well that's not the case.

A gust of wind blows the hair out of my face, but I quickly move it back to its original position beside my eyes, cloaking myself as much as possible. With my legs pacing down the central marketplace, I take the time to eye the goods at the booths, looking for some possible easy targets. Starting today, I'll have a job and some spare money in my bag. Maybe I could buy something: that studded necklace in the shop across the street, a new pair of combat boots to replace my tattered ones, or maybe a few floral throw pillows, just because.

As I'm about to enter the central market, where it is much less crowded at this time, I notice a shine at the blacksmith's. A dagger. Karmas. There's a flag marked with their insignia, waving outside of the booth, small enough to be hidden by the crowd, but noticeable enough to catch the eye of someone looking for it. It seems like the local Tetra blacksmith caters to their weaponry needs, a Karma himself I'm assuming.

My pace slows as I pass the little barely standing bodega, and can't help but notice how it's completely empty. A tray of knives in the back of the array catches my attention, each with a serrated edge, curved hook, and a dagger carved into the handle.

I carefully eyed the streets and chuckle to myself when I see no one walking on my side of the pavement. With my hand on the counter, I carefully shift my weight to my right forearm as I jump over the rotting wood, swinging my legs past the collapsing boards. My feet planted firmly on the other side and I lean over the stand to get another look at the streets, a precaution that isn't entirely necessary. My legs continue to walk when I notice the slight glint of light shining on a thin piece of wire on the ground. Almost tumbling over myself when stopping, I'm able to spring off my hands and catch myself reflexively to avoid face planting.