I followed the inspector's assistant, my thoughts wandering: does he actually know her? Well, either way, what do his romantic problems have to do with me?

My eyes drifted to the shackles lying on the floor. After a brief pause, I picked them up, slid them into my coat pocket along with the key, and then stepped out of the cell.

The inspector's assistant was already ahead, so I caught up with him. Two guards stood at the door, exchanging a look between themselves before turning their wary eyes on me.

The assistant raised his hand in a simple gesture, and without a word the guards stepped aside to let me through.

We walked down the long corridor together. The place was suffocatingly dark, lit only by torches hanging outside each cell. We climbed a twisting stone staircase that seemed endless, until at last we reached the top. There, two more guards silently opened the gate for us. Their silver armor shimmered under the moonlight, though their faces remained as cold and unyielding as stone.

I stepped outside into the night air. No stars, only a full moon reigning alone in the sky. Nothing surrounded me but the ugly stone prison at my back and a scattering of trees.

The inspector's assistant pointed toward a black carriage parked near the road.

"The driver is waiting. He'll take you home."

He said it without sparing me a glance, then turned and walked back inside. I watched him go, then turned on my heel and climbed into the carriage.

The driver was an old man in a long black coat, his face hidden beneath the brim of a wide hat. He didn't look at me, didn't say a word.

The carriage lurched forward.

…

At last, the carriage pulled up before the old housing complex. Somehow the building still stood. I got down and made my way to my apartment.

I tried the door. Locked. I searched my coat pockets, then my pants pockets. Nothing.

Sighing, I dragged my hand down my face and muttered without energy, "I wish the door would open."

To my surprise, the door swung open instantly. At the same moment a sharp sting stabbed through my head. I rubbed at my temples, then stepped inside, went straight to the wardrobe, and pulled out a clean set of clothes.

In the bathroom, I washed off under lukewarm water and changed.

Afterwards, I passed through the kitchen and stopped at the top cabinet. Reaching up, I pulled down a piece of candy Raven had hidden there.

Sitting at the edge of the table, with moonlight spilling through the window, I bit into the sweet. When the last bite was gone, I stood, put on my coat, and left the apartment. My destination: the Broken glass tavern. I needed to talk to Garrod.

…

The moment I opened the tavern door, every eye in the place turned to me at once. Their stares were anything but welcoming. Ignoring them, I walked forward, pulled out a chair at the counter, and sat down.

The bartender wasn't Garrod. He was a man in his early thirties with black hair and a deep scar carved across his face.

"What'll it be?" he asked.

"One drink," I replied.

He turned, poured it, and set the cup in front of me. But instead of leaving, he asked, "What brings you here?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the men around me shifting, hands drifting toward their sword hilts. One on my right, two in the corner, another just behind me.

I waved casually and took the cup.

"I came for a drink. Same as anyone else."

But clearly he didn't buy it. He jerked his head toward his men. I threw the drink at him and bolted.

"After him!" he roared.

I ran out of the tavern, four men charging after me. Can I not get one normal day? I didn't know who they were or why they wanted me dead, but I knew one thing: I had to run. Their footsteps grew closer.

Then I spotted a narrow alley to my right and darted into it, only to find a dead end waiting. Typical. I turned back too late. The four had me surrounded.

I raised my hands.

"Why don't we settle this misunderstanding calmly?"

No answer. They rushed me.

The first lunged fast, his sword slicing toward my neck. I ducked, slammed my knee into his gut, kicked him back, and tore the weapon from his grip.

The second attacked. I parried, shoved him hard against the wall, and he crumpled to the ground. "Maybe I can actually make it out of this," I thought just before a blade pierced my chest.

The rest fell upon me, driving their swords deep. My body hit the ground.

One of them exhaled in relief. "Finally, we're rid of him."

Another muttered doubtfully, "This guy was really part of the Bloody Fang? He seems too weak."

A third scoffed.

"He stole your sword and nearly cut you down. Now you call him weak?"

The fourth cut in, "None of that matters. He was the last member of the Bloody Fang. We'll collect a hefty reward."

I could hear them, even with blades buried in me. No shock. This wasn't the first time something like this happened. And apparently it wouldn't be the last. I waited until I was sure they were gone before moving.

One by one, I pulled the swords from my body. The pain was brutal. Why leave their blades behind? Did they think my corpse looked prettier decorated like this?

As I groaned, Ragho appeared at my side and threw his arms around me. I tried to push him away, but of course I couldn't touch ghosts.

"Why are you crying?" I asked flatly.

"I thought you were dead," he sobbed, "and that all my hope of freedom was gone."

I stood, pulling away from him. He toppled to the ground facefirst. As I prodded the wounds already knitting closed, I said, "Don't worry. Something like this won't kill me."

In a blink, every injury was gone. I muttered, "I wish my clothes were back to the state they were in before I met those men."

In an instant, they were. My original outfit restored. And then the headache came, sharp and merciless. Every time I grant a trivial wish like this, it happens. But I don't intend to stop.

I'm testing the limits of my Authority. So far, fulfilling my own wishes leaves me unaffected except for the headache. Does that mean I need to grant the wishes of others to truly assimilate this power?

I have to grow stronger. But for now, the pressing question is: who were those men? Where's Garrod? And who was that new bartender? Why did they try to kill me? I need to find another member of the Bloody Fang immediately.

I slipped a hand into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the hilt of one of the swords I had pulled from my body.

Drawing it, I studied the blade. I swung it lightly. My movements were precise, practiced.

Strange. None of Jevan's memories I hold contain anything about swordsmanship. And yet, the moment my hand grips the weapon, my body knows exactly what to do. Finally, something useful from this broken brain.

I swung again, and just then footsteps echoed at the far end of the alley.

Turning, I saw one of the men who had chased me earlier. The moment his eyes landed on me, he froze as if he'd seen a ghost.

I smiled.

"Hello again. Miss me?"

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