Pondering, I step away from the window. Every time we seem to get into calmer waters, the current turns. As if life doesn't grant me a single moment of peace, a moment to catch my breath.

'Why are you telling me this?' I ask him. I realize all too well that the amount of money on my head is attractive even to him. My father only seems to be driving the price up, ever more driven to kill his daughter.

'I'm not stupid. He won't stop once you are delivered. While I doubt a 22-year-old woman is the solution for the mad king, delivering you won't improve anything either. He will kill you and continue what he was already doing. Indeed, given your magic, he has even more freedom,' he replied with a shrug.

'May I conclude from that that you don't want four bags of gold bars?' The boy begins to laugh. His long legs bring him to the bed where he takes a seat. His hands are beside him on the mattress as he stares at the window.

'I think everyone could use that money, especially the people of villages like this and especially with winter coming. As much as people want to secure themselves for winter and be assured of enough food, they are more afraid of the king. He is more unpredictable than winter'. I take a seat next to the boy on the bed. The mattress is soft, almost too soft. He does not answer my question, not directly at least.

'What is your name?' I ask the boy, realizing that I have been sitting here for half an hour and have no idea with whom. He possesses money and magic, but I have no idea how much or which.

'Micca.' Without saying anything else, he gets up from the bed and walks downstairs. Although this would be a good time to leave I am not done asking questions. I want to know more about this encounter. There is a reason he pulled me into that alley. Silently Micca sits back down on the brown-green chair. He slides the small wooden table closer to him before opening a small drawer in the edge of the wood.

'Do you live here alone?' I ask as I move myself around the living room. My hands are behind my back as my heels slide across the stone floor.

'Sometimes.' I run my gaze more closely over the small portrait on the mantelpiece. The young girl looks exactly like Micca. The same green eyes, the same white hair and even the long eyelashes she has. If she is not his daughter, at least she is his sister.

'Who is this?' I ask referring to the portrait. Micca, meanwhile, has a bag of tobacco and tissue paper in front of him from which he rolls cigarettes. He doesn't look up as he slides the brown paper between his fingers. There is no doubt that he has done this before. His fingers seem to roll naturally over the tobacco.

'Joyce,' he replies gruffly without further explanation. Nor does he make any attempt to say anything further about it, doesn't look up.

'Is she your daughter?' I ask further. That is the moment he looks up. The two green eyes have an all-important look in them.

'Stop asking questions. You've got your tobacco. Fuck off.' I clearly asked a question I should have kept to myself. This is something my father said to me when I was younger. Not literally, but the message was the same. I am not sixteen now and Micca is not my father.

'I don't think about it. Why did you help me? Why did you pull me into that alley?' It would be more convenient if I left now, no more questions. Instead of being smart, I grab a rolled-up cigarette from the table, put it between my lips and light it with the matches left on the table. The hot strong smoke hits my lungs like a brick.

The moment I want to put the matches back on the table, Micca grabs my wrist. The once beautifully bright green eyes seem to have caught fire. Through my fingers, I feel the aggression coursing through his veins, pounding under my skin. Smoke slips through my mouth into my lungs as if my eyes have lost their power. With my free hand, I yank the burning cigarette from between my lips and blow out the smoke.

'Let go, now,' is the only thing that leaves my mouth. The cigarette disappears between my lips again. The two green eyes continue to glow under the smoke. He grips my wrist more firmly without letting a word come out of his mouth. The fabric of my black sleeve slides up, revealing black veins. Before I can put the black fabric back in place, I see Micca's eyes slide toward it.

I can't pull my hand away, put the sleeve over it or come up with an excuse. The green stares at the black, impossible to deny anymore.

'Yang,' Micca leaves his mouth before I pull my arm away. The amount of aggression that was just in the air has given way to confusion. I don't know how quickly to remove the cigarette from my mouth, put it in the ashtray and walk toward the door.

'Celeste,' Micca calls after me. With a pounding heart in my throat, I do my best to reach the front door. I don't answer, don't make a sound. As soon as my hand lands on the iron doorknob, I notice that it is locked. The moment I realize it, Micca steps into the hallway, cigarette in his mouth.

'I'm beginning to understand how you're still alive.' Smoke slips through his nostrils into open space. I try again to turn the doorknob, but again in vain. The shiny silver key hangs from Micca's black belt.

'Is it already on your back?' he asks further. At that question I raise my eyebrows, still keeping my hand on the doorknob. Very little is known about what happens to my veins. Something I didn't expect was for a random man to ask me a question about it when he seems to know what he's talking about.

'No,' is my answer. I swallow as I struggle to understand his question. The green eyes look at me thoughtfully, searching for the right words. Micca slowly takes a step in my direction, holds out his hand.

'May I see it?' he asks, looking into my eyes. Without realizing it myself, I raise my hand and show him what I've been hiding for a while. Micca's long fingers quietly and precisely undo the black button on my sleeve. The cotton fabric is slowly pushed up. The two green eyes focus on my skin and nothing else.

'How long ago did it start?' For a man, Micca has baby-soft hands. His skin glides warmingly over my wrist.

'Seven months,' is the last thing I can utter normally before his oh-so-soft fingers touch one of the black veins. Infernal searing pain shoots into my skin like two blunt knives. I don't know how quickly to swat his hand away and grab my burning wrist myself, something that doesn't make things any better.

'Breathe,' is Micca's only response. His calm demeanor speaks volumes. No surprise, no fear, nothing at all. At first I want to lash out at the boy for his excessive calmness, but the green inexplicably calms me down. I take a few deep breaths through my nose and blow it out between my lips. The flames begin to lose their oxygen, extinguish slightly.

'Do you have any idea how far it is?' asks Micca calmly. The reason for his questions remains a mystery to me, the calmness too.

'It started as a dot on my wrist.' I have to gasp to continue my story. Micca merely nods.

'It is now all over my arms up to my shoulders. I can't tell if it's on my back.' Again he nods hesitantly. He stares at my arm for a while before he wants to open his mouth; however, I am ahead of him.

'Why do you want to know about this and why do you seem to know about it?' Micca sighs deeply as he drops his head against the wall and looks at the plafon.

'You are not the only one who opposes the king. For years there have been opponents who want to make an attack on that madman. With the fall of the night riders, that resistance has grown to hundreds of members. To return to your earlier question of why I pulled you into that alley. Some see you as an important pawn until the king's death, others see you as a slave. You are a frequent topic of conversation in the resistance, especially your plan and which side you chose. Those black veins provide an excellent answer to that. The history of Yin and Yang is not unfamiliar to me, so I recognized them from the stories. How I know them the consequences is not important now, but know that this is just the beginning.'