Arya glanced to her chest as soon as the dream flickered off. It was heaving with strangled breaths but otherwise fine. Alive. She's alive. Her head snapped up, enough to find she was still in the warehouse. No surprises there.

She squirmed. The ropes seemed to have gotten tighter around her. Combined with the tight corset she wore, it seemed like the world was intent on making sure she couldn't breathe. The chair she had broken was replaced with one of the upturned, three-legged stools she spied earlier. That meant she wasn't attached to anything.

Should be easy, right? Wrong.

When she shifted ever so slightly, she felt a cold muzzle of a rifle pressed against her back. One flick of the trigger and she'd drop dead. A memory pricked at the back of her mind. Like the girl in her dreams.

Her gut swirled. If the dreams were repeating in her life, then it wasn't going to end well this time around, either. Arya and Norren would drop dead and evil would have won again. Not that Grottway or that adviser with a teeth gap were evil. They simply had things to protect and treasures to lose. Eliott je Clair just happened to get in the adviser's way and now that Arya was tied in a random warehouse with the Maltarci with rifles, Norren seemed to have followed in his previous life's footsteps.

Would Arya follow in the girl's wake as well?

Arya scoffed, earning a sharp gaze from a soldier to her right. If possible, the muzzle dug deeper into her skin. Still, there's no way in Ouine's stinky socks she would let some undead fae soul dictate her life. Damn fate. This was Arya's life, not the girl's. She owned this life at this moment so shouldn't she at least get a say in how she would spend it?

But she couldn't deny the gnawing sense of urgency in her soul. It's like someone had stirred in there and began pounding at the walls of her consciousness. Before the dream ended, Arya swore she heard the girl say her last wish.

Save him.

She's talking about Eliott je Clair, the Crown Prince of the Last Bloodline in the Lezeris Empire before it was overturned and replaced by the New Civils. Arya recalled a distant conversation the girl had with the prince. Like her and Eury, they talked about past lives. Fae souls live on and live again in a different time and place should they have unfinished business or unfulfilled wishes.

Save him. That's certainly a dying wish, an ultimatum on her next life to prevent the same thing from happening again. It was also the same wish that doomed Arya to a cycle of events. A re-do. A blank canvas meant to be painted over with the same picture. That's what this whole thing was.

Save him. If Arya succeeded, would she have her life back? Would she be frto carve out her own path from there?

No one answered her. It's not like anyone knew better than her.

As much as she didn't want to, her knowledge of the dreams' ending put her in a strange position. Sure, she didn't love Norren enough to think of sacrificing her life for him and all that cheesy schtick, but she didn't want him to die just for being associated with her and the destiny tied to her. She didn't want to witness another death if she could help it. Eury's was hard enough. Not Norren too.

So, she'd give the girl's wish a chance. If it was the only way they could reach a compromise, then she'd give it a shot. No pun intended, of course.

She glanced at the polished rifles around her and swallowed against the growing lump in her throat. It might be from fear, dread, or just the plain stress of her whole situation. If she was supposed to save Norren, then the first thing she had to figure out was to warn him to not take whatever bait was thrown at him. A message. She needed to send a message but...how?

"Arya!" a voice called from the door.

She cursed when a familiar figure stumbled past it and burst through the warehouse. Too late. Norren braced his knees, attempting to catch his breath. Had he not taken a carriage to this place and ran like an idiot? And why was he alone? Without any weapon, by the looks of it, except from the characteristic cane he always came with.

Four out of five rifles pointed away from Arya and into Norren. Her throat constricted. It's just the same thing as the dream. There might be less people—just five against two—but it was all drearily the same.

"Arya," Norren turned to her even though someone could literally shoot him from where he stood just for opening his mouth. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

"You shouldn't have come," Arya answered. The muzzle behind her pressed against her spine so hard she had to wince. "They're using me to get to you. Go while you can. I'll be alright."

Norren stepped forward. The rifles' safety clicked off, forcing him back. Still, his brilliant blue eyes never strayed from her. "I'm not leaving you," he said. "Not again."

Arya knitted her eyebrows. Not again? When had he left her? She was the one who did the leaving when she broke up with him. Unless...

"I'm flattered to see you here but you're wasting your time here," Arya continued when she noticed Norren was nowhere near the door. "I don't really love you, Norren. I'm grateful for the time we spent together but I don't think of spending my whole life with you. So if you're here because of what you think still remains between us, then you're mistaken. So please, go. Don't take the bait because of me."

Hurt flickered across his face but stood his ground. "You're still a civilian caught in my mess," he answered. "I'll save you."

No, it was Arya who was supposed to be saving him from his own fate. It shouldn't have been the other way around even in this lifetime. This was her life. She should be the one dictating it.

"I'm here," Norren said to the soldiers. "Untie her. You got what you wanted."

"I'm afraid I still have not," another voice bled in Arya's ears. Norren turned to watch a man slink from the warehouse's door and pass him by. Unlike the dream, the man with amber eyes, sharp features, and a prominent gap between his front teeth sauntered to Arya's side, drew a pistol from his belt, and pointed it under her chin.

Arya's spine turned rigid. The man's sweaty musk coated her nose. It reminded her of the laundry she forgot to let dry under direct sunlight and got cramped inside the flat. Disgusting.

"Grottway, why are you doing this?" Norren prodded. "Why go this far?"

It was the same thread from the dream. Nothing had changed.

The council member, Grottway, laughed. It sounded obnoxious in her dream and it was proven again now that she could hear it. His grip on the pistol was loose, like he was confident she wouldn't try anything funny. "Do you know what I was set to lose if that moronic bill of yours passed?" he said. "I'll have to restructure my companies, forclose some of my businesses, and most of my assets will be confiscated because of unjust collection. It's such a headache, Sterling and I'll be a poor man supporting a sumptuous wife and a daughter in Palmora."

Palmora. One of the most prestigious secondary schools in Aldermere and in the New Civils. It was also one of the most expensive.

"It wouldn't take a genius to realize I can't have that," Grottway reached up and yanked Arya's hair down, tilting her head up. "I need my income and you seem glad to have been getting on my way like this. With the bill gaining more support over the days, it's only a matter of time before you win."

Norren's features were twisted with anger. "So you kidnap a random woman, force me to come here, and threaten me with weapons?" he scoffed. "How did you even manage to convince the Maltarci to go with you in this foolish move? Do they know they'll be prosecuted after all this?"

Grottway hummed. "I planned this thoroughly, you see," he said. His hold on Arya's hair only tightened. From her periphery, she observed the safety in his pistol was still in place. He wouldn't shoot. Not until he was sure he got what he wanted. "And they're with me because money is power and they know it."

Arya bit her lip. From her vantage point, she saw Norren's hands clench at his sides. The one holding the cane was whiter than the other. That cane...

If Arya could just get rid of the pistol away from her face, maybe they'd have a chance. Norren could look like he could swing that cane for an arc or two. Her legs were untied from the stool's legs, giving her enough leeway to move around and run should she wished. The rifles were a problem though. Perhaps she could disarm Grottway and shoot the others? Then again, how many times had she even held a pistol and shot someone?

"Besides," Grottway continued, seemingly giving Arya enough time to assess the situation and plan things along the way. "This wench isn't random."

He grinned, the gap in his teeth distracting Arya from any plan developing in her mind. His teeth were just so...far from each other. "You seem to be consorting with the influential ones, Sterling," he said. Arya knitted her eyebrows. What was this fogger talking about? "Who thought a Salcrest was still alive and crawling this earth?"

Norren inhaled a sharp breath. Arya glanced at the councilman for as far as her periphery could allow. How did he know Arya's family name? What did being a Salcrest have to do with all this?

"That's not why I approached her, Grottway," Norren said. Arya swiveled her eyes towards him once more. So he did approach her for something else, then? It's not pure chance that they met in that museum? "Stop spinning lies, mostly to yourself."

"Why have you come to me, then?" Arya blurted. A sharp pain exploded from the back of her head as Grottway pulled down. Conflict shadowed Norren's eyes as it darted from her and Grottway. The Maltarci never lowered their rifles trained at Norren.

"Shut your trap, wench," Grottway hissed in Arya's ear before turning to Norren, giving her a good look of his uneven sideburns.

Norren stepped forward but didn't get far when the rifles cocked in warning. "I always thought the Salcrests died a mysterious death back then," he said. "Are you responsible for it?"

Arya gritted her teeth. What were they saying? Cornelia told her long ago her parents died in a house fire on the villa they've stayed in during one of their business trips. Arya was at her aunt's place that night. Then, the next day, she woke up to the news that her parents had perished. She was too young to think about the details and just tried to accept it and move on. That's why they moved to Aldermere after all. To start over in a place where nobody knew the Salcrests and the Allridges hold the least bit of power.

Grottway laughed. "Those heathens didn't know who they're messing with," he said. "Poor Pauline was so enamored by fae disguises that she was willing to throw away her entire empire just for that low-life. She could have chosen someone else to marry but she gave everything away to a fae, no less!"

"So you thought to step in and handle things your way?" Norren seethed. Arya could agree. All of this was so wrong. All so wrong. Who gave this scum the right to meddle in people's affairs? "You're not a savior, Grottway. And the Salcrests are fine without you."

"I'm not a savior, Sterling," the council man said. "I consider myself a purist born with a mission to protect humankind from anything that might taint it. You, on the other hand, seem to be busy making sure that exact thing happens. That makes you my enemy, both in personal and moral standards."

Arya clicked her tongue. "Delusional," she said. If she could have spat at his face, she would have. "That's what you are."

Grottway yanked against her hair harder, almost snapping her neck backwards. A cry escaped from her lips as her scalp felt like it was going to peel off her head. The barrel of the pistol pressed deeper into her throat. "I should just gut you like I did to your foolish parents," he whispered in her ear. His breath brought shivers down her spine and cold fear in her gut. "That way, your cursed line would disappear from this earth."

"Let her go, Hugh," Norren interjected. Arya should have reflected the anger in his tone, having known her parents were killed and with a reason that was as preposterous as the one she was given. Instead, she only felt sadness for the time that was stolen from her and for the things she experienced as an aftermath of her parents' death.

"Not until you give your word," Grottway didn't take his eyes off Arya as he spoke. "Withdraw the bill from the review. Stay away from anything involving the fae. And most importantly, you saw nothing of this sort today."

"If you talk," the councilman continued. Finally, he cranked the safety off. "She dies."

Norren had been clenching his jaw too hard that Arya could see his bones grind even with the distance between them. "First thing in the morning," he said. "I'll tell my adviser to withdraw it. For now, untie her. Let her come to me and don't shoot until we are outside the building."

Arya's eyes widened. Those words sound familiar. Eerily familiar. Then, it clicked. The dreams.

As expected, Grottway appeared satisfied with Norren's word and eased the pistol off her chin, leaving only a ghost of the force against her skin. He jerked his chin to the soldier to Arya's left. The man got the idea and let go of his rifle. That's one off of Norren.

This was it. After she was untied, they'd let her go to Norren and shoot her from behind. Then, Norren would take the shot for her. He would die and it all depended on Arya to finish Grottway or run for her life and live the rest of her days bearing Norren's blood in her conscience.

To hell with that.

As soon as the last slivers of the thick rope slid off her arms, she lashed out. Her wrist connected with Grottway's ear. Her other hand snatched the stool and bashed the soldier who untied her before he could straighten. Gunshots rang in the room. More thuds followed suit as Arya threw her head under her arms.

She scrambled as fast as she could, crawling on all fours. Away from here. That's all she has to be. The smell of gunpowder was heavy in the air, assaulting her senses. She doubted it would even go away after this. Like blood, traces of this encounter would be hard to wash off.

A hand closed around her arm and hauled her up. She squirmed, attempting to dislodge its grip. "Arya, it's me," Norren hissed at her ear, forcing her to go still. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his, following the direction of his gaze and his outstretched arm. Smoke billowed from a pistol as big as Norren's hand. A pocket pistol. He had it with him all this time?

Groans filled the air, catching Arya's attention. She glanced to the floor to four soldiers on the ground, writhing in pain. Had...had Norren shot them? Blood spouted from wounds in their shoulders, chest, and thighs. Grottway was gripping the stool as he tried hauling himself up, a glistening stream of blood running down his arm. The last soldier standing had thrown his arms up, his rifle forgotten.

"Go," Norren commanded, never lowering his pistol. His finger rested calmly on the trigger, as if he couldn't be bothered to click it one more time. "Surrender yourself to the Tribunal on your way."

The soldier trudged past them, Norren swiveling around to match the path with the tip of his gun. Something whipped in Arya's periphery. Grottway's fingers closed around his fallen pistol. He whipped towards Norren. Arya's eyes widened. Norren turned too late. Grottway fired.

"Eliott!" Arya cried.

Fire burned on her back as a solid force threw her forward. Another gunshot. After that, it was dark.