The wooden door creaks as I push it open, indicating that the hinges aren't oiled properly. I step into the room, the wooden floorboard screaming in protest with every step I take, giving the impression that it could not hold my weight, although evidence of people and furniture in the room proves otherwise. I cringe at the noise, secretly hoping that it isn't too loud to alert the authorities of our presence, even though I know that they are not here.

"Help me carry him up."

I nod, approaching the stranger with caution. I close my hand around Wil's ankle and assist the stranger in hoisting Wil onto the bunk bed. I snatch the blanket off the foot of the bed, wanting to cover him with the piece of cloth, however thin, to keep him warm. However, before I could drape it over his body, the stranger placed her hand on my own.

"Don't," she says softly, full of authority.

Feeling obliged to obey her, my arms drop to my sides, my hand still clutching tightly onto the blanket. I take a step back from the girl. "Who are you?" I mutter under my breath, not trusting my voice not to break, not daring to speak any louder.

"My name is Key. I promise you, Miri, that there is no reason to be afraid," she replies, the words sliding smoothly off her tongue.

"H-How do you know our names? How did you know where to find us? Why did you even bother to help us?" I ask, attempting to seem intimidating though I'm quite sure I failed.

My eyes landed on the small window located right behind Key. The window is left ajar - most likely by the last person who used this room - letting in a small breeze. It catches Key's hair, blowing it forward, making stray locks of hair fall to her face. She unlatches her pin and tucks her hair behind her ear before clipping it in place once again, all the while keeping herself calm and collected. I wonder if, on the inside, she's restless, just like me. If she is, she's definitely doing a much better job at hiding it than I am.

"Your friends. They contacted me. They said you were on the run and in need of a temporary place to hide."

My friends? My eyebrows knit in confusion. I have friends? Besides Wil? "You mean..." I pause. "Aries?"

She nods. "Indeed. After all, there are not many other people you know, is there?" she replies, her last sentence sounding more like a statement than a question.

She looks at me solemnly for several moments before heading towards the door, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. "Stay here," she orders before exiting the room, closing the door shut behind her.

I look down to my hands and I realise that I am still holding onto the blanket, so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. My grip on the cloth loosens and it drops to the ground with a soft thud. I approach the bunk bed, falling to my knees at the head of the bed. I rest my elbows on the soft mattress and lightly caress his face. It looks at ease, as if he is in a deep and peaceful sleep rather than a state of unconsciousness to which the reason is unknown.

"Wil..." I whisper to no one in particular. "Please... Please wake up."

A tear slides down my cheek and falls onto Wil's shirt - still stained red with blood - creating a wet blotch on the fabric. My hand moves to his chest and I can feel the steady beating of his heart. At least I know it's still beating. I chew my bottom lip nervously.

"Please, Wil. Be okay. You're all that I have."

My ears perk up at the sound of the opening of the door and the sound of heels clicking against the wooden floorboard quickly follows. The springs in the mattress groan in protest as Key puts her full weight on it. She places the metal bucket she is carrying onto the floor, the clean water sloshing out, soaking the wood. She bends down and retrieves a mossy green cloth from the pail, drenched with water. She squeezes the fabric, excess water falling back into the pail, before folding it.

"What are you doing?" I ask, although I already know the answer.

"Cleaning his wounds," she responses, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Honestly, I'm surprised that she did not add a 'duh' at the end of her sentence. "Why don't you get yourself cleaned up? I've put some fresh clothes and a towel for you in the bathroom. Turn left when you exit this room and walk straight ahead. It's right at the end. Just leave the towel there when you're done."

"Thanks," I mutter, pushing myself up.

I exit the room, closing the door silently behind me, stealing a quick glance at Key who is gently dabbing at Wil's injuries with the cloth, wiping off the blood that has already dried up on his body, or more specifically, his shoulder.

The silence in the hallway is slightly eerie, making my hair stand on ends. I take a step forward, my footstep resounding through the empty corridor. Although lit with kerosene lamps - though I have to say, I did not know anyone still used these - the hallway is dim, the light not nearly enough to illuminate my surroundings completely. My heartbeat accelerates, but I try to convince myself that there is nothing to fear. But then again, once a person is afraid of something, it is rather hard to overcome. More often than not, one can only just keep it under control.

I quicken my pace, eager to arrive at my destination - the bathroom - as soon as humanely possible. Eager to hide in there, away from this grim and dark hallway. Though the distance of the room we were in and the bathroom is not particularly long, the journey there seemed like an eternity.

I hurry into the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. I lean against the wall, slowly sinking to the cold, tiled floor. I run my fingers through my hair, untangling all the knots in it, breathing a sigh of relief.

Relieved to be out of the darkness and to be basked in light once again.

I push myself up, my knees still shaking. I take a hesitant step towards the porcelain sink located to the right of the door. I placed my hands on the cool material of the sink and look up, right at my reflection on the mirror. Speaking of which, isn't it odd that we'll never be able to see ourselves except in reflections and in pictures?

I find myself staring back at the figure of a young girl. Her dark brown hair is in knots, cascading around her shoulders. Her bright hazel green eyes, although filled with exhaustion, are sharp and alert, as if on the lookout for something. Her shoulders are sagged, almost like she gives has recently given up on something used to burden her. She looks at me wearily and I return it. This girl does not look like she resembles me at all, though I know otherwise.

She is merely my reflection.

Me, Miri.

My eyelids feel heavy, threatening to close. I fight off the strong urge to drift off the slumberland there and then. As worn out as I may be, I can't fall asleep now. It's simply not the appropriate time. I have to force myself to remain awake and alert.

I glance down, diverting my attention to the glinting metal tap. My hands reach for it and twist it open. Brown coloured water gushes out of the tap immediately. Mud. I wait impatiently for the several minutes for the mud to clear out, leaning on the sink, tapping my feet. Once all the mud has flown out of the pipes, I cup my hands under the tap - water collecting in my palms, although it is spilling and overflowing - and I splash the water on my face in an attempt to both wake myself up and wash my face from any grime or dirt. I repeat the gesture several times, scrubbing my face with the chilly water, succeeding in doing what I had intended to do. I close the tap and the water stops flowing. Hardly surprising.

My eyes dart around the room, trying to locate the clothes and towel Key had prepared for me, soon landing on a black pile atop a wooden stool that is pushed up against the wall at the opposite end of the room. I fetch the towel and dab my face, drying it of any water droplets. I strip off the clothes that I had worn for the past several days - having no chance to wash them - and put on the fresh articles of clothing that Key had laid out, namely a black, long-sleeved shirt and dark coloured long pants. Surprisingly, they fit me perfectly. I wonder how Key knows my size.

The sole light bulb that hangs on the ceiling - emitting yellow light to illuminate the space - flickers and my heart skips a beat. Wanting to escape this room, I scoop up my worm clothes that are scattered on the floor, drape them neatly on my arm and swiftly exit the bathroom. Thankfully, the journey back is quicker than the walk there, but that might be due to the fact that I am jogging.

"Miri," Key acknowledges as soon as I step into the room.

I wonder how she knows that I have entered the room even though my entrance is nearly soundless. Or maybe it's not as quiet as I thought it was.

"Key. Thank you for-"I pause, not knowing how to phrase my next sentence. I gesture towards the clothes I had on," for all this."

She nods in response, not uttering a single word. She sits at the foot of the bunk bed, her back facing me so I can't see what she's doing from my angle. If I didn't know any better, I would suspect that she is purposely sitting that way so my view of Wil will be blocked. I think the position she is in is purely coincidental.

I rest my weight against the wooden door, almost as if I am trying to prevent any intruders from entering, running my fingers through my hair once again. I fix my gaze on Wil's limp body and I knit my eyebrows in concern.

I really hope he is fine.

"Come here, Miri."

I debate whether or not I should heed to Key's request for several moments before deciding that I should, so I do. After all, I have nothing to lose. I approach the foot of the bed cautiously, sitting on the floor beside it, leaning against the metal frame of the bed.

"Miri."

My ears perk up to the sound of my name being called and I turn to face Key, knowing that she is the only possible person to have said it. "I know you're concerned about Wil's wellbeing. But, trust me, there's nothing to be worried about. He won't get deleted that easily."

I grit my teeth and my shoulders tense up almost immediately after that statement leaves her mouth. How does she know? She couldn't possibly know about our true identity. Could she?

"How do you know?" I ask, choosing my words carefully.

For merely a split second, her demeanour falls. Her hands that are resting on her lap balls up into fists. Her eyes look as though they are layered with the thinnest of ice, shooting daggers at me which makes me shudder. If looks could kill, I'd be dead by now. She seems almost angry, like I hit a sore spot.

I wonder why.

"I just do," she says, her mask back on.

My eyes wander to hers and our eyes lock. I am able to see the colour of her eyes for the first time since I met her. They are two violet pools of well hidden emotions. Violet. Those violet eyes. I feel as if I've seen them somewhere before. They look vaguely familiar. I wonder where I've seen them before.

Before I know it, she breaks eye contact with me. Her black hair falls in front of her face, creating a black curtain of hair as she turns to look away, blocking my view of her facial expressions.

I continue looking at Key's figure. The more I look at her, the more certain I am that I've seen her before - even if it's just a glance, though it seems rather unlikely. I think back to the previous events of the week - the only possible times I could've seen her - trying to remember if any of the events comprise her in any sort of way.

Her figure. The way she carries herself.

Her eyes.

The more I ponder about it, the more certain I am that I've met her before. Or perhaps someone similar. Maybe I'm just overthinking this entire situation. I probably am. I push these thoughts out of my head before it gets any worse.

Not knowing what to do with them, I comb my hair back with my fingers and braid it. It falls down my back, the braid loosening due to the fact that the end is not tied. I run my fingers through my hair for the third time in ten minutes, untangling the braid, making my hair fall loosely on my back.

The sound of someone mumbling something incoherent catches my attention. I look up and realise the Key is muttering something, though I sincerely doubt that it's meant for my ears. Despite that, the words she's speaking drifts into my ears.

"I just do, Miri. You won't understand even if I told you," she whispers to herself, her voice breaking, before turning to attend to Wil's injuries once again.

Hey guys. I know this chapter is loooooong overdue but I've been very busy lately and haven't had the time to write and type. Well, on the bright side, I've written until chapter 9 now. If I can type fast enough, I'll have it all up by next week to make up for my lack of activeness.

Also, I haven't proofread this so if you spot any errors, please point it out so I can edit it, be it weird phrasings, typos or grammatical errors.

PS Sorry for... Whatever just happened. I woke up and found out that it isn't posted or Wattpad took it down or something. Idk what happened. Anyway, it's up again so enjoy :)

Love, Angie