Chapter 39: Capturing Arlos [2]
"Didn’t you hear me?" The man’s grin vanished. Cold steel flashed in the dim tavern light—a knife, pressed against Oliver’s gut. His voice dropped to a growl. "You’re going to follow us."
"Alright, I will follow. Calm down," Oliver said, slowly raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grimy alleyway, and I could see the calculation flickering behind Oliver’s eyes. Of course he could easily dispatch these four street thugs—his hand hadn’t moved far from his sword hilt, and I’d witnessed firsthand the deadly precision he was capable of. But this ragged band of criminals represented our only concrete lead to Arlos, and Oliver was pragmatic enough to recognize that sometimes the best path forward required temporary submission.
"He’s coming as well," the brown-haired man saoid, jabbing his rusty knife in my direction with a crude grin that revealed several missing teeth.
"Wait. He’s my slave," he said, his tone carefully neutral though I caught the slight furrow in his brow.
"So what?" The man’s grin widened as his gaze roved over me with obvious interest. "He looks far too pretty for a mere slave. I want to see which noble house you stole him from." His companions chuckled at this.
I watched Oliver’s expression grow complicated, a storm of conflicting emotions playing across his feature.
He didn’t want to bring me into what was undoubtedly a dangerous situation.
But I wanted Arlos dead more than I wanted safety. I caught Oliver’s eye and gave him the slightest nod, hoping he could read the determination in my gaze.
After a long moment of hesitation, during which I could practically hear the gears turning in his head, Oliver released a heavy sigh. "Alright. But stop pointing that thing at me."
"What? Are you scared, beauty?" The brown-haired thug cackled, his three companions joining in with harsh laughter that echoed off the narrow alley walls.
Oliver’s expression remained impassive, though I noticed the slight tick in his jaw that suggested his patience was wearing thin. "Stay close," he whispered to me.