I walked back to the inn as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting Greyford's rooftops in shades of orange and gold.
The day had been another exercise in frustration. More faces scanned. More dead ends.
My legs ached from walking. Eyes burned from constant use of the debug vision. And I was no closer to finding Agnes than I'd been three days ago.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor, each step feeling heavier than the last, and reached for the handle of my room.
The door burst open before I could touch it.
And something lunged at me.
I barely had time to process the movement before I was slammed backward, my spine hitting the floor hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. Weight crashed down on my chest. Hands wrapped around my throat.
Not squeezing. Not yet. But positioned to.
"What the—" I choked out, my own hands coming up instinctively to grab the attacker's wrists.
Red hair. Green eyes wild with something between panic and fury.
Scarlet?
