Elina

But something was different this time.

Because Elina didn't even pretend to sleep.

She lay on her side, her silver eyes wide open, staring at me. Like an owl. Like a goddess peering into my soul.

Professional witch hunters had one other thing most other people did not: sensitive instincts. Some ancient part of our brain that was more awake than it should be, making us more sensitive to even the slightest change. Call it what you want. Instinct, gut feeling, a sixth sense.

My heart refused to stop pounding. My breath was heavy. My skin tingled.

Her eyes are on me and that ancient part of my brain is telling me one thing: danger.

Without looking at her, I asked, "What do you want?"

My peripheral vision showed me that she lay there, her eyes wide open. Her silver eyes pulses in the darkness. I didn't know what she did to the guy in the room. How both of them vanished. I had to be careful.

She said, "You still haven't told me."

"Told you what?"

"Your reason for becoming a witch hunter."

"I told you already. I need the money."

"You haven't told me your reason for needing that much money, that quickly."

I dared to glance at her. I stopped breathing. The intensity in her eyes froze my heart. The gaze of a predator. And I was the prey.

My instinct told me this: you are going to die. Better give her what she wants. Maybe she'll forget about killing you.

But there'd be no reason for her to spare me. She'd kill me all the same.

A million years of evolutionary instinct versus reason.

Instinct won. It always did.

I said, "I don't need the money. But someone else does."

"Hmmm? Who?"

I took a breath. Better give her what she wants.

I said, "My little sister."

"Your little sister?"

"My little sister."

Silence. She waited for me to continue. Under her insistent eyes, I obeyed.

"My little sister and I are the only ones left in your family. Our father died after he was drafted into the army, and our mother died from a disease. We don't know any other relatives, so we only have each other. We grew up together. We fought together. We survived together."

"Then why do you need the money?"

"Because her health took a turn for the worse a few years ago. Maybe she inherited our mother's weak body. I don't know. But she needs a doctor. And a doctor is expensive. So I decided to work as a professional witch hunter. Because we're poor and doctors don't extend credit."

A moment of silence. Her eyes turned contemplative, although I couldn't tell what she was thinking.

She said, "You really care about her."

"She means the world to me."

"Hmmm..."

Was she satisfied? I don't know.

She said, "Good night."

Her usual playful tone was gone. Something in her voice. A feeling I couldn't quite define. Maybe it was melancholy. Or maybe a tinge of regret. I'm not a poet. I'm not a romantic either. I don't have a way with words.

I breathed out. The tension left my body.