Crowed (Team Zero #2) - Rina Kent Page 0,9

and black trousers. I’ll be a tourist who’s in love with Southern France.

While adjusting my clothes, I mentally practice my rusty French. The French don’t like being spoken to in any language other than their own, and I’m supposed to come off nice.

I glance down at my boots and black clothes. Well, as nice as affordable.

Movement in the first floor’s window catches my attention.

A figure dressed in white stands there unmoving. I would’ve thought it was a fucking spirit if I believed in anything other than Hades’ hell.

Using the trees as camouflage, I approach the mansion. The figure still staring in the distance becomes clearer.

She stands on the thin line between ghost and angel, and couldn’t look any more beautiful.

I would recognise that face anywhere. She crossed my mind more than once since the hospital.

Nurse fucking Betty.

She must’ve seen me but is pretending to focus elsewhere. One call to the police and I’ll be done for.

I can’t allow that, now can I?

It’d be a waste to extinguish the tiny spark of life lurking in those doe eyes, but leaving no traces behind is Hades’ number one rule.

Eloise

Something is out there.

I glue my face to the blurry glass, trying to decipher the shadow I swear I just saw lurking amongst the trees.

Nothing but bright green leaves fill my vision.

Dread perches on my chest like a defibrillator.

Merde.

Am I starting to imagine things? Perhaps I should check myself into a mental institute. My shrink is surely not doing a good job at making me feel normal.

A small voice inside me is saying that I should be the one to work towards feeling normal. But like any sense of logic, numbness suffocates it into a dark abyss.

I leave the haunted window and go to my jar. I retrieve a piece of paper and write, ‘I just saw a shadow that turned out to be nothing. If it happens again, I will admit I’m insane.’ Then, I retreat to my dim-lit room. Charlotte hops from her bed at the reception area and trots on my heels with those small legs as if running for a treat.

She’s probably the only reason I’ve remained a bit sane.

I gather her in my arms, kiss her head, and throw myself on the high-platform bed which creaks in protest.

It’s already ten in the morning. I need to sleep before tonight’s shift.

I toss and turn for more than half an hour, counting the minutes with the red neon numbers of the digital clock on the nightstand.

Of course, sleep won’t bestow me with its presence. Even when it does, I wake up a lot more tired than before.

An endless empty cycle.

I retrieve my phone from the nightstand and check the announcement I’ve put on the renting site. I’ve had some interest, but once I started describing the routes to get to my house, the interest faded into thin air.

Only one person scheduled to come over, but that was more than a few hours ago. No one had shown up.

I sigh, tossing the phone away. What will I do now? At this rate, Papa’s house will be gone in a matter of months.

It’s not an option to sit around and do nothing. I might have little to no value for my own existence, but this house is different. It existed for two generations before me. I won’t let the bank’s nasty hands rip it apart.

I could work double shifts. It’s not like I sleep anyway. I only limited myself to one shift because I had to take care of Maman.

Now, I have to take care of our ancestral home.

Charlotte leaves her cushion at the foot of the bed and snuggles beside me, slapping wet licks on my face and neck. It’s like she’s feeling my internal thoughts.

“You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for, ma petite.” I ruffle her fur.

She licks the wound in my neck, and it burns. I wince. My fingers ghost up to the injury as if reincarnating the memories from three nights ago.

In that moment, a sudden urge pushed me to provoke the English gangster and force him to hurt me. Maybe even kill me.

If someone else kills me, Maman and Papa wouldn’t blame me for losing the house since it would be completely out of my control.

Such a coward I’ve been.

But even in that moment of impulsiveness, even after talking myself into believing the cowardly story I’ve weaved, he didn’t kill me. He just ran away from the hospital like they do in Hollywood films.

Xavier told me