Chapter Text
There is a man in the cafe and he is watching the windows.
A man in the cafe is not unusual. There are many people who sit in the sun here, rich and idle. Facing the building and staring off into nothing, normal. She’s even seen a few people staring avidly at the door - whether in hopes to kill or fawn upon on her master she’s not sure.
But the windows. That is different. She looks a little too long, and he catches her glance. Chin high and haughty and no no no avert the eyes don’t be noticed don’t get in trouble you should know better that only leads to blood as she makes it around the corner to the side door, the slave entrance, and is gone from view.
Later that night she carries a stack of linens to the bathing chamber on the second floor, as always ignored by the guards that haunt this place. Opens the door, steps in, and then closes it behind her.
The strength of the body that lifts her, the breadth of the hands that cover her mouth and hold her by the throat, are all sudden and surprising to her. Though not, she assumes, quite as surprising as the relieved sigh she gives in response must be to him, her body relaxing into the hold.
Because this is the window that was being watched. This is the time it actually comes true.
“You will be silent, or you will be dead” the man whispers, accent foreign and unfamiliar, and she nods as well as she can in his grasp.
“I have a plan for you” she whispers in response once his hand moves from her mouth, and she feels him pause again before placing her down in front of him.
“A plan?” He asks, and the surprise that she hears in his voice does not show in his eyes, hooded as he stares down at her. “And what plan would that be?”
“I can get you past his guards without anyone knowing” she tells him, even as she looks him over. Sharply pointed beard, well groomed and precise. Dark leathers, utilitarian but expensive and well maintained. Some knives, many vials, and a presence that screams of danger. It crosses her mind that this one might not need her help.
But she’s had this plan in some form for far too long. Every person who looks just slightly out of place, every whisper she’s heard against her Master, she wonders if this time she’ll walk into the right room and find the right person to give her what she wants. She’s lived in hope far too many times and been disappointed to not follow through now that the moment is here.
He stares at her, hand resting on the hilt of a longer blade, and she feels the weight of his assessment. She’s not sure what he’s looking for - there’s only her, scrawny and small, scarred and collared, with her life in his hands. (It’s not been a good life. It’s not worth much.)
“And what do you ask for, in exchange for this plan?” He asks, and well. There are many things she could ask for.
But only one thing she truly wants. “Promise me. Promise me that you will make him hurt”
Something flashes in the man’s eyes, something she cannot read, but he nods once, decisively. His smile is dark, and something matching ignites in her as he speaks.
“It appears we have a contract.”